I Love Her But Sometimes She Drives Me Crazy

Today's Song: "Mother, Mother" by Tracy Bonham

I want to preface this ramble with the following assurance: I love my mother, but as is often the case with family, that doesn't mean I always like her.

So I got dumped a few weeks ago, which was bad enough, but then my mother finds out (no, I didn't tell her, the reason for which will soon be clear) and calls me up to tell me that, perhaps, if I was less "vocal in my opinions," it wouldn't have happened (are we back in the '50s, Mom?). This is without asking me what happened. She never asks what happened. She simply assumes that if I'd been dumped, then it must be my fault. I would like to point out that as a somewhat insecure woman, I do not need my mother to tell me it is my fault. That is something that I automatically assume--reviewing every word and action from every date, text, and conversation for potential pitfalls. But aren't mothers supposed to be supportive? Because mine uses such occasions to inform me of every personality flaw she believes me to have and how if I would just correct these flaws, then I would be able to keep a man in my life (never pausing to wonder if the man is actually worth keeping).

This is not the first time she's given me such old fashioned advice. In 10th grade, she lectured me for asking a guy to homecoming, because "boys will say yes even if they don't want to go out with you because they feel bad saying no." In 11th grade, she told me I couldn't go to prom with only my girlfriends (a couple of whom were in 10th grade, so those of us in 11th were going to buy tickets for them) because everyone would think I was a lesbian.

My mother has always been happier when I've had a boyfriend. As if having a boyfriend validates my existence. People talk about movies and novels giving girls unrealistic expectations about life, but I think my mother has done more damage than any number of movies or novels ever could. And I know it's not intentional. I know she feels she has my best interests in mind when she suggests that I talk too loud, am too opinionated, or any number of other flaws. Her harping means she cares. But it also means leaves me feeling self conscious of every aspect of myself and as if there is some element of my personality that makes me unlovable. Because, according to her, if there wasn't something wrong with me, then I'd be married by now like so many of my relatives and friend.

So despite my love for my mother, there is a small part of me that is very angry with her for making me feel so inadequate at a time when I'm searching within myself. I'm not saying the blame should be put solely on the guy, but the larger part of me wants to find someone who likes me for me. And just once, I'd like to hear my mother say what all my other friends said, "He's an idiot for dumping you."

New Year's Resolutions for 2012

My poor blog. I abandoned you for so long, but something about being back in school again makes me want to start blogging on a regular basis again. (Maybe it's the fact that I don't have a 9-to-5 job grinding me down on a daily and weekly basis, and making me never want to look at a computer screen in my time off.) Whatever the reason, I've decided to give this another try, new year and whatnot. This year, I feel the need to put my resolutions down in writing and hold myself accountable for them. So here goes, drumroll please, my new year's resolutions are:

1. Write in my blog on at least a weekly basis. (And make it interesting.)
2. Re-implement my lifestyle (diet and exercise) changes so that I can lose the rest of the weight I need to, and keep it off!
3. This past year, I read a high number of books (130). Next year, I want to focus on reading more classic literature (which takes longer for me to read than the brain candy on which I gorged myself this year, but will help me with my thesis).
4. Get caught back up on my favorite webcomics.
5. Plan another backpacking trip with my dad for this summer (we had to skip last summer what with both of us relocating cross-country).

That's all I can think of for now. Five seems like a good number of resolutions, so we'll stop there.

A Writer's Adventures Backpacking in Lassen: A Deer, and a Sulfur Lake, and a Bear (Oh My!)

Lassen Park Hike: Day 3 (August 4)

Route: Corral Meadows to Warren Valley to Drakesbad Ranch to Boiling Spring Lake

Miles Hiked: 6.49

Total Miles for Entire Trip: 24.2

We hiked up and over Flatiron Ridge today. Despite its name, it wasn’t flat at all. Though it wasn't nearly as difficult to make it over as "My Mountain" that I climbed last year. On our way down the mountain, we actually stumbled upon a black bear (possibly the one we’d missed seeing the day before). I saw it and immediately froze in place on the trail, hissing up at my dad to look (he was far enough behind me that he couldn’t immediately see why I had stopped). It looked up at me for a few minutes, and our eyes met as I quickly snapped a few photos and then activated video mode. Then, it returned to tearing apart the tree stump between its paws before finally ambling off. I have never been so happy to be rejected as completely uninteresting.

We relaxed and ate lunch at Drakesbad Ranch where a lodgepole chipmunk nipped my ankle and then tugged on my shirt when I almost smooshed him by scooting back in my chair while I was eating outside. He was obviously used to sneaking food from the diners on the patio and not happy that I refused to oblige him. A gray squirrel also tried to get to the food in our packs while we were eating. Luckily, some other hikers had left food in a plastic bag next to their packs and the squirrel decided that would be better pickings.

Then, as we had time and were feeling refreshed, we hiked up to the thermal springs at Boiling Spring Lake. The springs were amazing, even though we had to view them from quite a distance. The ground close to the springs was so fragile and brittle that it was liable to break beneath you and I didn't really relish to finding myself plummeting into an acid bath no matter how much dirt I'd caked on.

 

On the way back from the lake of sulfuric acid that was created by the springs, we ran across a doe and her two baby fauns. The mama was focused solely on eating bark from the fallen trees, but the babies were having fun frolicking about in the grass only about ten feet from us. Sadly, the camera lost those photos and some of the far side of the lake and Lassen Peak, but I clearly remember the painted dirt of the lake shores, which reminded me a lot of the painted desert in Arizona that we visited when I was younger.

In all, we hiked over 20 miles in three days, just to see some boiling mud. And I’d do it all again. It was totally worth it.

