"NATURE RETREAT"

I woke up in the middle of the night a week ago Friday with a feeling of vertigo.  I ignored it, but the next day it hung in there with a headache attached.  Uh-oh.  Another migraine.  

I struggled through Saturday, then Sunday we left for a 4 day/3 night camping trip.  I felt icky.  I went anyway.  We'd already had to postpone it a couple of times for scheduling reasons.  Plus, I only go on one or two camper trips a season and this would be the  first for me.  (Fourth for Hub.)

It's well established that I don't love camping.  But I do love some natural settings and Mt. Rainier is one of them I love the most.  So I go there.  This time I decided to try something new.  I hung the moniker "Nature Retreat" on the trip, instead of "camping".  And I created an agenda of events that were not specifically tied to camping, but were tied to time in nature in some ways.  I decided this would make the whole trip more novel and creative.  I'm not sure I was entirely successful.  But it did have different elements and more intentionality.

Here is my Nature Retreat agenda.  We didn't stick to it religiously; some items were constant, some occasional, some didn't work at all.  But it helped set an intention and helped guide us in new ways.

Sunday:  Arrive, Read Nature Poem, Set Intention for Retreat, Snack/Explore, Create table centerpiece of natural objects, N/A drink, Finger Painting, Dinner, Fire, Sharing Gratitude

Monday: Qigong, Read Nature Poem, Set Intention for the Day, Senses Meditation, Hike (part in silence), Yoga stretch, N/A drink, Dinner, Fire, Sharing Gratitude

Tuesday: Qigong, Nature Poem, Set Intention for the Day, Senses Meditation, Choose animal/object name, Hike (keeping in mind the animal/object energy), Yoga stretch, N/A drink, Dinner, Sensory Exploration, Sharing Gratitude

Wednesday: Qigong, Lovingkindness Meditation, Depart

Lowlights for me:  

That damn headache that caused me to feel nauseated.  It lasted the entire week! I felt "off-balance" the whole time, like I was walking the deck of a ship that was rocking on swells.  I was grateful for my hiking poles which saved me from tipping over dozens of times.  I kept listing to the right like an errant grocery cart.  (Crossing a stream by balancing on half-submerged rocks and a log was particularly challenging.)  I want bonus points for being such a trooper.

The bear.  That morning we had drawn from a bowl of names of various animals to keep that animal's "energy" in mind as we hiked in silence for a bit. We also drew inanimate objects.  Hub drew "bear" and "stream".  I drew "eagle" and "log".  

He was a little disappointed in "bear", feeling he's never had much affinity or connection to hears.  But he decided to try to conjure up "bear energy" anyway. I know some people delight in the thrill of seeing wild animals in the forest.  I prefer foliage.  

About a mile from the end of our hike, Hub spied the black bear about 50 yards off the trail, hunting for berries.  He alerted me.  I caught a glimpse of it just as it raised its head to look directly at us.  We stood still, then slowly moved forward as it went back to its berry hunting.  I wanted to run.  I didn't.  But I recalled something about making noise so I started talking really loudly.  And walking with some determination away from it.  I was in a bit of a panic.  I realize I am more at risk for harm from gun violence in my own city on any given day, but all I could think of was the "Couple Mauled on Wonderland Trail" headline.  I was happy to get way past it and more happy to get out of the forest into the open and back to the campground.  I never saw my eagle, but Hub drawing bear energy to us was enough of a "thrill".  (Be careful what you ask for!)

Highlights for me:

Breathtaking views of the mountain.  Hikes that were moderate in difficulty and beautiful.  Hub being so incredibly kind, patient, and supportive of me and my impaired abilities due to dizziness and feeling crappy.  Hub taking care of all the cooking and logistics.  Our exploration of the senses:  I had packed a container of various "nature" items to "tickle" the senses.  I blindfolded Hub and ran various textures over his skin, offered him various things to smell, fed him various items to taste, to go with the sights and sounds we had already experienced earlier.  It was great fun and helped to create a mindfulness meditation on senses we so often take for granted.

At the end of our trip I was very ready to be home  I thought we'd pack and go.  But Hub suggested another hike, a snack at the river, a late lunch at a look-out perch to take in the mountain one last time.  (Read previous post for the difference in me -- "let's go home" and him -- "let's stay longer". )  In spite of my initial impatience I was glad we stayed.  The last hike was my favorite of the trip.  

We had reservations for one more camper outing this week, but it has been cancelled by the National Parks due to fire/smoke danger in the North Cascades.  I can't say that I am very disappointed.  I can call it a "Nature Retreat" all I want...it's still camping.  And once a year is enough for me.  Still, we live in a beautiful place where these "bucket list" destinations are within a couple hours' drive for us.  I am grateful for that.  I can easily go when I want to and Hub is happy to have me come along, even when I'm in less than stellar condition.

At least, that's the view from here...©

CAMPING RECONSIDERED

Regular readers and anyone who asks, or doesn't, since I'm not shy about sharing in spite of no interest (LOL), know that camping is not my thing.  However, since Hub and I have been hanging out together for over 50 years, I've done A LOT of camping because it definitely IS his thing and I've gone along cuz: 1) I love him; 2) I like the idea of camping;  3) I thought if I kept trying, I'd learn to like it; 4) I wanted our boys to have camping experiences; 5) nature is pretty.

