Living In Paradise

They say that changing your perspective on a situation can change your attitude about it.  This month being the one-year mark of my move from the East side I have been particularly introspective; this year has been a rough year.  After quite a few unexpected challenges along with adjusting to the changes that come with making a major move and job change, in December I was becoming concerned that I might be slipping into a depression.

I had decided I hated where I lived.

This was a new feeling. I have had moments I have struggled, moments I didn't like my life, but I haven't felt those feelings for years.  At first I took each trial and set back as an opportunity to learn and grow, but they continued coming till it felt like an avalanche.   Pretty soon my own whole outlook on my world darkened till I was even having a hard time finding peace in my own home.

I knew I needed to do something to change this downward spiral.  I began making a point to BE in my world, making it what I need and want to be happy.  Part of this meant getting out and working on my photography again.  In doing so I began capturing some of the beauty and peace that had been suppressed by the settling negativity the last few months. 

It was posting the pictures online that finally got my head screwed on straight when one of my friends posted the simple comment "You live in Paradise".  I cried.

I do live in Paradise.  Actually as I look back over at all of the places I've lived in this state, Paradise has never been much further than my back door.  Yes, some places I have loved more than others, but in all of them I can recall the numerous times I would be chatting with tourists and they would always say how lucky I was to live where I live.  I live places people dream of. 
  

The New Year brought new changes and with some of the work I was already putting into shifting my views things are getting brighter.  No, I still can't say I am totally in love with where I am at; I know what it is to have that kind of deep connection with the land and I haven't found that here. However, I find bits of peace and happiness...especially when I can avoid the city. 

The reality is that this is just another step in the journey; another chapter in the book.  It's been an exciting adventure and this part is no less so.

Mountains to River

In the calm of the lazy, relaxing Sunday I decided to play catch up on some of my social sites.  It's amazing how quickly time flies when you're busy.  Now, seven months since my last post, I think  it's time to update.

Since my last posting, I've left my mountains to move to a river meandering through pine forests, sandwiched between the high deserts of central Oregon.  It's crazy realizing that it's still only been a few months since these changes took place when so much has happened.  While it might have seemed sudden, there were elements of premonition back when I was first considering where I wanted to go with my life and career, three years ago.

Shortly after the divorce, despite my desire to put down roots, I had a feeling that I'd only be in the mountains two more years at least, before moving on again, my personal desires in conflict with looking ahead at what I knew I might want professionally and socially, things that I would not find where I was.  I put those feelings away and continued life as I wanted it.  Despite my efforts to set up my life where I was, it became very apparent last year that this time to look at moving on was fast approaching.  I began looking at my options, when I was approached with a potential opportunity.  I took it.  In the middle of winter, I made my first significant move alone to a new life, in a new area, where the only people I knew was the manager who hired me and his family.

In an area that I find difficult to connect with and couldn't have seen myself choosing to settle down in under other circumstances, I was fortunate enough to have found a refuge on the river, tucked back in the woods.  While it's not the overpowering, wild, quiet found on the edge of the wilderness; there is a peace and subtle energy here that I've found a reassurance and strength in.

This move and change has been filled with difficulties and challenges I never expected and that have pushed me to look deep within myself, identifying weaknesses, revisiting past wounds, and testing insecurities both known and unknown.  I have found it frustrating that with each of the major life changes I've made the last few years, I fail to take into consideration the fact that I must change as well, making the assumption that I will continue on as am.  This only makes the growing pains that much more pronounced as I struggle to understand why I can no longer read, understand, or control my actions the way I think I should...as if not realizing that the programing has changed and my adjustment goes deeper than just relearning myself. 

Each day is a test and an adventure to which I've been learning to approach with the optimism that at the day's end I will stronger and better for. And at the end of the day, I go to the river recharge, replenish, and let go.

Run Baby, Run.

This last Sunday I finished my first duathlon.  I'm still riding on the high that comes when you work hard for something and see it through.  It was an awesome, challenging, exhausting, and stinky experience. I have to kind of chuckle because once upon a time this was one of those things that if you said I would do  it I would have laughed at you.

It was interesting how it came about.  I'd always been somewhat physically active especially, when I was younger, but over the years I gradually let it go do to some life changes.  Then a couple of years ago I went through a procedure to remove a massive growth that had been sucking the life out of me for the last couple of years.....the technical term for it is "A Divorce".  It's amazing how liberating it is when you don't realize how something has held you back until suddenly you're free of it. 