Spotted Today: three fence lizards, a marmot (Dad saw it; I missed it), Swallow (probably of the barn variety), lodgepole chipmunk, a squirrel (who tried to get into my pack), a doe and two fauns, a black bear (obviously a California black bear, its hair was bleached out to a light cinnamon honey blonde), incense cedar tree

A Writer's Adventures Backpacking in Lassen: The Trek Continues (Or, The Day We Almost Saw a Bear, But Didn't)

Lassen National Park Hike: Day 2 (August 3)

Current Location: Emigrant Trail on the shores of Cluster Lake

I was awakened in the morning by a ground squirrel perched on a tree next to my bivy angrily scolding me for invading his space. At least that’s how it seemed to me at 6 am. Just as Dad and I were getting up and starting to get dressed for the day, a faun crept into our campsite. He tiptoed around the perimeter as if gauging our reaction or threat level. He would turn away as if to leave and then return to hover. As if he was thinking to himself, “I really like eating at that one tree over there, but there are strange creatures near it. But I really, really wanted to eat breakfast at that tree.” In the end, he ruled us harmless and even when we moved about, finishing our morning ablutions and making breakfast (hot cocoa and oatmeal with raisins, almonds, and apples for me), he hung around. First eating bark off his favorite tree; then watching us. Then pooping. As I wrote this, he was still there, circling the campsite, observing us. Apparently, we had made a friend for life.

Later on that day: Somewhere along the Pacific Crest Trail

Miles hiked: 6.3 (9 am to 12:30 pm)

We stopped for lunch (finally) and the place was swarming with mosquitoes. Thank goodness for my bug net. I almost wished I had the body bag as well. I unintentionally spiced up my lunch of salami and cheddar with a bit of dirt and made one ant very happy.

We crossed the highest point of the PCT that morning. Throughout the park, there were few rocks and it was more difficult to find good resting places or water sources than in Yosemite. Today was much hotter than yesterday and I had to strip down to shorts and t-shirt.

Mosquito Fun Facts:

• Only females bite
• Human blood allows them to lay about a thousand more eggs than otherwise

My Own Mosquito Observations:

• They somehow manage to swarm and bite even while I’m moving

Miles Hiked: 2.5 (1 pm to 3 pm)

Today’s campsite was much better than yesterday’s. It even had a table and chairs! It was very good that we found this site because if we hadn't stopped hiking then, we’d have been where Mom was supposed to pick us up tonight instead of tomorrow. We decided we'd definitely need to do a side trip tomorrow as we were only 2.5 miles from the rendezvous point and sitting around in the campsite for four hours would be dull indeed.

Today we encountered six people, all of whom seemed to be intent upon hiking a huge percentage of the PCT. One pair was talking about hiking 25 to 30 miles each day. So not me. Another guy was carrying a small guitar or ukulele on his pack.

After lunch, we came upon two guys ahead on the trail who were behaving quite strangely. We approached them cautiously and didn't realize that they were acting that way because there was a black bear just off the trail as the trees had blocked our view. Dad was hoping we might stumble across it again as we continued to hike along the river, but I was more ambivalent. On the one hand, it would be extremely COOL to get a photo of a bear in the wild. On the other, it’d be totally UNCOOL to get attacked or eaten by a bear. And I wasn't completely convinced that the latter would not be the result of any ursine encounter of which I was part.

Just before we stumbled upon our awesome campsite, I finally spotted a marmot (my favorite animal from the area), but it was too well-shaded to get a good picture. We also saw a lot of copper butterflies dancing together and white butterflies with black dots that we hadn't seen yesterday.

Snowplant

We saw lots of pretty flowers today. We think we might have seen some spruce and fir trees as well. Dad saw a woodpecker and I spotted a hummingbird.There was also a really big bird that swooped across the trail too quickly for us to identify it.

Today, I decided that river water is MUCH better to drink than lake water. It’s colder and cleaner. I'm so glad our campsite has running water (as in a river running next to it) for us to drink and cook with. At our third log bridge of the day, we stopped and dangled our feet in the water before scaling the steep embankment. It was so cold that my feet almost went numb. But it made them feel so much better and I felt much cleaner than the day before.

Being out in nature reminds me that Mother Nature is a proponent of tough love. All around me is evidence of the cycle of life: dead trees, baby trees, mature trees.

Lassen Peak

The path today ranged from silty to packed earth to gravel. But mostly the latter, so I didn’t end up as dust-covered as yesterday. Also, the mosquitoes are gone! One guy we met on the trail said they were non-existent here and he was right.

One of my favorite parts of this campsite was that we could hear the river running since the campsite overlooked the river. The sound of rushing water was so soothing. Dad obviously agreed as he went to nap in the shade by it. This is my favorite part of camping. The simple enjoyment of being away from civilization and technology (the books and music that I brought don’t really count as they don’t place demands on my time the way phone calls and emails do, and they didn't act up or malfunction). Still, it was nice to know that tomorrow I would be able to shower and sleep in a real bed.

Dinner was fabulous (I had cheesy chicken and rice while Dad finally tried his chili) until my plastic bag sprang a leak and my food started to leak out. Luckily, Dad had more margaritas (moonshine-flavored this time) which made it seem slightly less important.

Spotted Today: Faun, woodpecker, hummingbird, ground squirrel, marmot, copper butterflies, black-spotted butterflies

A Writer's Adventures Backpacking in Lassen: An Extended Beginning (Or, The Day of the Butterflies)

Lassen National Park Hike: Day 1 (August 2)
Route: Emigrant Pass & Hwy 89 to Cluster Lake (Emigrant Pass was once a wagon trail. We also joined with the Pacific Crest Trail briefly).

Miles Hiked: 8.91 (12:30 pm to 6 pm)
Today, we walked through whole fields of mule’s ears, with the occasional Indian paintbrush. There were also lots of purple trumpet flowers along the sides of the path and some white flowers that looked like little clusters of stars and reminded me of the dandelions when they go to seed. These last must be very sweet and tasty as the butterflies loved them. There were also lots of tiny pink fuzzy flowers that liked to grow in the middle of the path.

There appeared to be three types of trees in this forest: Aspen, which have tissue paper leaves that fluttered and shimmered in the breeze, creating a very soothing sound; Ponderosa pine, which we encountered at Yosemite last summer; and Jeffrey pine, which, if we’ve identified it correctly, have huge pine cones—many of them are larger than my dad's foot.

