Putting Down Roots

True love does not:
'save'
'rescue'
'change'
Nor is it 'co-dependent' or 'needy' or 'demanding'
True love is not 'drama'
It is happiness, joy, peace.
It is mutual respect, natural growth
Not stretching or pulling the other
But offering fertile soil
So each of you
Put down roots
Reach, and climb, and soar

Wasted Space

Just had a memory of my Dad on the day we buried him. Then I found this short piece. Made me laugh a little, because I had a similar thought:

Negative Space
by Ron Koertge

My dad taught me to pack: lay out everything. Put back half. Roll things
that roll. Wrinkle-prone things on top of cotton things. Then pants, waist-
to-hem. Nooks and crannies for socks. Belts around the sides like snakes.
Plastic over that. Add shoes. Wear heavy stuff on the plane.
We started when I was little. I'd roll up socks. Then he'd pretend to put me in the suitcase, and we'd laugh. Some guys bond with their dads shooting hoops or talking about Chevrolets. We did it over luggage.
By the time I was twelve, if he was busy, I'd pack for him. Mom tried
but didn't have the knack. He'd get somewhere, open his suitcase and text
me—"Perfect." That one word from him meant a lot.
The funeral was terrible—him laid out in that big carton and me crying
and thinking, Look at all that wasted space.

Morning Coffee

First storm of the season - life is getting back to normal :)

Burnt Edges

Did not intend to volunteer
Reached my arms for a stretch
Touched the sun instead of the sky
Blistered fingertips, singed eye lashes
Living in such beauty
Layered in soot
I'm burnt

Got my life
Pinch my body
Kept my soul
All those memories
The dirty little secrets
All burnt

This is kind of about you
And kind of about me
We both lost our way
Take life as it comes
Everything is burnt

My First 10K

Last August, I was chased by a bear. You can read the whole thing here.

"Woefully inadequate" are the words to describe my fitness level at that time. So, I started running regularly. I mean, how hard can it be? Just one foot in front of the other - right? What I didn't take into account was my brain and that little voice, Ego, that puts, "You are not good enough" on repeat.


The sinister little voice in my head started her argument, "what are you doing? just give up, you don't fit in here. Look at that person, and that person...everyone is better than you, prettier, smarter, more athletic - nobody likes you." I remembered the race reports from previous years. There were always at least half a dozen people listed as DNF - Did Not Finish. That could be me, I thought. It is ok to not finish...Ego had invited herself and forty other friends to the race. It was an uneven fight and far from fair. There was no way I could face 41-1.

And none of it was real. It was like Ego had activated a whole swarm of hologram bullies. "It's only six miles, and I'm halfway there, I'm just on a walk in the woods, only moving faster." With that thought Ego and her imaginary friends all disappeared and it was just me, doing a race just for me. And it felt good. Really good. 

There is something liberating in realizing that you are racing against just yourself, no one else.

I beat the goal that I had set for myself by 15 whole minutes. Despite the foot injury and Nature's infernos that so frustratingly cut into my training this summer. I punched the air with my fist and hollered, "Fuck Yeah!!" Because when you win a fight with your ego, that deserves an F-bomb.

I finished that 10K and had so much fun, I'm going to do it again. And again. And again.

Top Ten Most Influential Books I've Consumed

I'm OK, You're OK by Thomas Harris - full disclosure, I've never read this book. It was the first book cover I remember trying to read as a kid. I would stare at the title because the font looked so bold, like the book had something to say. Then, I would sound out the letters, and for the longest time I thought it read, "IMOK! You're O.K." I would often yell this and people would look at me strangely, but my five year old self who loved Star Trek thought it was a great thing to yell out, "IMOK!!!! You are OK!" Like, klingon or something. Then, when I actually could read, I realized it said, "I'm ok, You're ok" and even though I had no idea what the book was about, I found a lesson in the title. People who were different than me were ok, and so was I. As an adult, I went back and looked at the book again and appreciated the contents for their worth..

Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain - read this when I was very young, and the first takeaway lesson for me was that you could write phonetically to capture regional languages. I drove my mom nuts reading the thing out loud when I was 8 years old, enjoying the sound of the southern drawl. Read it many times over as I grew older, and the lessons expanded every time. Human/family relations, racial tensions, and valuing/honoring friendship.

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee - another book from my youth that helped me see the value in looking for the root of truth, not just society's standard of 'values'.

The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco - read this as a teenager and it shaped my thoughts on my own writing. It gave me confidence when I thought I had nothing to write, "every story tells a story that has already been told" helped shape the idea that even though something had already been written about, I could tell the same story from a different perspective.

Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson - appreciating/loving travel by foot along trails more than I already did. Also convincing me that I could sit around and dream or wait until I was ready, or just go do it and learn a few lessons along the way, which has made all the difference in the world.

