111 More Things…

For which I am thankful.

1. Freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies
2. Artistic license
3. Winter hikes
4. Bubbly
5. Visine
6. Wonder
7. Dictionary.com
8. Black turtlenecks
9. Yearbooks
10. Snooze buttons
11. Backspace buttons
12. Ponytails
13. Luna bars
14. Tweezers
15. Imperfections
16. Epidurals
17. Fresh paint
18. Paid days off
19. Acronyms
20. Latin phrases
21. Family trees
22. Strings of white Christmas lights
23. Quests
24. Charlotte’s Web
25. Jane Austen
26. Authenticity
27. Cold Stone Creamery
28. Uniforms
29. Spiral bound notebooks
30. Public parks
31. Hardwood floors
32. Book recommendations
33. Sex and the City marathons
34. Buttercream frosting
35. 4-H fairs
36. Imp jokes
37. Imp everythings
38. Lake Serene
39. Inscribed jewelry
40. Cookie jars
41. Mascara
42. Invitations
43. Bendable straws
44. Wit
45. Spam blockers
46. Downward facing dog
47. Auto deposit
48. Humility
49. Insight
50. Harry Connick Jr. Christmas albums
51. Warm hands
52. Brakes
53. Voicemail
54. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
55. Unforgettable scenes
56. Refrigerator masterpieces
57. Jeremiah 31:3-4
58. Brilliant blog posts
59. Flashbacks
60. Door knockers
61. Mechanical pencils
62. Fun magnets
63. Consideration
64. Creative outlets
65. Slide shows
66. Trixie Belden books
67. Cooking tutors
68. Annual Father’s Day canoe trips
69. The perfect jeans
70. Hair dryers
71. Campfires
72. Imp doodles
73. Imp dance moves
74. Lists
75. Valentine’s Day cards
76. Trail maps
77. Allie & Noah
78. Out-of-town yoga classes
79. Roller coaster-cams
80. Nostalgia
81. New recipes
82. Old letters
83. Skirts on restroom signs
84. Breaking ruts
85. Commercials worth watching.  And re-watching.
86. Summer camp
87. Bridget Jones’s Diary
88. My diary
89. Girls’ night out
90. Wool socks
91. Insightful quotes
92. Haiku poems
93. Tip tables
94. Writing epiphanies
95. The Chronicles of Narnia
96. Care packages
97. Dated ornaments
98. Quirks
99. Career changes
100. Silence
101. Intuition
102. Observation decks
103. Personalized stationery
104. Pottery Barn catalogues
105. Piggy banks
106. Emoticons
107. A willing photographer
108. Bookmarks
109. Burrito night at Moe’s
110. Postcards
111. Wordplay

Five Hours and Eight Miles Later

The forecast called for rain “at times” that day.  Rain “at all times” would have been more accurate. 

 I had travelled 2,300 miles to hike amid evergreens, and wasn’t about to let a little—or a lot of—rain stop me.  Besides, I had waterproof hiking boots.  What more did I need?  Well, what more did I need besides my boots, water, sandwich, camera and chocolate crinkle cookies?

 The first raindrop hit the windshield as I turned east onto Highway 2; steadily increasing to a shower by the time I reached the trailhead.  Undeterred, I took a short but scenic jaunt to Bridal Veil Falls and returned to the trail junction.  The sign said two miles to Lake Serene. 

 

Two miles didn’t sound like a big deal.  After all, I was accustomed to walking more than that in the mall parking lot the week before Christmas.  I quickly learned that there are two miles, and there are two miles uphill on slippery rocks with no restrooms in sight.  

Switchback after switchback, I pursued Lake Serene.  My resolve wavered, but didn’t fail, as water began trickling into my formerly waterproof boots.  I muttered, “This lake had better be serene,” repeatedly like a Gregorian chant.

 Over a bridge, past waterfalls, and through small streams I hiked until the rocky trail evolved into a gravel path.  The path led to a picturesque and aptly named lake nestled below jagged mountain teeth shrouded in mist.  Suddenly, I forgot about the rain completely.  I forgot about everything but the lake before me.