We had to hike more than a third of our total planned distance today before we finally got out of the “Restricted” area that we weren’t allowed to camp in. But down by Cluster Lake, good spots to camp were few and far between. Plus, fires were prohibited along the entire trail, so we couldn’t enjoy any campfires this year.

Today we passed a grand total of five people on the trail. The trail itself varied between silty sand and hard packed dirt. The trail was dry and dusty, so even though we’d only been trekking through the backcountry for less than six hours, I felt dirty and disgusting, and my feet and ankles were caked with dirt. We only had one river crossing today and I am proud to say that I managed not to fall in. (Though perhaps a dip would have helped with the dirt.)

There were numerous lakes in this part of the park, but very few rivers or creeks. It was more of a forested area, with fewer wide-open meadows, mountains, and rock formations than we saw at Yosemite last summer. The mountains were formed from volcanic rock and looked very different from the ones we saw at Yosemite. Much of what we hiked through early in the afternoon looked recently burned (which would explain the camping and campfire restrictions).

The afternoon was warm when the breezes died down, but otherwise quite pleasant. Later it finally cooled down, and I soon needed my coat. I couldn't wait to wash up after supper!

My dad made all of our freeze-dried food for the trip. Tonight I have chili (surprisingly good for freeze-dried meat) and Dad has Thai chicken curry. We also shared Mango Margaritas. (Boy did we need those after the trek and setting up the tents.) 

I used my new Google Sky phone app—yes, I brought my phone, iPod shuffle, and nook with me—to actually identify some constellations that evening, including Hercules. Outside of the city, the sky always amazes and fascinates me with how many stars one can see.

In addition to the upgraded food this year, we also had new one-person tents (Dad says it's a "bivy," not a tent, but it functions like a mini-tent and is much easier to pitch and take down) that have nets so we can see the sky while asleep, bug net headgear to keep the mosquitoes at bay, and I hada “go-girl” that I never did quite master. There is definitely an art to peeing while standing up.

Spotted Today: Ground squirrels (three or four), juncos (four or five), one nuthatch (a bird that walks up the trees), two stellar jays, two woodpeckers (which we heard, but couldn’t spot), lots of butterflies (including swallowtail, monarch, red admiral, larkin admiral, painted lady, and coppers)

A Preface: Getting There and Historical Tidbits

Reflection Lake View - Lassen Volcanic National Park, 1915

Mudflow - Loomis Volcanic National Park - B.F. Loomis Phot

Lassen National Park Hike: 
Day 0

The preparation for this year’s trip began with a two-hour search for my lightweight, zip-off pants. Apparently there is a gremlin living in my closet, because my pants had somehow found their way beneath all of my clean sheets and towels in the very back corner of my closet. This was not the most auspicious start for the trip. Luckily, the rest of the trip went a bit more smoothly (other than a few leaky food bags).

Lassen Peak in Light Eruption - B.F. Loomis, 1915

The most interesting part of Lassen’s history is that they didn’t originally know that Lassen Peak was a volcano. In fact, before the eruption of Lassen Peak in 1914, it was believed that there were no active volcanoes on the U.S. mainland. It was such a novel occurrence that people were actually trying to climb the mountain while it was erupting to see what was happening. One man, Benjamin F. Loomis managed to take a number of photos of the eruptions which are now on display at the park’s visitors center. The volcanic activity played a large part in the area surrounding the peak becoming the national park that exists today. For more information, I recommend Footprints in Time: A History of Lassen Volcanic National Park by Douglas H. Strong.

Title This! (or, yes, I am a complete and total nerd)

Today I went in search of “happy” news after a friend shared a number of news stories about kids dying or killing themselves. (And, honestly, who wouldn’t need a pick-me-up after that? There is a reason I don’t watch the nightly news.) During this quest, I stumbled across the following article about the winner of the “Oddest Book Title” contest. I love the fact that such a contest exists; it amuses me almost as much as the titles that won (my favorite came in fifth: Governing Lethal Behavior in Autonomous Robots). It reminds me of the time that my friend and former college roommate and I created a faux anthology of “stories” that was really just a list of the fun and crazy titles, because we never got around to writing the stories. As a writer I have always loved titles. I won’t judge a book by its cover, but I will judge it by its title. And I hate when a title is more intriguing than the book itself. A few years ago I was disappointed to learn that marketing departments often title books rather than writers…and I stopped picking up interestingly titled novels without in-depth perusals. It also saddened me because I've always titled my stories before writing them. I can't work on a story if it doesn't have a title. It might change, but I have to title it. When I was in school, I titled just about anything I wrote on note paper. After all, there's that huge space at the top of each page that practically screams "Title Me!" One of my biggest pet peeves with art and poetry is when someone calls a piece "Untitled." Why should I spend time looking at something and trying to figure it out if you couldn't even be bothered to title the damn thing in the first place?


The lesson: Titles rock. And if it's odd enough, you could win a prize!

"If life could be like he sees it on tv, he wouldn't have to hurt so bad."

That line from one of my favorite songs by The Vandals just seemed an appropriate way to open this post.

I got the most recent season dvds of Psych and How I met your mother last week, so I spent the last few days having marathon watching sessions (until my bedroom dvd player died, that is. poor overly used player, may it rest in peace). It reminded me of just how AWESOMELY HILARIOUS they both are. There are also two scenes from the end of the season of HIMYM that just really hit me. So I'm posting them.

