A Week of Weather

May 24th - 
A lovely hike in the hills of my hometown. 

Homemade dinner of vegetables and broth.

There's just something about dining in the mountains...

Started out the afternoon in shorts and a t-shirt

& ended with three layers on by the time we returned to the vehicles.

May 21st - 
Was introduced to a new-to-me hike above Manitou Springs. 

Almost climbed it as opposed to hiked it, as the grade was steep.

May 22nd - 
Did the hike for the second time - this time at dusk and
with different company. 

We wanted to see the lights above the city. 

What we failed to remember was our headlamps,

 so heading down in the dark was a little dangerous. 

So was the thought of the mountain lion recently seen roaming through town. 

We scared each other with what-ifs and did-you-hears. 

But the view was unsurpassed.

May 19th - 

Tried to climb, tried to 

avoid the weather by heading south. 

But it hit there, too, and right above where we were. 

Thunderheads rolling with - yes, thunder - meant lightning was probably close. 

Too close when you're carrying a rack of metal gear. 

The sun is deceiving. By the time we'd hiked back to the car

it was gone and those dark black cirrus clouds blanketed the sky. 

Drops hit the windshield, diverting our attention from the cliff walls...

 

To apartment walls. 

We took them from bland beige...

To beautiful blue.

A little too pastel for me, but 

everyone else loves it. 

So I'm gonna live with it for a while

and see if it grows on me.

If not, I'll just paint again. 

(I do love to paint). 

Found a new-to-me chair.

Exactly what I wanted. 

Recliner, without looking like that fat, overstuffed kind

that could swallow a fat man whole.  

 

Lovely place to read to the kids. 

Where the Red Fern Grows, currently. 

Also added the gallery wall on the right. 

May 26th - 

Braved the winds that took the state by storm.

Kids, parents, Tim, and I

back at 11 Mile.

Mom and Dad had wanted to see me climb.

Boys just wanted to find something in the river. 

After two hours of the wind

whipping stinging grains of sand across 

backs of legs and arms

we called it quits.

But only until next weekend... 

Lesson Learned: If the weather doesn't cooperate, beautiful things can still happen on the inside.

A Place of Discovery

Through tunnels and around bends...

There is a place where the river meets the rocks.

Fly-fishermen occupy the former. Climbers, the latter.

In the dog days of summer, the two meet, as climbers, hot from the exertion of reaching (and often surpassing) the birds...

Take to the water to cool off.

Not this day, though.
Early May is too early, the water too cold. Instead, we are content to bask in the beauty of the nature...
(some still)...

(some rushing)...

 All around us, and content ourselves with just a dip of the toes.

And although at lower altitude the Aspen trees are full, here in the mountains, the trees, too, seem just a little hesitant to unfurl in the chill that the higher elevation brings.

 

The leaves are tiny, the foliage not yet concealing the deeper recesses of the forest. 

This canyon is not far from where I grew up, yet I don't remember ever going there. I'm grateful for that, because sometimes, when you grow up familiar with something, you take it for granted. I certainly didn't with this place. I was able, instead, to look at it with the eyes of someone wanting to discover.

And like the river, revealing its beauty secrets upon closer inspection...

Or the forest, prodding you to look past the grove and see the details...

So there were mysteries set in stone, routes in this rocky playground waiting to be unlocked. A lot of looking at the rock, trying to decipher what it was saying. A lot of moving my fingers in all directions as far as I could reach, searching for holds so small they were invisible until I touched them. Like reading a good mystery novel and trying, with each page, to figure out the twist at the end, the rock held back and made me do the sleuthing.

I discovered more than beauty that May day at Eleven Mile. I discovered that due to all the mantling, which I love more than any other move, it is my favorite place to climb.

My day of climbing in Eleven Mile Canyon also marks another milestone. It was the first time I led, anchored in, and set up my own rappel.

Indescribable, it is, this thrill of so much discovery (lesson learned).

Cannot wait to get back to where the river meets the rock.

my perspective on my divorce

I was thinking the other day that a lot has gone on in the past seven months of my life. I've moved states, moved back "home," moved in with my parents, started working for the first time in ten years, filed for divorce, and rented my own place (for the first time ever, I might add).
But really, it hasn't been just seven months. It's been over a year.