 

Hunger and fatigue soon got the better of me.  I found a rock upon which to sit and devour my PB & J; never taking my eyes off the lake.  My eventual departure was something akin to a woman leaving a shoe store empty-handed—reluctant and determined to return someday.

 

I stomped and stumbled down the mountain with the grace of a near-sighted buffalo.  As I neared the end of the trail, I encountered a couple—my first people sighting of the day—walking toward me.  The man looked at me quizzically and inquired about my well-being.  I grumbled something about the rain and kept walking.

 Five hours and eight miles later from when I left it, I was back in the driver’s seat.  A cursory glance in the rearview mirror startled me.  In addition to being soaked, I discovered that my cheek was streaked with blackberry jam.  I bore a distinct resemblance to a waterlogged ax murderer.  The quizzical look and defensive stance from the couple on the trail suddenly made sense.

 I dug into my chocolate crinkle cookies as I pulled back onto Highway 2.  I had been warned that driving while holding a cell phone was illegal in Washington.  Nobody ever said anything about driving with cookies in hand.  Nor did anybody tell me that hiking in the rain would be the best way to capture a private moment of serenity.  I had to figure that out on my own.

Picture Perfect

Non-Coffee Drinker Made it into Washington

Last week I wore fleece daily, slept 10 hours nightly, and ate homemade cookies hourly.  I was visiting family in Washington. 

My action-packed week began the evening I arrived when my cousin, Marci, introduced me to indoor rock-climbing.

Marci is awesome…for a lot of reasons.  She is witty, beautiful and intelligent.  She recommends great books (e.g., The Power of One), has a designated candy cupboard, and welcomes the friends of her teenaged children into her home.  But I’m not talking about any of that right now.  I’m specifically referring to her rock-climbing awesome-ness.  She can climb upside-down.  No joke.  I don’t anticipate this will become a regular activity for me (mainly because it completely kicked my butt), but I’m glad I tried it.

I returned to familiar territory the next day– hiking, generally; Wallace Falls, specifically.

The sign beside Marci and me says “FALLING CAN BE DEADLY”.  I think it would be safe to say– particularly at the lookout by the upper falls– that falling will be deadly. 

I found my way back (with the help of a gas station attendant) to Mount Si on Day 3.

I reminisced about my last Mount Si hike back in August (click here for post).  A few things had changed since that hike 5 years ago.  I wasn’t as out of breath this time as I was last.  I did a better job pacing myself this time.  I stopped to take pictures when I felt like I needed to capture the moment.  I wasn’t rushing to get ahead of anybody, and I rested when I needed a break.  One thing didn’t change.  I stopped at Snoqualmie Falls afterwards to eat my sandwich in style.

I squeezed one more hike into the week (to Lake Serene), but I’m saving the details about it for a separate post.  For now, a picture:

I found a hot yoga studio for between-hike stretching.  The teaching philosophy at ’vacation studio’ was more militaristic than what I experience at my ’home studio’.  On the positive side, there was a yummy Thai restaurant adjacent to the studio…and a Barnes and Nobles bookstore across the street.

Each night I gathered around the table with my aunt and uncle.  I showed them my photos of the day and shared my hiking stories.  Aunt Linda showed me her rocks (she’s a lapidary) and shared her jewelry-making stories.  Uncle Jim jested about joining me for yoga class…or yogurt class has he called it.  My bedtime for the trip was 8:00 p.m…mostly due to exhaustion and partly due to the fact that I could.  I didn’t have anywhere I had to be.  I didn’t have anything I had to do. 

My trip was simultaneously exhausting and relaxing…if that’s possible.  I paced myself and pushed myself.  I left with a suitcase full of coffee for my peeps, books for myself, and a bag of homemade cookies.  The books nearly caused my suitcase to exceed the weight limit.  My room for captured moments was limitless.