Ted: "I'm gonna say something out loud that I've been doing a pretty good job of not saying out loud lately. What you and Tony have, what I thought for a second you and I had, what I know Lily and Marshall have. I want that. I do. I keep waiting for it to happen and waiting for it to happen and... I guess I'm just... I'm tired of waiting. And that is all I'm going to say on that subject."
Stella: "You know I once talked my way out of a speeding ticket?
Ted: "Really?"
Stella: "I was heading upstate to my parents' house, doing like 90 on this country road, and I got pulled over. So this cop gets out of his car, swaggers on over and says, 'Young lady, I have been waiting for you all day.' So I looked up at him and I said, 'I'm so sorry, officer. I got here as fast as I could.' "
Ted: "For real?"
Stella: "No, it's an old joke. I know that you're tired of waiting. And you may have to wait a little while more, but she's on her way, Ted, and she's getting here as fast as she can."

It reminds me of how one of my friends is always saying that the person we're meant to be with is being prepared for us, in the same way that we're being prepared for them and we will meet when we're both finally ready for it.

Ted: "How am I going to come back from this?"
Lily: "Do you really want to come back from this?"
Ted: "What do you mean?"
Lily: "Architecture is killing you, Ted, and it's killing us to watch it killing you. You're like that goat with the wash cloth. You want it so bad. And every time the world tries to take it away from you, you keep grabbing it. You know what? It's just a wash cloth. Why do you even want it?"
Ted: "Because I have to be an architect. That's the plan."
Lily: "Screw the plan. I planned on being a famous artist. Marshall planned on being an environmental lawyer. Robin planned on being a TV reporter...Barney planned on being a violinist...Look, you can't design your life like a building. It doesn't work that way. You just have to live it and it will design itself."
Ted: "So I should just do nothing?"
Lily: "No. Listen to what the world is telling you to do and take the leap."

This hits so close to home because I struggled with this a lot the past year. I planned on being a writer. But I can't support myself with that yet. And being a proofreader isn't getting me anywhere. I've moved backwards the past year rather than forwards. I used to do proofing and editing and writing. Now I'm solely a proofer. I can't see any way forward in this field that's going to make me happy in five or ten years. So I'm taking the leap. I'm trying something new. If I'm lucky I won't plummet to the ground with my dreams shattered around me. Either way, it's a huge risk and a lot of work. But I know it's the only way I'll be able to do more than survive.

For Shame!

Between the hectic chaos of application deadlines and the holidays, I've been remiss in posting. I'm going to try and be better about that and about working on my novels now that I've entered waiting room limbo. As deadlines pass, I'm struck with paranoia that I've somehow forgotten some vital part of my applications and none of them will be considered. But I've double and triple checked, so this is patently false (I hope!).

Super Short Sum-Up:

My team let me down in the Big 12 Championship, but coming within 1 point and 1 second of beating the 3rd ranked team when you're only ranked 21 is pretty damn good in my opinion. Plus, everyone who scoffed at me for wanting to see Colt McCoy face Ndamukong Suh had to eat their words. And Suh kept McCoy from winning the Heisman, which made me perversely happy, especially with the incredibly rude and smug behavior of the Texas fans after the game.

The pinnacle of the night was the elevator ride after the game. We piled in with all Husker fans and who should get on at the next floor but TOM OSBORNE. TOM OSBORNE and his wife stood RIGHT NEXT to me in the elevator. I wanted to pull out my phone and snap a picture, but he looked heartbroken and I didn't want to be that fan. So instead I stood perfectly still and silent, while inside I was jumping up and down, shrieking in glee and cartwheeling (because the only place I can cartwheel without killing myself is in my mind): "I'mridinganelevatorwithTOMOSBORNE!I'mridinganelevatorwithTOMOSBORNE!
I'mridinganelevatorwithTOMOSBORNE!I'mridinganelevatorwithTOMOSBORNE!"
If you don't know who Tom Osborne is (and shame on anyone who doesn't), he is the GOD of Nebraska football. He lead us to three National Championships in the 90s and retired two years before I went to college at UNL. And I rode in an elevator with him!

Christmas was spent in Lincoln. Snowed in. Visiting my grama in the hospital every day. Possibly my least favorite way of spending the holiday. Though better than the last time we had to as my grama was merely recovering from surgery, not battling against cancer like my grampa. The good news: I still remember how to drive in over a foot of snow. The bad news: hospital food instead of a homemade Christmas dinner.

I picked up a cold just in time for my ten-hour drive home, which turned into a 12 hour drive home thanks to a traffic slowdown that caused me to spend an hour crossing the Oklahoma/Kansas border, which put me in OK City during rush hour.

New Year's was great. A vast improvement on last year's Bridget Jones-esque celebration. Friends, food, fun and exploding bottles of champagne.

It was followed by cold recovery, shopping and Sherlock Holmes (FAB-U-LOUS--except for that evil cliffhanger ending!).

In the midst of which God decided that as the rains this fall didn't succeed in washing Dallas off the map and the snow at Christmas didn't bury us, that he would FREEZE us out of existence. Last weekend saw the coldest temperatures Dallas has experienced in twenty years. A good 25-30 degrees below normal. So I stayed inside all weekend because temperatures in the single digits are only acceptable in Nebraska or other northern parts. I didn't move south so that I could continue to freeze my ass off. Apparently I'll have to move to Tahiti to return warmth to my hands and other extremities.

And that brings us to the present day. And a weekend that promises going out with friends and marathons of Psych and How I Met Your Mother (as I just got the most recent seasons in the mail from Amazon this week).

I hope your holidays were warmer and merrier than mine. One thing I do know: It won't take much for 2010 to be a better year than 2009. I just wish it was April already.

Today's Migraine is Brought to You by the Following Sponsors

The 700-page Manuscript accompanying the 300-page book-to-be. A beast of a proofreading project that landed on my desk this morning only an hour before I found out that I'd be filling in for one of my co-workers who was out sick (about 15 minutes before the meeting I had to run in her stead took place). So instead of buckling down and getting a jumpstart on the project, I had a day filled with delays and interruptions (and the only slightly dissipated paint fumes from yesterday). Part of me is hoping for a snow day tomorrow so that I can work on it from home instead. And I found out that I have to complete the 69 hours of proofreading on before next Wednesday (which is complicated by the fact that our office Christmas party is Tuesday afternoon).