Because it's March 12 of 2011 that I mark as the day I did the 180 of my life. It's one of those life-defining dates. You know, the day you get married, the day you have kids, the day someone dies, the day you move to such-and-such a place or start such-and-such a job or meet such-and-such a person...


                                         (Sunrise or sunset?)

March 12. The day I ignored "what I was supposed to do" (which is - gasp! - a huge thing for me) and did what I wanted to do. What I needed to do.

It came in the form of confiding something to someone - which in turn meant admitting something to myself - and it opened what a few people in my life may view as a can of worms.

They can view it as they like.
In my opinion I opened a can of, oh, roses or something.

Although I don't particularly care for roses.
So let's call it a can of orchids.

Whatever it was, it was right.

I had to fight against myself for a while, to be OK with what was happening.

Everything in me hated the idea of divorce...

Everything but the part of me that was dying.

Sometimes change is excruciating.
Sometimes it's excruciating because it happened to you and you didn't want it to and everything in you wishes it didn't happen so you didn't have to deal with things you never wanted to deal with.
Sometimes it's excruciating because you're the one making it happen and you aren't really sure it's the best decision for all involved (i.e. my children), and it means a lot of hardship in the short run at the least and the long run at the worst and you really don't know, ten years down the road, if you'll be happier because of your choice.

I don't know.

I don't know ten years down the road how I will feel.


                           (Beautiful contrast.)

I only know how I feel now.

Liberated.
Freed from a lot of things. Too many to go into.

Like Myself.
Without realizing it, I'd traded who I was for who I thought everyone else thought I was supposed to be.
I'm her again.

Lonely.
The nights when the kids are with their dad, it's hard to not think they're supposed to be with me. The apartment is quiet. But I'm learning to live with the solitude.

Loved.
So many people have been unconditional with it.
Very good, old friends have stood beside me and held me up when I needed it most.
And tons of new friends I've met over the last six months have stepped into "instant friend" mode.

A Little Lost.
It's not always easy finding your own way when you've been told for so many years what to do. The last time I made all of my own decisions was over 14 years ago. There's a freedom in it, sure, but it's also a little unnerving.

Light.
A huge burden has been lifted. One I didn't realize was there. One I'm disgusted was there because it was a burden of pretense. I hate pretense. I hate that I allowed it to so creep and seep into my life that I didn't even notice it was there or that I was living a lie so well.

Limited.
There's a lot to relearn. Going back to work after a full decade of stay-at-home-mom leisure. Forget the "re" - there's a lot to just plain learn. Like providing for myself. And single parenting. And balancing work and play and kids and errands. And funds.
And, and, and...
A million "ands."

You'll probably notice there's a lot of back-and-forth listed above. Good and bad.
I'm not going to sugar-coat it.
Divorce is difficult.
In some ways.
But it gets better.

Even though there are hard days, I feel that the hardest days are behind me.
Emotionally, anyway.
I had weeks and weeks back in Texas where sleep was the only time I was at peace. Every.waking.moment was difficult to get through.
Days where I had to move from hour into hour, because thinking any further ahead than that was impossible. There was just no way. My brain was in one kind of prison. My body was in another.

There is nothing worse than hopelessness.

                               
                             (Are you going up or down?)

But I haven't had a day like that since I left Texas.

There have been a lot of unknowns.
A couple menial jobs that I hated.
(Kim described them as "soul-draining." Apropos statement}.
A lot of learning to take care of things myself (you know, I'd never had to put oil in my van or air in the tires, and those are just the little things).
Some fear of the future.
Will things work out??
Will I be OK?
Will life be OK?

I'm here to say yes. Resoundingly.
Because even if things don't work out exactly how you want them to, it's still better to go through that and be true to who you are than vice versa.
For me anyway.
There's nothing better than being true to who you are.
Nothing better than putting a stop to something that was sucking all the life out of...life.
Nothing better than saying no more.
Eventually.
Finally.


                             (The rainbow or the clouds? - photo courtesy of my friend Kristin).

A pastor friend from high school, when I told him I could stay in my marriage and just survive, responded, "God didn't intend for people to just survive."
A counselor once commented, "There are different kinds of emotional abuse. There's the kind when people yell and scream at someone. Then there's the kind when they ignore them and discount everything they say. Just because you're not yelling and screaming doesn't mean it's not emotional abuse."
A friend from California mentioned, "You just haven't seemed happy the last few times I've seen you."
A former teacher - now friend - commented, "I've noticed in your Facebook posts that you are back to being the old you. The you you were in high school."