Battle of the Bangs: Vol. 2

My friend, Sarah, challenged me to a late 80’s/early 90’s battle of the bangs (click here for the email exchange) several weeks ago.  I was convinced (and still am) that my spiral curls, gravity-defying bangs, coordinated bow, crafty silk flower earrings, and black patent kitten heels adorned with a patent bow would secure my place in 80’s history.  Sarah, however, believed that her dress covered in silver sequins/black lace, puffy netting and tulle, assymmetrical poofy skirt, boufant hair courtesy of Level 4 Rave hairspray, satin pumps with beaded toe embellishments, and a black & white rhinestone jewelry set would win the prize.  I challenged her to put her picture where her keyboard was…and she did.  Sarah and I respectfully request that you settle this dispute for us.  Please review the pictures below and cast your votes. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                  Allison- 1989                    Sarah- 1993

The Yogaversary

How can you make the practice of holding your body in poses with names like ‘awkward’ and ‘wind removal’ for 90 minutes in a 100-degree room sound appealing to somebody who’s never experienced it?  That was my challenge earlier this week as I attempted to persuade a friend to join me for a hot yoga class.  A year ago I was the person being convinced.

My regimen up until a year ago was a motley assortment of physical activities designed to mitigate the calories I routinely consumed in copious quantities of chips and salsa.  I swam, hiked, and sweat profusely all over my gym’s stepmill.  I was perfectly content with my exercise routine.  When a friend invited me to attend a hot yoga class with her, I agreed more as a friendly gesture than an actual interest in yoga…hot yoga, no less.

Thinking that yoga was the equivalent of a few good stretches, I had engaged in my full work-out (including weights) at the gym just prior to class.  My legs wobbled the entire 90 minutes.   I was less concerned about the wobbly legs than I was about the fear of passing out from the heat.  Despite these issues, I found myself enjoying the poses.  I took my survival as I sign that I should give it another try under less fatigued circumstances.  I returned the next week, and then the next.  I kept going until I actually craved the heat.

I still engage in my motley assortment of physical activities, but I now consider yoga to be the highlight of my exercise week.  My balance is better than it ever has been.  I feel strong and agile, and my back feels amazingly pliant afterwards.  My addiction, however, is just as much mental as it is physical.  I love the challenge of poses that seem to elude me (i.e., ’standing bow’).  I love the 10 minutes at the end of class when we lie in savasana and I’m able to fully relax.  I lie still, shutting out the normal noise that clutters my mind, and ponder only the good things in my life.  

There is a sign on the door into the yoga studio that says “Smiles only beyond this point”.  I think there should be a sign just like that on the way out.   That’s how I feel after class.  Maybe if I told my friend that, she would join me for class.

What Would Carrie Do?

Years ago I wrote for a publication called the Panther Press.  I composed compelling articles about hot topics like school lunches and drew political cartoons protesting school uniforms.  I aspired to be a journalist back then.  (I also wanted to be girl detective like Trixie Belden [think Nancy Drew, only better], but that didn’t happen either.)

My creative writing projects eventually took a backseat to circumscribed essays and mandated research papers.  I wrote because I had to write…and when I no longer had to write, I quit writing altogether.  I had forgotten that writing could be fun.

Years later I started watching Sex and the City.  Friends and even complete strangers told me I reminded them of Miranda, but secretly I wanted to be Carrie…and not because of Mr. Big.  Like Carrie, I wanted to sit by an open window with my laptop and turn my memories and observations into stories.  I started a blog shortly thereafter.  I daren’t compare my blog with any aspect of SATC (fictional or otherwise), but it has taught me to have fun writing again. 

I write now because I want to write.  I write so that I won’t forget about the time my sweet girl cried out for the ‘princess song’ at 3:00 in the morning, or about the summer I changed my name to Rhody.  I hope that something I write strikes a chord with somebody someday.  I write for me, but it’s also a way for me to reach out.

Earlier this week I received an offer for an official writing gig, a monthly column.  I thought about my Panther Press days.  I thought about sharing my quest for the perfect jeans with others.  I thought about Carrie Bradshaw and, just like that, I accepted.

Laryngitis: Day 4

Note provided to hair stylist for appointment today:

•  Wash: In the interest of keeping my lunch hour actually at an hour, pass.
• Length: A little shorter, but not G.I. Jane short.  Dead ends are my foe.  You are my secret weapon.
• Style: Basically the same as it is now.  It needs to be de-poofed.  If there’s anything you can do to keep the ends from flipping out (literally), that would be appreciated as well. 
• Misc: Suggestions always welcome.