And the 75-minute, three-plus accident obstacle course (otherwise known as my usually 25-minute commute home). First, the major street I take to the interstate is down to one northbound lane because of what seemed to be a party of cops and firetrucks and one injured car. After I clear that hurdle, an idiot decides to change lanes while driving next to me and nearly knocks me off the road. Then, 635 was literally a parking lot. It look me twenty minutes to go one mile to the first exit ramp on my side of town. I get off the interstate to find that someone has apparently knocked out the signal (flashing lights and four-way stops are never a good combination) on the north side of the bridge. So I have to go back west on the frontage road to the last major road that goes north, which of course does not connect to the eastbound road I had planned on taking home, so I have to go an extra mile north before I can finally get back east again. All of this appears to have been caused by the fact that the meteorologists predicted that there MIGHT be a slight CHANCE of snow TOMORROW. Which is only scary to me because apparently nobody in Texas can drive when there's not a bloody cloud in the whole freaking sky. (And the sun hadn't even gone down yet, either.)

The one ray of sun in my day: I turned on my blinker to move to the far right lane on the interstate, fully expecting it would be at least a mile before I'd be able to actually get over, and the guy next to me signals for me to roll down my window. Curious, I do. [[It is important to note here that I recently acquired a Nebraska Alumni license plate frame and decal for my car. And the following song is stuck in my head: "All I wanna do is to thank you, even though I don't know who you are. You let me change lanes while I was driving in my car."]] The guy tells me that he was an '87 Husker and that he'll gladly let me go in front of him. I respond that he's "awesome" and quickly move over. I look forward to sharing that particular story with my Texas-loving grandad who predicted that if I put pro-Nebraska stuff on my car down here, it would end up vandalized. So in preparation for Saturday:

HUSKERS UNITE!

Follow-up Note: I've decided that Thai food is by far the best cure for a migraine. Though caffeine comes in a close second.

Pensive Thoughts

I've found myself thinking a lot about my gram lately. I'm not exactly sure why, but maybe it's because I think she'd be happy and proud of what I'm attempting to do (if only I can get through this entire process without losing what's left of my mind). As I've mentioned before, I love the movie Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium. I especially love that it's not truly a kid's movie. It's more about figuring out who you are and accepting the tough parts of life, like losing those you love. The speech that Mr. Magorium gives to Molly Mahoney (who is about my age and going through a similar crisis) before he dies is so poignent. It really hits me and always makes me think of my gram and what a wonderful life she lived before she died my senior year of college. It reminds me not to be sad about it. To remember all the good times we had rather than all the future times we didn't.

"When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He's written, 'He dies.' That's all. Nothing more. No fanfare. No metaphor. No brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is: 'He dies.' It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with 'he dies.' And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with disphoria. And I know it's only natural to be sad, but not because of the words 'he dies' but because of the life we saw prior to the words. I've lived all five of my acts, Mahoney, and I'm not asking you to be happy that I must go. I'm only asking that you turn the page, continue reading, and let the next story begin. And if anyone every asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder and end it with a simple and modest 'He died.'" - Mr. Magorium

And now it's time for bed, because I've completed two applications and I might just be able to sleep tonight.

My Favorite Time of Year

The past four days have been quintessentially perfect fall days. Brilliant blue skies. No clouds. A light breeze. It feels crisp outside. Like the first time you crack open a brand-new book. There's something special about it. So cheering. Like maybe there's something right with the world. I have to open my moonroof and roll down the windows on my commute home. The perfect weather for a bowl of chili, a beer and a good game of football. Yesterday I got two out of three. My beloved team is breaking my heart. This is not unusual. I grew up during the era of amazing Nebraska football and it was so difficult to watch them play under Solich and Callahan while I was in school there. But I've stood by them through all of that. And I continue to stand by them; I am a husker through and through. But that doesn't mean I like them very much right now. They've let me down yet again. Whenever I start to think, "Hey we're good again!" They have a game like yesterday. And I want to shake them. And I ask myself why do I care? Why do I let myself care so much? Why can't I stop watching and caring about college football? Possibly for the same reason I can't completely right off my attempts to find a boyfriend. Despite the mountain of evidence from my past experiences that boys are unreliable and just cause trouble, I continue to search for "the one." In the past few months, my single friends have been increasingly getting boyfriends and it's making me feel more and more like a crazy old spinster. Except that I don't even have a cat (Allergic!) or dog for companionship.
In the meantime, I'm hoping for more beautiful fall days; I've had enough rain to last me for quite awhile.

My Social Life Got Shown Up By a Seven-Year-Old

It's amazing how time gets away from me and yet it seems like I've done nothing but eat, sleep and work. First, Mac visited for a weekend before going back to Tucson for more school; then two days later, my mom flies to town to pack up my parents' storage unit and have everything moved to another storage unit in Nebraska (where they plan to retire when they're tired of San Fran). Then, I made my first solo road trip to Nebraska over Labor Day weekend and finally saw my grama (who is having major memory issues, which makes me sad) and my cousin (who just started college and so makes me feel old--didn't she just learn how to drive the other day?). Then I came home and threw myself into all that grad school prep stuff because it must be done and done now.
All of which brings us to this weekend, which I'm spending at my aunt's and uncle's house across town babysitting my two littlest cousins; one is nine, the other seven. And my seven-year-old cousin has a "boyfriend." So it's official. I'm going to be a spinster old maid. Apparently I'm twenty years behind on this whole dating thing.

Another Year Older...and hopefully wiser?