It's all part of me saying, "Enough."

There's a lot of good and a lot of bad in making major life-changing choices.
I would be lying if I said it's been easy. It hasn't.
But it HAS all been worth it.
The back-and-forth.
The give-and-take.
The step this way and then the step that way.
A dance that's a combination of joy and pain.

Yes, there's been a lot of wondering if I'm going to end up upright. If the joy is going to end up outweighing the pain.
 
                                        (Which way is upright, anyway?) 
 
It has. 
I have ended up upright.
Partly due to luck.
Partly because I am too stubborn not to.
But mostly because I decided before I did it that if I was going to turn my life upside down I was going to embrace every single aspect of it. That means the parts that are uncomfortable and scary and painful just as much as the parts that are lovely and joyful and freeing.

I recently had a long conversation with a friend. He told me he likes how, despite what I'm going through, I'm always upbeat. Although he was being generous with that compliment - because it's not completely true (he's seen me cry and has patiently listened to me vent on a couple occasions) - for the most part he's right. And it's because I made the decision at the outset of all this that I was going to be OK with my choices and the outcome of them. I refused to live in a state of depression or regret or guilt or fear.

And then he paid me one of the best compliments I've ever gotten.

"I like you," he said, "Because you're so present."


And then my oldest brings me this. Think my perspective may be contagious?

That's what the thus-far part of my journey has done for me.

I love this dance.

Run the Gambit (or Insanity Defined)

Saturday dawned clear and bright, an almost perfect day for climbing. She was awestruck by the beauty of the rugged rock cliffs as he drove her into the canyon. It doesn't get any better than this, she commented. We get to enjoy this amazing sport, in such spectacular places... Why doesn't everyone do this?" He didn't have an answer.


Minutes later they were strapping their packs to their backs - the rope in his, the rack in hers. She'd started to put her big huge camera into her pack, but he stopped her. It was a good call, but not for the reasons he mentioned. He said she didn't want to haul that thing up the mountain, then leave it unprotected at the base while they climbed. What he didn't know was that she found the hike up so beautiful - especially the little yellow flowers carpeting the trail's edge, reminding her of Dots candy. Tucked into deep green foliage, they gave the ground a fresh, citrus look - that the hike would have taken them twice as long for all her stopping to take photos. And as it was, there wasn't time to gaze. With other groups hot on their heels, they panted up the mountain, hoping to beat any others headed to the popular route they planned to climb.

The trail disappeared at the side of a great boulder field.

Could it be possible that the hike to the base of the climb would be more strenuous than the climb itself? It was certainly feeling that way. They stepped carefully across the massive stones.
Finally at the base of the route, tucked into a nook in the canyon, the wind whipped in and bit at their fingers, their ears. As they donned caps and fleeces and jackets and hoodies, she reminded herself that people had tolerated much worse conditions to climb. Indeed, it was part of being a climber, which she was. Even though this was only her seventh time climbing outdoors, she already had close to two dozen climbs under her harness. So even though her fingers felt like ten icicles for the first two pitches, she didn't complain. Much. And when she did, he laughingly told her to suck it up. He was good with her like that.

Their main climb that day was Gambit which, according to Mountain Project, has the highest summit in Eldorado Canyon. She was glad he hadn't shared that with her previously. This 4-pitch climb was intimidating enough without that information! In fact, at times the only way she was sure some parts of it were climbable was because he was up above her somewhere having done it already.


Because yes, she's a little bit freaked out by the height. As much as she loves climbing, she's still new to this outdoor stuff, and out of her element at times - which leaves her wondering how it's possible to be in and out of your element at the same time!

But despite frozen fingers, despite her fear of being so high and exposed, despite not knowing, sometimes, how to make the next move, she kept her head up and climbed steadily toward the summit.


And then, after a few hours, she was there. There, where the view was unsurpassed. Highest summit in the park, and she'd climbed a rope to it. Amazing climbing, and then getting rewarded with such a view! It begged her question again. Why doesn't everyone do this??


Perhaps the answer lies in her first words to him once she reached the summit.

"It's official. I think I'm insane."