[She did not seem nearly as amused reading it as I was writing it...not even a smirk.  Who doesn't want to be a secret weapon against dead ends? ]

25 Autumnal Treats

I’m like the parent who secretly tells each kid that he or she is the ‘favorite’.  In March I claim that spring is my favorite season.  I do the same for summer in June…and now that it’s September, I have no doubts that fall is my favorite season.  October is my particular favorite month (and not just for the candy).  I anticipate that this October will be no exception.  I will take the imp on her first camping trip, fly west to The Evergreen State, and have the opportunity to eat deep-fried oreos.  The following is my list of non-fried things to like about fall:

1. Pumpkin patches
2. Chilly morning hikes
3. Miniature witches and cowboys
4. Miniature candy bars
5. High school plays
6. Pumpkin pie
7. Pumpkin roll
8. Pumpkin anything
9. Crunchy leaves
10. Open windows
11. 3/4 length sleeves
12. It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown
13. Hayrides
14. Happy-faced jack-o-lanterns
15. Scary-faced jack-o-lanterns
16. Street festivals
17. “Thankful” lists
18. Plaid
19. Fall foliage
20. Candy corn
21. Bonfires
22. S’mores
23. Handprint turkeys
24. Cyber Monday
25. Perseus, Andromeda and Pegasus

Mount *Sigh*

“You probably ought to have the window rolled down when you’re driving,” Uncle Jim cautioned looking in the direction of his old maroon truck.  I laughed until I realized he wasn’t joking.  “Seriously,” he said (Aunt Linda nodding in agreement), “it needs a new muffler.  Carbon monoxide, you know.”

With that warning, I hopped into the driver’s seat, maneuvered the cranky gear-shift into reverse, and waved goodbye through the wide-open window.  NPR kept me company and the morning chill kept me alert as I sputtered down Highway 203.  I followed along, crossed over, and struggled to pronounce the local rivers (Snohomish, Skykomish, Snoqualmie).  I passed Snoqualmie Falls and silently vowed to pay my respects on the return journey. 

Fifty minutes later, I walked into my favorite direction-giving gas station…the same gas station where I had stopped 3 years earlier and even 2 years prior to that.  The same gas station where I had yet to purchase any gasoline.  Shortly thereafter, I was reading facts about my impending hike up Mount Si at the trailhead.  I was also scrambling to beat a busload of newly arrived middle schoolers to the trail.

I’m sure I had a lot of thoughts  on  my ascent,  but the only one I recall with any certainly is my desperate desire for more oxygen.  The trail started at 700 feet above sea level and ended at 4,400 feet.  I was accustomed to living, breathing, and exercising at 390 feet.  I was also accustomed to flat terrain…very, very flat.  My legs and lungs were on fire by the time I reached the rocky “haystack”.

Following a lengthy and detailed rock appraisal (size, slope, etc.), I found my ‘one’ and sat upon it.   I savored the silence, taking time to say a prayer of thanks for making it to the top, and then having that top all to myself…if only for a little while.  A beautiful vista, including Mount Ranier, lay before me, but thick fog kept me from seeing any of it.  I shared my granola bar with a persistently charming bird, and slowly sipped my fruit punch pouch.  I rested my weary legs until walking seemed like a valid option.

My descent was something akin to a child chasing a departing ice cream truck– reckless and slightly maniacal.  I ran most of the way down.  I am not a runner.  I ran because I loathe hiking downhill and hoped to expedite the process.  I ran because the descent was so steep that running willy-nilly seemed like a natural course of action.  Against all odds, I made it to the bottom of the mountain virtually unscathed.

As promised, I stopped at Snoqualmie Falls on the way back.  I claimed a spot on the observation deck and rummaged through my backpack for my post-hike snack.   Sandwich(es) in hand, I relaxed against the rails and began to absorb my surroundings.  Waterfalls, geographical wonders unknown to me back home, both transfix and soothe me.  There I sat for an indeterminate period of time…admiring the falls, devouring  my PB&J, and revelling in the sense of accomplishment that only a physical challenge can provide. 

My time at the falls (and my PB&J sandwiches) eventually came to an end.  I wrestled with the gear-shift one last time and pulled onto Highway 203…making sure to roll down my windows.