The first thing I began doing once things had settled down was get active.  I began hiking, swimming, and walking but it was a slow beginning.  It wasn't until Sarah considered doing a "mini" triathlon with another friend that I really began to consider what I could do.  I got on Runkeeper and began tracking what I was doing.  I clincher really came over Christmas last year.  In effort to alleviate some Holiday "stress" I decided to go for a run.   My track was an old hiking path along the bay of the coast where I grew up.  I thought I'd poop out after the first five minutes....I didn't.  I thought I'd end up passing out in one of the repulsive puking fits you see on TV after a mile....I didn't.  In fact, I got back to the house and faithfully entered it into Runkeeper to find that I HAD in fact run over two miles, only stopping to walk twice.  The next day I did it again...going almost three and a half miles.  Now, I attribute some of this to the fact that I live at 4,600'....there's a hell of a lot more oxygen at sea-level.  But, it was enough.  I realized I could do this.

I began looking up triathlons.  Interestingly, my best friend's partner began talking about doing the Iron Man before her 50th birthday.  We got to talking about races and started plotting what we could to to start.  It was great to find this connection with her and to find an ally as I worked towards this goal. We picked a Triathlon (appropriately named "The Aluminum Man") and started working towards it.  We ended up changing it to the later Portland Triathlon for reasons of which I will go into later in this blog.

September seems like along way away in January...

How it went

Nothing makes you wonder "what the FUCK" are you doing than getting up at 4am in the cold to go do an uber-killer workout....especially, when it's only on four hours of sleep. (We wont discuss why...but it was worth it.) 

 

We had to get there by 6:30 am to set up but didn't get started till almost 8:00....that's a lot of time to stand around in the cold contemplating the insanity you're about to proceed in participating in.  It's also a great time to meet your fellow participants.  It's interesting to see how and what influences people to participate in these things as well as their personalities.  One of the first guys who talked to me immediately "dropped" the conversation when I said this was my first race.  He blocked me off and turned his attention to some of the other racers after they apparently had better credentials and proceeded to boast about how easy this race was because he was so fit and all of the racers whose biographies he had read.  They weren't all like him.  I talked to another gal who got my race off to a good start.  She was in it just for doing it, but not arrogant.  She ran along side me at the beginning when I wanted to just jet out and reminded me to pace and get my song in my head.  She was awesome.

The hardest part was also knowing that the other part of my team was already supposed to have been at it with the swimming portion.  Because of how they timed it, I thought she'd be out of the water, but she was delayed so I was already out on first 5k before I saw her.

The first mile was the hardest...easier because of the oxygen factor...hard because it was all up hill.  That is JUST not right!  It was once I hit the bridge and began running in the sun with the view of PDX over the river that I found my pace.  My "pace" was not fast but it was steady and it kept me from wondering what the hell I was doing.  I managed to make it through coming to the transition area just as my team mate was pulling out on her bike.  Turns out they were delayed, but awesome to see she made it through and even better to have our times so close for the added moral support...it also helped our support team keep tabs on us with out having to try to be in two different places at once.


I was thrilled to get on the bike course and not feeling like I was going to die...Especially when I got up the 18% grade out of the park to get on the main portion of the course....again, stupid arrangement for a course. I have to admit that the cycling portion really made me feel slow and being in the wrong gear most of the time didn't help. It was also probably the most boring portion of the race.  Most of the 16 miles was through an industrial area....warehouse, factory, rail cars, Oooo Bakery! (You shouldn't put a bakery on a race course....that's just wrong!)  This was also a great chance to watch the different racers....for brief moments as they blew by me.  You could tell the pig headed ones; the ones that blew by and then cut right in front of you whether there was room or not, with their fancy bikes and gear....sheesh.   And then there were the others; the ones that blew by but whispered encouragement, or let you know they were coming around.  These were the ones I didn't mind getting out of the way for.  I enjoyed perusing their gear and day dreaming about getting some of my own.

Transitioning from the biking to the running again was KILLER!  First of all, my legs did NOT want to work.  Second, after I had gotten going, I suddenly realized I was bordering exhaustion.  I decided that I was going to walk up those hills in the first mile.  Turns out it was a good choice, by the time I got out of the hole around the park I picked up my third wind.  The last two miles were the best.  I was only two minutes behind my team mate, I was almost done, and not only was I almost done, but I had done it.