I finally turned 27 this past week. For the first time since I turned 22 (such an anticlimactic age), I was actually looking forward to it. Because the entire year I was 26 sucked--majorly sucked. So I'm ready to turn over a new page in the book of my life. A clean page. In a way it feels like another chance. I've got a new job and for the first time in a year and a half, I like what I'm doing. I believe in the company I work for. I'm not spending all day proofing ads that everyone just throws in their trash with barely a glance for a company that steals people's money (albeit in a legal way) and for an agency that is slowly destroying my soul. It's demoralizing to get up and go to a job every day that you hate. That you know you're not great at and that nobody truly appreciates the work you do. My title at my previous full-time job may have been Copy Editor, but I (and all the others in the proofing department) were treated as the agency scapegoats. Because problems weren't solved unless blame was apportioned. It was less about fixing errors than about never making them, unless you were an account rep and then your errors were never your own; it was our fault for not figuring out they were errors.
But back to now. Now I'm at a job I like. The people work together. The goal is to produce the best product possible; not who can make the most people look bad in order to work their way up the corporate ladder fastest. And my co-workers like me. They like how I do my job. And if I find something in a later round of proofing, nobody ever says, "Why didn't you find it before?" Despite the fact that I'm commuting on the interstate now (something I've always tried to avoid) and my commute is sometimes 45 minutes or more, I don't dread the trip because I like the job I get to do when I arrive.
But I'm not forgetting everything I learned while I was unemployed. I don't want to stay in the rat race of Corporate America for the rest of my life. So I'm still going to apply to grad school. It's just that now I don't have to do so while sleeping on my grama's couch. It's a nice feeling to know that I'm paying my own way again. As I've mentioned before, I enjoy my self-sufficiency. I always have. So here's to a new year (because the one in January did not come in with a bang). It can't be worse than the last, so I'm letting my hopes become buoyant again.

A Writer's Adventures Backpacking in Yosemite: Hiking Out, A Return to Normalcy, Plus a Recap

Yosemite Park Hike: Day 4 Miles Hiked: 4.6 Total Miles for Entire Trip: 26 (this includes the nearly two miles we had to hike to get from the Trailhead to the Visitor’s Center where Mom is picking us up)
Today we hike out of the valley and back to civilization. The wind is completely gone. It was a perfect morning for fly fishing, except that today the fish are refusing to bite. This is because I have finally managed to figure out the whole casting thing. Dad assured me that had there been fish, I would have caught them. That is just my luck. I was happy just to know that I’d finally succeeded at it, though. That in itself was enough of an accomplishment for me. We tried fishing again later on before heading out of the canyon, but still got nothing. It’s my belief that the bears ate all the fish and that’s why we didn’t find either one (my dad had a bear with cubs visit his campsite on a hike on another trail in Yosemite earlier this summer). On our way out, we found a number of trout feeding about a mile or so downstream, mocking us.

We finally reach civilization and take advantage of the bathrooms in the campground to tidy ourselves up a bit before heading to the grill to have what Dad has called the worst hamburgers ever. While Dad gets the food, I talk to an older guy (probably in his fifties or so) who has hiked from Yuba River and is on his way to Mono Lake. It seems he is a perpetual backpacker who mails himself provisions to pick up at different stops along the way. I’ve decided that apparently the backcountry attracts the most interesting characters. On our way from the grill to the Visitor’s Center, we also meet a bearded hippie and his girlfriend, who are backpacking the entire Pacific Crest Trail, from Mexico to Canada, though they admit to cheating and taking a shuttle from one area of Yosemite Park to Tuolomne Meadows.

All the rocks/mountains in Yosemite are granite. A long time ago, a huge pocket of magma bubbled up under the earth here and after it cooled, pushed its way to the surface. As it came up, the pressure caused the rocks to crack and form the mountains and valleys of the park. And then the glaciers came through and carved the land up even more. (This is a much simplified version of events, for more in-depth explanations see Huber’s book Geographical Ramblings in Yosemite.) In much of the area we hiked through you could still find sheets of granite not far beneath the dirt. It makes for a landscape unlike anything I’ve seen before. In the areas where the ground is too moist for trees to grow are these vast meadows through which the main branch of the river winds. Where the trees are thick, the dirt is loose and silty, in some places it is nearly as fine as sand (and as difficult to walk on).

My favorite moment of the day is when Mom pulls the car into the lot and hands me the bag with my clean clothes. I run to the bathroom and change into new (CLEAN!) clothes for the first time in 4 days. It's just about the best feeling in the world.

A Writer's Adventures Backpacking in Yosemite: Longest Day Ever (But Only in Our Minds)

Yosemite Park Hike: Day 3 Miles Hiked: 5.2, 5 hours
Today we got to hike back down “My Mountain.” It is slower going than the hike up (I have to watch my steps more carefully) but not nearly so tiring. It felt like the longest hike so far (we actually passed our first night’s campsite before finding one for tonight), but mileage says otherwise (this is probably because we meandered around more on the hike up but we simply came straight down on the way out).

As much as I’m enjoying the surroundings and this experience, I am glad to be headed back out tomorrow. I feel dirty, smelly and gross at this point. The top three things I’m looking forward to most on my return:
3. Bathroom (ability to wash and dry my hands at any time!)
2. Deodorant (starting to think it’d be worth being eaten by a bear)
1. SHOWER! (the special bathing wipes my dad brought only work so well (surprisingly well, in fact) but at a point it all becomes an exercise in futility and merely seems that I am moving the dirt around rather than actually removing it)
See? Communing with nature does make you aware of the important things in life. I don’t miss my computer or internet or TV. I do wish I had another book as I finished the one I was allowed to bring (the lightest book I had: Then Comes Seduction by Mary Balogh) earlier this afternoon while Dad went fishing.

Today’s campsite (which took Dad forever to find; as I mentioned before, we passed the campsite we used the first night, so we’ve only got a couple hours of hiking left for tomorrow) is probably the best yet. There’s a large flat rock that not only shields us from the path, but has a great view of the river and valley; making it the perfect place to reflect (or read and nap).

The wind is gusting today, making it cold, even in the sun. It also seems to be making me thirstier. And it makes fly fishing harder. Even Dad has declared failure for today (he caught an even bigger tree than on the first day!). The wind always seems to come up when I get the release right, making my line blow back in on itself. I can see how it would be very relaxing once one had mastered it, but it is not so for me yet. The wind roars through the valley like a wild beast; I can hear it coming before it reaches me, and then continuing on down the valley before it circles around and returns.