(Lesson Learned: Sometimes the way up seems impossible. Just keep climbing. Eventually you will reach the top).

Empty Rooms

Well, here it is. The new {tiny} apartment. Seven hundred and twenty-five square feet. I honestly don't know how I'm going to get my whole life in there.

In the above photo I'm standing against one wall. To my right is the front door. To the left are two doorways. The one you can see is the kitchen. The other one, closer to me that you can't see, is the hallway to the rest of the apartment.


Here's the kitchen.
Here's the hallway. Closet to the right, bathroom to the left, one bedroom straight ahead. The other bedroom is to the right of the one you can see into.
Bathroom.

The balcony off the master bedroom.
I keep thinking about all the stuff I have. Stuff I haven't thought about in five months, but now I'm thinking about. There is A LOT of stuff in storage, and a lot of it is stuff I'll want to keep. Clothes for the boys to grow into, holiday decorations, bikes. I'm not concerned about all my knick-knacks, kitchen stuff, etc. That stuff I'll unpack and use or unpack and then pack back up and get rid of. But the stuff I'll need to store for those few times I'll need it? I'm afraid I just won't have the room. That's what's worrying me right now.

But if this starting over in life has taught me one thing, it's this: one step at a time. Try not to look too far ahead. You can't. Just take things as they come and don't stress about the future. It will work itself out eventually.

I had an acquaintance once that kept saying, "Things will work out." And then one time he clarified, "You know, I don't keep telling you that just because it's true. I keep saying it so that eventually you can say it to yourself."

He was right. It took five months. It meant moving back in with my parents for over half a year. It took working menial jobs that I hated for menial pay, each time quitting when something better came along. It meant, in faith, putting a deposit down on an apartment that I didn't know how I was going to pay for.

But now I'm moving into that apartment, and in the school district where I want my boys to go to school. I've gotten a teaching job, so even though things are tight, I can survive on what I'm making. I've gotten hooked into two amazing communities - my work and climbing communities - and am making some good friends through them. Things in my life are very, very bright. So now I just need to remember that on this next step of the journey.

The apartment may be small, but there are places that are tinier. Just this morning I read an article about a woman living in 400 square feet.

The apartment may be small, but that will force me to be more creative, more organized, and more selective.

The apartment may be small, but it's just a box for my stuff anyway. And I want to live outside the box. If all I need is a place to sleep, cook, and wash, well, then I'm set. Who cares if it doesn't hold everything? Maybe that means I have too much *stuff.* Maybe it's time to purge. Maybe it's time to free myself. Not from the stuff itself, but from the desire to hold on to all the stuff.

Yeah. It sounds nice and poetic and idealistic. Reality may be a little more brutal.

I'll keep you posted.

Climbing Outdoors

I have been rock climbing for probably around three years. I don't know the date exactly, although I should. Women tend to remember all the details about when they fell in love, don't they? The thing I remember most about my first climb was thinking to myself, "Oh, there I am!" Something about climbing just made me feel more complete, more like me. Like a puzzle piece of my life had been missing, but I didn't know it until it was fitted into place.


But I need to point out that all three(ish) of those years have been indoors. A guy I know, who used to climb, liked to point out that what I was doing wasn't real climbing. I couldn't understand how he could say that. I could conquer practically any route (under 5.11) set in front of me! My arms actually had muscles that rose instead of fell! Ah, how little I knew of real rock climbing. As he so eloquently described "real" climbing: "It's climbing plus f-n nature."

He was right.



I started outdoor rock climbing on February 25th. I have been six or seven times in the three weeks since then. Granite, limestone, sandstone. Top roping, lead climbing, bouldering (well, if you include the bouldering, then I've been outside a dozen or more times, but bouldering is definitely not the same as climbing).

And I don't think I'll ever enjoy the gym again.



That first time, on February 25th, a group of 20+ of us drove a couple hours to just outside the city of Boulder to climb. I drove up with a guy named Tim who quickly became my most frequent climbing partner. In fact, other than the bouldering, every time I've gone it's been with him. He is the nicest, most patient, encouraging guy (he's always telling everyone how well I "read the rock" for only have been doing this for three weeks. Slight ego boost thankyouverymuch).