I cruised down the road to the finish....and then I almost stopped breathing.  I choked up.  I didn't realize how much emotion I had locked into this until suddenly, I was almost finished.  I had done it.  I had trained and now I was completing what I started....but if I didn't get my act together I was going to choke on crying and not finish!

And then I finished!

I've ridden on that high for the last week, but interestingly it's taken me three days to write this blog as all the little bits and pieces from why I did it begin to surface.  Even thoughts or emotions that I didn't know were prominent (like the "procedure") have come up.

What I've learned:

The technical:

When I do this again there are a few things I'm going to keep in mind:

• Even training.  I kept focusing on one thing or the other for weeks at a time, but the reality is that running, swimming, and biking all really take different muscle groups.
• Weight training and muscle tone. Aside from the fact that seeing my fat ass jiggling in the photos was gross, having the muscle tone would have helped a ton.
• Nutrition is important.  I made the mistake of eating crap the week or so before.  Some of it was a crazy couple of weeks at work making it difficult to get groceries or prepare good meals, but that's still really a poor excuse.
• I need to learn to swim.  That would help a lot.
• Also, need a new bike. 
• Get some Gu for training.

The Other Stuff:

• Never plan to do a triathlon and a wedding at the same time....just don't.
• Never be afraid to say you can't do something....you're making steps to something. Sometimes you set goals and you just can't reach them without hurting yourself.  It doesn't mean you're not going to get there, it just means you might need to take a different route.
• These are the times you learn who your friends are.  Don't be afraid to let them give to you.
• When taste testing "Gu" check to make sure the one you're trying isn't the caffine one...especially not at 7pm the night BEFORE the race.
• Be aware of the emotional release of what you're doing.

So, that's the summary of the things that stood out. I'm sure there are more and I'll post those as I train for the next one.

 So, What Now?

This all started with a "what do I do with this" and now I'm back there.

• I realized that I can do this so now I want to do it again and better.  I want to do the Duathlon again next year to up my time.
• I used to be in good shape and I'm on the brink of being there again if I hold on.
• It showed me I could do whatever I put my mind to...which helped because right after, I had some interesting news. (More on that later)
• There are more things that I want to do that require me to be in shape and now I can be in shape for them.

So, there it is.  My first duathlon.  Here's to the next big thing!

 

Let Them Eat Cake

When I was 14, out of love and happiness for the engagement a close friend of mine, I volunteered to make the wedding cake.  This volunteering of myself ultimately went on to include the volunteering of my mother because of course a wedding cake was a new kind of challenge and adventure and we usually did those things together.  Little did I know that would be only the beginning of my amateur cake decorating career.

First, I'm going to tell you that putting together a wedding cake is no easy feat.  When you look at the price tag on those store-bought cakes YOU might see your savings account draining before your eyes, but what you don't see is the sweat and the tears that go into making those pieces of mastery....and that's from professionals, with the rest of us there's also blood and swearing....

My Mother's and my experience took several weeks of reading, cake testing, icing exploring, and late nights of laughing till our sides hurt (have to burn off all those calories somehow ;).  In the end, after 50 boxes and brands of cake mix (hell no, we weren't doing this from scratch), an equal amount of icing mixes both store bought and homemade, and many sugar headaches later we discovered several things:

1. The generic Western Family brand of chocolate fudge cake is WAY better than the Betty Crocker brand.  (Visa Versa for the yellow cake...)
2. Fondant is just a gross option for not messing with icing.
3. In those days, if you wanted a decent royal frosting you had to make it yourself.  
4. You'll never want to eat cake again.
5. Never take it too seriously...especially at midnight when you're trying to finish up that last dozen got-damt rosettes.

    6. Mocha tinted frosting hides chocolate cake crumbs......

My mother and I swore we'd never do it again....


....that lasted about six years.  The next cake I did, I did on my own and was for my high school best friend's wedding.  This time I needed to up the challenge.  This time I did the cake, in a similar style to the one above, AND I was the maid of honor.  Yes, along with helping the bride pick out  bridesmaids' dresses, find decorations, and many crazy trips to Portland, I also tried to assemble a cake.  This one was only partially a success and was where I would learn tip No. 7.  I had successfully assembled the cakes and much of the trim on the wedding day...however, my roses were a disaster and I did not have the skill to fix them.  Luckily, the bride's aunt was a professional cake decorator and she was able to save the day...thus, tip No. 7:

    7. When pre-making icing flowers; let them air dry not freezer harden, otherwise they will melt into little   sugar pools when you take the from the icy cool of the freezer to the humid, August heat of the Oregon Coast.