Later. We’ve moved to another campsite, maybe 100 feet from the first. The first site was great in the afternoon, but it was in the path of the worst wind and more shaded, so it got colder earlier, before the sun had even sunk below the mountain tops. Our new site has the best fire ring of any we’ve found. It’s nice being back in the lower part of the valley, near Tuolomne Meadows as the mosquitoes are back to normal levels. Tonight for some reason I have the stupid “Soft Kitty” song from Big Bang Theory stuck in my head and it’s driving me nuts.

I finally stayed up late enough for all the stars to come out (the sun goes down early because of the mountains, but it doesn’t get fully dark until nearly 10 pm). It was like being in a planetarium. The edge of the sky along the mountain tops is a little lighter than the rest and the whole thing is circular like a dome and I’m the center of it all. I’ve always loved star-gazing, though I’m lucky if I can even find the big and little dippers (we did!) and Orion’s belt. (Sadly, Orion is not in the sky at this time of year, we did find Leo…possibly. I maintain we did as it is my sign.) It brings everything back into perspective. It relaxes me and makes me feel as if my problems are not as huge as they sometimes seem.

Spotted Today: Mountain Chickadee, Lazli Bunting Bluebird (possibly, we’re not sure, though it was definitely a bluebird), Deer (and I actually had my camera!), Painted Lady or California Tortoiseshell Butterflies (couldn’t get a close enough look at them to tell which they were for sure), Belding’s ground squirrel.

A Writer's Adventures Backpacking in Yosemite: Are We at the Top Yet?

Yosemite National Park Hike: Day 2 (or, the day I fell in a river and climbed a mountain) Part 1
This morning when I went down to the stream to get water, I saw a doe on the other side, not more than 15 feet from me. It seemed as if she was trying to decide whether she wished to drink the water or leap across it to test out the other side. Then she looked up and we stared at each other for what felt like forever. Unfortunately, my camera was at camp. (Luckily, I caught one later on. See above.) Then she turned and went back the way she'd come to the shady side of the meadow beyond the forest the stream ran through. As we were finishing loading our pack at camp this morning, a gold mantel ground squirrel started circling the campsite in hopes we would leave some food behind. Not a very lucky squirrel after all (we are good practitioners of Leave No Trace).

In order to get back onto the trail after leaving our campsite, it was necessary to cross the many different branches of the river. Most of the crossings have rocks or sturdy logs to help one across. One crossing, which I'd encountered the day before on our fishing treks, had only two very wobbly logs. I already hated this particular crossing from the day before (and that had been without a twenty-pound pack on my back). Today, of course, it is wetter and as I reach the halfway point, I lose my already precarious balance, slip on the wet wood and my right leg ends up in the water, between the rocks on the bottom of the stream and the log. The only good things were that neither my pack nor my camera got wet. My shoes however felt like portable lakes for the next hour or so. Luckily my pants and socks were both of a special quick-dry material, so I didn't stay soaking for long. Still, it was about the least fun thing to happen, until we reached the mountain.

Earlier, my dad had mentioned that we were almost to the end of the lower canyon and did I want to go up the mountain to the upper part as we would have a really awesome view of the valley looking back? The first day's hike had gone so well that I said "Sure, that sounds like fun."

Now it's 1 pm and we've hiked 4.32 miles and are about 3/4 of the way up the mountain. As I informed my dad moments ago, the next time someone asks if I want to "hike up the mountain at the end of the valley," my immediate answer will NOT be "Oh sure, that sounds like fun." However, it is amazing sitting here (resting) most of the way up the mountain and looking back across the valley we just hiked through, in less than two days. (It has no specific name as it is merely the beginning of the Donahue Pass. I have decided that it shall henceforth be called "My Mountain.") We can see the river snaking back through the meadows and the trees and rocks on either side. As we’re resting, we see a guy probably in his late twenties or early thirties who is climbing the mountain barefoot. He is followed shortly by a guy with a Mohawk who had camped near us in the backpacker’s camp in Tuolomne Meadows the night before hiking in and who is hiking the entire John Muir Trail, which goes from Yosemite Valley to Mount Whitney.


Part 2 Miles Hiked: 2.1 (since 1 pm; daily total: 6.42 miles in 5.5 hours up 2,146 ft) Current Elevation: 10,258 ft above sea level
We have reached the pinnacle of our journey: the top of “My Mountain,” which is actually a valley with a glacier/snowmelt-fed lake (which goes on to become the river snaking through the basin of Lyell Canyon that we’ve been hiking next to for the last day and a half) and the start of the Donahue Pass. We are so far up into the mountains that the valley is no longer visible. There is actually snow on the ground near our campsite and the mountains with the glacier are at the far end of the lake.
The piles of rocks at the foot of the cliffs along with the glacier make me wonder what it must have all looked like hundreds of years ago when the rocks were part of the cliff face and the glacier reached into this valley and the other glacier that we saw earlier was probably connected to this one (all of this is complete speculation, but I did purchase Geological Ramblings in Yosemite by N. King Huber so that I can find out the truth of it all). The water here is crystal clear, not muddy brown like I’m used to from growing up in the Midwest and fishing in Minnesota and Texas. Nor is it like the strange, ethereal blue of the silty, glacier run-off streams I’ve seen in Alaska. It is so clear that as my dad and I stand at the edge of the lake (and earlier the rivers and streams) we can actually spot trout floating in the river, feeding from 30 to 40 feet away.

The valley is picturesque, but crowded. Everywhere I turn, there is another tent pitched. Most the mountains we’ve hiked by and up and through are nameless, but close examination of the GPS reveals that we are camped beside Tarn Lake and the peak on the far end of the lake—a mere 2.8 miles that we will NOT be hiking--is Mount Lyell and Lyell Glacier, the highest peak in Yosemite Park, to the right of which is Earhart Point (which has boulder-type cliffs rather than the pointed peak of Mt. Lyell). Earlier today we saw McClure Glacier when we reached the top of “My Mountain” before continuing on into the upper valley. Donahue Pass continues around the lake, up the cliffs on the other side and then behind the ridge to the left of Mt. Lyell (we are also NOT hiking this).