Woman Alone, Travel Tales from Around the Globe, by assorted authors - an inspirational and entertaining collection of essays that impressed upon me the importance of learning who I was, alone, and appreciating the experience, before sharing my life with an intimate partner.

Leadership the Eleanor Roosevelt Way: Timeless Strategies from the First Lady of Courage by Robin Gerber - At the end of my first internship with Idaho Legal Aid, my internship supervisor Camille gave me this book. The quote, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent," rocked my world to the core, and helped me find my own confidence in both my professional and personal lives.

Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingslover - a page turner of a story that Joe introduced me to when we first started dating, each chapter from a different perspective of three different women - two of whom I wanted to emulate, and one of which Joe told me he was certain was a biographical sketch of me sixty years from now. I think I fell in love with him over that statement. Finally, a guy who totally gets me and loves me for who I am now, and sixty years from now.

Animal Vegetable Miracle, by Barbara Kingslover - why we gave up secure corporate jobs and life in the city for a simpler life closer to the elements that sustain and nurture us. Love, love, love this book. Absolute life changer.

Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman - a guilty pleasure that I keep returning to every year. I love his collection of synonyms that turn one object into a host of different worlds, different threads all coming together in one unifying theme. Because of this book, I keep a thesaurus close at hand and try to use the same method to really tie a piece of writing together using synonyms around a single theme. This should be required reading in junior high/high school. The main theme: decisions have weight and actions have consequences.

A Close Escape

I stood next to the remains of the Gold Creek Fruit Stand when a red SUV skidded to a stop. A woman jumped out, hands to her head in shock. “This was a valley icon,” she gasped. She jumped back in her vehicle and sped off before I could ask her name. Within a week, a firestorm would rip through nearly 400 square miles of our lives. How many other icons would be gone by the end of the week?

On Thursday, July 17th, I was supposed to catch the early train to Seattle and rendezvous with some long lost friends at a Tori Amos concert. But as the fire came over the ridge and finger-sized bits of burning ash started to fall from the sky, I ditched my plans and grabbed the water hoses. All day long, Tori’s cover of Bruce Springsteen’s “I’m on Fire” rolled through my head.

Earlier that morning I had asked the firefighters at the end of the road, “Do I need to leave?” I was told no, South Fork Gold Creek was fine. I called the Ranger Station, they said DNR was in charge of the fire. I called DNR. The woman told me Gold Creek was not on fire and when I responded that indeed it was, she told me to call 911, despite the fact that Gold Creek had been on fire for four days and had fire crews already there. I called the local police station instead and was told that an officer would be around to notify residents if there was any escalation. Still feeling nervous and frustrated at the lack of communication between agencies, I posted my cell phone number in large letters on the door of my garage before walking the property.

My neighbor relayed some information she had learned that morning. If the fire jumped the line on that plateau across the road, they would cut the power. I decided that would be my signal to leave.

After a morning of soaking down dry areas and dispersing slash piles, I felt sick from the heat and smoke. The power was still on. I was still safe, I thought. I double checked my “Run Away” bag and ensured that the truck was packed, and then sat down on the couch to rest…and promptly fell asleep.

I first saw the Gold Creek Fruit Stand on our virgin voyage into the Methow Valley years ago. The lights were always on and people said sometimes music was playing, but the fruit stand had been closed for years. A ghost fruit stand. A Methow Valley icon.

The sound of a train woke me up. The trees were thrashing wildly; sunlight had turned a terrifying shade of orange, the sky no longer existed. It was replaced with a tornado made of fire. The power was still on, not even that was a dependable means of knowing when to leave, because now was looking like a good time to run. The phone beeped. A text message from my neighbor, Lindsey Ashford. “You Out” was all it said. Their vehicles sped past my house and within seconds the dogs and I were right behind them.

A carved Sasquatch stands guard on the South Fork of Gold Creek. One eye is missing, giving him the flirtatious look of a wink. He is there every evening to welcome us home. He has made the cover of my holiday cards, party invitations, and at one point was my Uncle Dave’s facebook profile photo.  

I hoped the Sasquatch would still be there. The fire had jumped Gold Creek Road, I was unsure if the passage was safe. The firecrew that had been at the bridge earlier was no where in sight. Flipping a u-turn, I went back on South Fork Gold Creek, the Sasquatch giving me a wink goodbye. Coming out by way of McFarland Creek, I quickly drove back up highway 153 and watched the firestorm engulf Vinegar Ridge behind my home. I stood next to my truck and sobbed helplessly, certain there would be no home to return to. Certain the Sasquatch was gone.  

Forty eight hours later, we returned. The Sasquatch welcomed us home. We still had a house. Three hundred homes gone, hundreds of families displaced. We were unreasonably, irrationally lucky.

Days later my phone beeped a text message. An emergency weather alert for a flash flood. I laughed hysterically. Bring on the floodwaters and put out these raging fires. I would have preferred a reverse 911 for firestorms.