Unfortunately, I have no pics of this cake.

AGAIN, I swore I would never, never, EVER do this again, and managed to make it ten years this time....

....and then my best friend and coworker announced that she was getting married....Annnd, she wanted me to be one of her "Best Persons".  This time I thought I was being smart.  I was going to make a SMALL cake and....CAKE POPS!  How hard could that be?  Just a few decorations for a small cake and then dozens of little balls that you dip into chocolate?   It can be A LOT harder.

Thanks to Walmart, Royal Icing is now available in little tubs for $2.99.   So, the stress of trying to get an icing to the right constancy from  scratch being taken off my shoulders....the first thing I did was decide to fill that void by baking the cake from scratch.  Along with this, I spent a lot of time running lists with the brides, picking out music, did mental checks, and worked on setup of another surprise I wanted to make for them.  On top of that, it was 90 degrees and humid, and making two different things was harder as both needed icing and assembling in different times and in different orders.  But it was done....and it was eaten....

I LOVED doing this for my friends....But, I swore I'm NEVER EVER EVER EVER again....

...this lasted one week....

No, I'm not doing a wedding cake, but after talking about devils food cake, raspberry filling, and ganache for the last couple of weeks folks around town began asking about when they were going to see some cake from my kitchen. (This might have also stemmed from me promising cakes and then having them fail....now that I had success, I was going to have to deliver.)   So, here it is; the last cake I'm ever making....

....till the next one. :)

Remembering...and Contemplating

On September 11, 2001, I was up camping in the hills along the Nehalem River.  It was right before my last chemo and the intention had been to get away for some quiet contemplation.  Of course we didn't have cell phones then so there was no way for us to have heard the news before a friend came up to meet us.  I have to admit, I didn't even really register the significance of the buildings they had hit till getting back and seeing the news.  I watched the footage over and over until I was interrupted by a call from my parents telling me that our family dog, Cinder, just suddenly took sick.  She died a few hours later.

I think everyone felt the impact of the attacks on various levels for a long time afterward.  Some of it was just the shock that something like this could happen to us, some of it was personal as people knew people involved or affected, some of it was at a more personal level; perhaps empathy or vulnerability. The attacks invoked a sense of unity, patriotism, and blind (sometimes ignorant) anger.  I don't know what it was like for folks in the city or amongst a more liberal influence, but this was what it was like out in the conservative sticks. 

It seems like the fire that burned so hot initially was allowed to burn out, until the president called for us to go to war with the Middle East again.  The interesting thing about the way I remember it, is that I don't even recall 9/11 being the first reason for us to declare.  I recall it being sandwiched in between oil conflicts and accusations of possession of mass destruction.  Part of me felt that using those excuses was just away to incite support from all political demographics... Nothing will get the rednecks on board faster than a call for us to put "A Boot in Their Eye".  It seemed like the war kept the spark lit for 9/11 a little longer, though it seemed that more and more people protested seeing the footage, but after that, it was almost as if it fizzled out, reviving only occasionally from year to year as people noticed it's lack of coverage the year before.

So, this leads me to contemplate what 9/11, Patriot Day, really means to us.  First, just an inaccuracy I usually read that I'd like to comment on.  I keep seeing comments that we should remember all those who died that day for our freedom.  First, I think the only people that truly fall into that category are the passengers on Flight 93.  Everyone else was a victim or died trying to save the victims.  Our integrity and our sense of pride and security were attacked on that day.  The attacks to our freedoms came from our own government after the fact.

Then there seems to be two prominent trains of thought on the  whole thing.  The first is this constant bombardment of "Never Forgets" and "We Should Kick Their Asses" and "Proud to Be A-Mur-E-can".  On the one hand, I see a purpose for these sentiments. 

One, we should NEVER forget that someone can sucker punch us.  We fall into this false sense of invincibility that leaves us vulnerable.

I don't know that I totally agree with the "kick their asses" portion because while I do believe that there should have been some retaliation, I think there is a time period in which that would have been truly effective and a certain way it should be handled. But, I think we ended up losing true perspective about what happened to us.  We were hit hard and fast and what happened was horrible, but there are places in the world where attacks, if not at that magnitude, occur on a regular basis.  Sometimes, the way I hear people talk about it, it is like listening to a person try to tell a long-term victim of physical child abuse about how his experience being hit once by his parent compares to their experience.