We climbed yesterday after work in the Garden (all hail daylight savings!) and I did my first multi-pitch climb (sort of. It was just longer than one, and only one rap down). On our last route we ran into a guy named Bruce and invited him to grab a bite to eat with us afterward. Over pina coladas we talked climbing - both routes and history (Bruce was surprised how much I knew about climbing history. A guy who's been climbing for longer than I've been alive, he was present in Yosemite when the "pot plane" went down), travels (all three of us have been to the pyramids in Giza. Bruce and I ignored the "no climbing" signs),

(Yes, I know my pants are so stylish. I have an excuse. It was 1996.)

and how much our love for climbing affects everything else we do (I don't do much other than work, climb, and hang with my kids anymore). I commented that other than my kids, climbing is really the only thing that matters to me right now. That any future significant other in my life will have to love climbing. I wouldn't even want to introduce someone to it. It would have to already be part of who they are. Because I wouldn't want someone a few months or a year down the road to say, "Well, maybe this isn't really for me." Ugh. And Bruce looks at me with a combination of surprise, understanding, and wistfulness and says, "Where were you 25 years ago?"

Heh heh.

It's a wonderful life, this outdoor life. I'll never look back.


Lesson Learned: It's all uphill from here. Or, more appropriately, up rock. 

Living Outside the Box

It has been a long, long time since I posted on this blog. When I started it in November of 2010, my goal was to post once a day for a year, until my 40th birthday in October of 2011. Then in the spring of last year my life drastically changed direction and the blog took a very back seat, as some things are wont to do when priorities shift.

Since my last post I have moved to a new state, started working for the first time in ten years, and moved in with my parents. It's been five months now, and it's about time to move out, but the learning and growing that's gone on in the last five months has been~

Enlightening.
Incredible.
Invaluable.
Freeing.

This originated as a blog where, for the most part, I showcased things I'd made. Recipes, woodwork, re-purposing things I'd found at thrift stores, home decor, photographs I'd taken, etc. But moving into one room of your parents' house has a way of shifting the way you look at things. What I've learned about material possessions is how they muddle life up. They begin to own you instead of you owning them. They distract you from so many other things because you have to take care of them, protect them, clean them, and worry about them. I've spent the last five months quite content with only three "big" necessities: my clothes, my hiking and climbing gear, and a library card. Although in the last month or so some of my craft stuff - knitting supplies, paint, canvases, wood - has made it out of storage as well, as my need to be creative finally emerged and needed to be satiated.

But I have done most of my living outside of the "box" that is my room, or that was my house. Much of my free time has found me hiking or climbing in the mountains of my native Colorado.

(This was me yesterday).

My desire to head to thrift stores - which was something I did once or twice a week for years - has been non-existent since I moved, as has my desire to decorate or shop. My life is no longer lived mostly inside four walls - now I'm happiest when the walls that surround me are the mountains or cliffs that rise to hail the sky.

That being said, here's the addendum.

In ten days I will start the gradual process of moving out of my parents' house into an apartment. I've signed a 12-month lease, so it will be home for quite some time. There is certainly going to be a fair amount of setting up house/decorating going on. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to having my kitchen set up again, pulling out a few items I've really missed (like my Indian mirror), and excited beyond belief about the potential of the little patio off my bedroom.

I didn't plan to blog about it. Didn't plan to do anything more with this blog other than let it sit here and be archives. But then my friend Kim emailed me this past week: "Congrats on the new space, and bigger congrats on beginning your new life. And it will be TOTALLY interesting to see what you do with a new space. I'd love it if you'd document the journey in pictures so I can eventually blog it. So many of us can identify with starting over - I think figuring out how you'll decorate is one of those big questions that will be thoroughly interesting to answer on a practical (and emotional) level. As far as the decorating, it SHOULD happen slowly. You're in a phase of healing and adjustment -- I think there will be real joy in the process of discovering yourself via your décor."

It was then I realized I'd been itching for a personal outlet anyway. I have a family blog, but I post mostly about my kids on that one. I need one for me. So I'm going to change directions just a slight bit and blog here about this part of my journey. But this time there will be no internal pressure to post. It will happen when it happens. There will be more about my life than just my living space. I assume some posts will be a bit more contemplative than in the past. There will certainly be posts about life "inside the box," but because life "outside the box" is now a much bigger part of who I am and how I spend my time there is plenty to be said about that, too.

So here I go again. Come along if you want. I do enjoy company.