Despite the fact that the mountains surrounding us are probably a third covered in snow, it is warm enough for shorts and short sleeves. Tonight our campsite is surrounded by white bark pine (these have a five-needle structure), hemlock and the same Lodgepole pine from the day before. There is much more variety in the trees up here than in the valley below. We even saw a grove of aspen as we climbed up the mountain.

Thanks to the flooding in the Upper Lyell Canyon, which has created marshy swampy areas—ideal mosquito breeding grounds—the mosquitoes are AWFUL and surround me if I sit or stand in one place for too long (more than 20 seconds). Despite the fact that I’m wearing bug repellant, they have been hovering around me—sitting or standing—and so now I am walking in circles around the fire pit as I write this in what has become a futile attempt to evade the swarm of bugs that has formed around me. I feel like Pigpen from Peanuts with my own cloud that follows my every step. The bugs aren’t biting me (much) as I have coated all exposed skin with bug dope, but it apparently doesn’t keep them away. They are waiting to see if my movements will expose an area of skin (however miniscule) that they might attack, buzzing in my ears and flying up behind my glasses and in my mouth. I’ve had to take refuge in the tent and I really want the mosquito-net hat I saw a guy wearing earlier when he and his friends passed through our campsite. Even now as I’m writing this inside the tent, they are clinging to the mesh of it and trying to get to me, which doesn’t make me want to leave it anytime soon.

One hour and one nap later. The bugs are actually less bothersome by the lake than at the campsite. I’ve still caught nothing but grass and my own line (creating a knot so badly entangled that Dad just pulled the fly off). Fly fishing does not look especially difficult, but apparently years of casting with a spinning rod have ingrained a casting motion so deeply into me that I am having difficulty overcoming it despite the fact that I haven’t fished for years. While I scared away the fish and tied my line in knots, Dad caught two more trout (one brown and one brook).

Spotted Today: Clark’s Nutcracker, Tri-color Blackbird, Junco, White-Crested Sparrow, Yellow Swallow-tailed Butterflies (I’ve decided these all have ADHD, they flitter around without stopping and fly circles around me, pretending to alight on flowers and rocks, but then rushing off again before I can snap a photo), Lustrous Coppers, yellow-bellied marmot, gold mantel ground squirrel, Belding’s ground squirrel, deer (all does), chipmunks, chickaree squirrel.

A Writer's Adventures Backpacking in Yosemite: The Trek Begins

Yosemite National Park Hike: Day 1 Miles Hiked: 7.78 miles (includes scouting for fishing sites without our packs) Elevation: 894 ft up from Tuolomne Meadows (we started off 8600 feet above sea level when we entered the lower part of the Canyon)

We're on the John Muir Trail to Upper Lyell Canyon. Today we hiked through forested areas, suddenly emerging in vast meadows spotted with giant boulders. It feels like we're surrounded by a bowl of trees with mountains rising up on all sides. In some places, instead of meadows, the ground is just rock with boulders strewn about and the bleached bones of dead trees that make it seem like Mother Nature's graveyard. The river changes without warning from quiet and meandering through the open meadows to bubbling brooks to roaring rapids in the wooded areas. The trees all look so different, but upon inspection later in the day we realize that they are actually all Lodgepole Pine. Sadly, there are no giant Sequoia or Redwood in this area of the park. Many living trees are bent, growing parallel to the ground—perhaps caused by the weight of the snow as it melts and compacts. There are also lots of saplings in the open parts of the forest, showing how Mother Nature replaces what she destroys. The treed areas remind me of my summers in Minnesota when I was growing up. The open areas and mountains remind me of Alaska, but greener and more varied.

Our campsite is surrounded by Lodgepole Pine. The bark on the older trees is a golden honey color with darker reddish streaks where black bears have clawed to try and get at the sticky sap inside, which looks like a thick, gunky, cloudy yellow honey where it's clotted on the outer bark. The younger gray-bark trees have no claw marks, suggesting perhaps that the bears only like the sap of the older trees as looking at the needle structure has revealed that these are all the same type of tree (not my first guess). Lodgepole pines have a two-needle structure, produce short, stubby cones and the needles themselves taste of gin. My dad said all we needed was some vodka to make ourselves martinis. It is warmer in this campsite than it was in the backpackers' camp in Tuolomne Meadows where we spent our first night before hiking in, despite the fact that we are at a higher elevation, or perhaps the slightly higher elevation helps as cold air likes to sink and sit in the bottoms of the valleys.

The aspen glow turns the air reddish at sunset and makes for an amazing view of the rocky cliff directly above our campsite. While I tended the campsite fire, Dad went for a walk and found trout, deer and a Sierra White-Tailed Jack Rabbit out at dusk. We made our first fly fishing attempt that afternoon. Dad caught six fish (three brook trout, one baby rainbow trout and two brown trout), two trees and a rock. I caught lots of weeds and a grass island. On our way back to our campsite, we saw a deer feeding on a bush (which Dad later said was probably some sort of willow tree).

Spotted Today: yellow-bellied marmots (which look like beavers and make a strange chirping sound; also they seem to love posing for pictures); chipmunks (possibly alpine, Lodgepole or shadow, it's difficult to be sure as they run when spotted and like to hide in tree stumps); Belding's ground squirrels (sit up and dart around, freezing when they suspect danger. At first I thought they might be prairie dogs); Juncos (my dad's gotten quite good at spotting birds. I am much less so.); trout (they look like twigs floating in the river when they're feeding); mountain chickadees (these birds like to crawl on the trees); Clark's nutcrackers (another bird, this one likes the tops of the trees); lustrous copper and Boisduval's blue butterflies (they often actually remained still on flowers and rocks long enough to identify and photograph); and gold mantel ground squirrels (slightly smaller than the chipmunks).