I think a sense of patriotism is good for us.  I don't feel that there is a lot of it these days, but what is patriotism beyond the feeling?  How do you show it?  Is it just a matter of waving flags, parades, and posting things on social networks?  Then what?  In some countries it seems that showing patriotism is very much an action with community service, events and activities all related specifically to whatever national holiday being observed.  I'm sure this does actually go on in some places in the U.S. but it's not something I hear much about....though being in the sticks might be why.

Then there seems to be the other group who seems to have let it go and moved on.  I can't say I totally agree with this mindset either.  It seems like our society has developed a serious case of short term memory loss and I don't just mean with 9/11.  If you watch the weather you'll notice that after a couple years of mild weather, the first round of storms causes serious panic and concern.  Folks act like it hasn't happened in ages when really, it's only been a couple of years since the last storm.  But, it's more than just forgetting.  No one seems to have time for observances.  Not just patriotic, but even holidays, anniversaries, etc.  Is it a testament to the overload our society is experiencing due to information and material overload?  Is it a drop in values?  Is it a testament to the individualistic nature of our society?

I don't know....  I think though, it is a sign for us to consider what we can value on the outside of our immediate world as well as the inside, because both influence our lives and who we are and only we can control the balance in order to reap the benefits.

Changing of Seasons

Last week when I left town I tore across the state in 90 degree heat.  Four days later I tore back across the state homeward bound, stepped out of my truck at a rest stop, and was surprised to find the temperatures were barely pushing 60.  As I went along other signs of the changing seasons were noticeable in the changing color of the trees and the shifting of the wind.  Having grown up on the coast, even though this is my fifth year out here, having actual definitive seasons is still always a surprising, enjoyable thing. 

I have always loved Fall and Winter, though where I'm from those seasons, including spring, were melded into one, long, ten-month, wet, and grey season. (Summer was almost non-existent.)  This hasn't changed since moving over here.  Instead it is enhanced by the intensity of the seasonal changes here compared to the slow meld I was used to on the coast.  This morning I woke to a cold bite of air on my nose and that clammy, cold feel that one gets from the contrast of the freezing air with the heat in the blankets.  I jumped up quickly to close the windows and just as quickly jumped back into bed.

Soon, the air will be hinted with the smells of woodstove smoke as opposed to wildfire smoke. The nights are longer, the days a little cooler, and I find myself feeling good about letting go of summer and moving on to the quieter activities that winter allows.  I'm looking forward to the coziness of being snowed in with my books, of winter stews, movies, snowshoeing, and hot chocolate.

Street Lights in the Boonies

I've never been a fan of Street Lights. 

Though I haven't always been a big fan of the dark, street lights always seemed too extreme, their brightness more invading than illuminating. Part of this might have come from growing up in places where outside night-lighting was at a minimum...where you might have the occasionally light here and there, but for the most part, whole neighborhood blocks were dark. 

When I moved out here, I began to look at them differently.  In the whole square mile of "town" there might be 15 street lights When they all work. I remember my first night, waking up to use the bathroom and looking out the window into the night.  Usually, I've felt crowded when I've seen street lights in the city; almost like they don't have enough room crowding into each other outside, so they need to move into my space.  This was the first time I felt the exact opposite.  The light cast a dim, blue glow that lit up a radius of about 15 feet or so around it before being swallowed (and I mean that in the true sense...swallowed) by the darkness around it.

It was then, that I had a new appreciation for the street light.  In the city, I don't think one has a true appreciation for the "raw" darkness.  One might be aware of dark places, but there is always light close at hand. 

Being this far out, and set up against the wilderness, it's easy to feel the combined human power of civilization in the light when we're awake and active; when we can see the fruits of our modern behaviour...hear traffic, tools, and other sounds indicating that we continue forward to build and improve our residence here in the nook of this mountain.  But then night falls and the dark moves in.  As we slowly give into weariness, put away our tools and give in to sleep; suddenly the weight and rawness of these mountains and wilderness seems to push in from the outside.   It almost feels like the lights push back...creating that arching shield around this little pocket of human civilization that's been out here trying to survive for the last 150 years.

 Many of the houses around here, including mine, have those little solar powered lights lining the lawn.....it seems to enhance that guarding from the night.

I still am not a big fan of street lights when I'm in the city.  They encroach on my space, pushing into my room at night and keep me awake with their persistant, noisy light.  Out here however, they feel as if they are guardians against the dark.