But a few years ago I stopped going.  I decided I was not going to learn to love it.  So Hub went alone, several times each summer (and of course during snowboard season, when he also stays in his cozy camper on some trips.)  He thoroughly enjoys his nature getaways -- long and challenging hikes, kayaking on lakes, gazing into his campfires, his solitude to do as he pleases in his own timeframe, no one else to consider, etc. etc.  I was fine staying at home, but resentment started to set in as well.  I'm not proud of this, but it's a longer story with lots of moving parts.  Suffice to say, we decided last year that I'd go on one or two camping trips with him each summer.  I went once last year.  It went well.  This year we've had so many home projects and truck issues that had to get resolved before he could load up the truck camper, that one trip was all we could schedule.  We went last week.

Mt. Rainier in summer is one of my favorite places to go.  It is so breathtakingly beautiful.  The campground where we stay is quiet, no hook-ups, rarely any rowdies or kids on bikes; just lots of hikers and quiet-seekers, like us. I still went with some hesitation.  I've convinced myself that I "hate" camping.  Even after last year, when the outing turned out OK, I still wasn't convinced.  So this year I decided to keep an almost hour by hour journal of what I "like" and what I "dislike" about camping, to try to find some objectivity.  It was instructive.

What I discovered is that I like being with Hub; I like being in beautiful places; I like that it was warm and sunny this time; I like all the hikes we did (moderate, not too challenging, but beautiful forest trails and views of the mountain); I like the relative perks of the camper -- warm and dry and sorta like a real "house" with lots of amenities. (toilet! shower! lights run from a solar panel!)  I definitely would not sleep in a tent and live at the picnic table!

What I don't like and which overshadows almost everything else is being uncomfortable.  This physical discomfort sensitivity is only one characteristic of being (it's a real thing, confirmed by my therapist) a Highly Sensitive Person.  I can go from "too hot" to "too cold" in seconds.  My body feels every fluctuation, both internally (aches and palpitations) and externally (lumpy pillows and itchy bug bites).  You get the idea. Nothing escapes my sensitivity meter.  And camping is not exactly an activity that creates comfort.  I was uncomfortable a lot!

The camper, while "cozy" is also cramped, with not enough storage space apparently, so that in short order every surface was cluttered with gear and clothing and dishes.  Visual chaos disturbs me; also things always in the way. 

I absolutely hate campfire smoke.  It will find me no matter where I sit/stand.  Thankfully Hub agrees with me on this, although he is more tolerant than I.  He now uses a propane fire ring for his campfire experiences even when on his own.  I know, it's burning fossil fuel, but it's instead of breathing in woodsmoke particulate matter, getting a sore throat, and stinking like a smoke jumper, so there's that.  I'd personally forgo the the whole fire thing completely, and have.  I just go inside at night like any sensible person, but for the S'mores this trip.  Each night I made one, ate it, and retired inside to my Kindle.

Plus, so much gear!  And logistical hassles.  I really hate that.  Why must I pack up a bunch of stuff that is much more conveniently located in my big beautiful house in order to drive it all to a new location in the woods?  We have woods here, and a fire ring, and beautiful gardens, and views of water and mountains and day hikes within easy driving distance!  Plus, we have more privacy at home -- neighbors at campsites are much closer and "in my space" than my neighbors in our neighborhood.  While we have all of that, it is in the heart of the city, so it's a more citified "nature" I guess.  I do get the idea of a "getaway".  I just prefer convenience.

And yet...what surprisingly came out Top Three on my "like" list were: 1) sharing the experience with Hub cuz I love him, as previously mentioned, and still true; 2) the hikes we did (which is shocking to note, since I also have traditionally hated hiking, but I've found my sweet spot with that in terms of distance and challenge and I loved it!); 3) no phone/no computer -- it felt great to be out of cell/WiFi range and have no idea what was happening anywhere but where I was.

I still don't think I'll be adding camping to my "must do"/"can't wait" summer fun list.  But I do think it's reasonable to go once/twice a season to get away, to see and do new things, to be in closer proximity to activities like hiking and kayaking, which are easier to access without the hassle of a commute to get there and back in one day's timeframe.

I guess camping, like life, is full of some "dislikes" one must endure to get to the "likes" that can sometimes compensate. There were way more "dislikes" in my journal, and yet, sitting here now I am recalling the closeness I shared with Hub;  the spectacular views of Rainier; the quiet private place we found to hang out at one trail's end completely alone together with a huge view of Rainier and wildflowers surrounding us; the cooling air we found after a hot hike, sitting on the edge of the rushing glacial melt White River; the hikes through the forest, at times challenging, but beautiful and peaceful.  It was worth some "dislikes", this time, to make those memories.  I'll try to recall that next year when Hub gets the camping bug again.

At least, that's the view from here...©

THE GREAT AMERICAN ECLIPSE 2017 -- PART 2

To see the eclipse, Hub had scoped out a place in the Blue Mountains of Eastern Oregon, smack dab in the center of the totality swath: Magone Lake Campground in Malheur National Forest: twenty-one campsites, no reservations, first come/first served.  He figured if we got there four days early, we might snag a site in the mid-week lull.  If not, turns out you can camp anywhere in a National Forest as long as you are no more than 300 feet off the road and no closer than 30 feet to a body of water.  In a fit of overcompensation, I suggested that if four days was good, five was better....

So, we left on Wednesday August 16 and drove 8 hours to our destination.  Guess what?  NO TRAFFIC!  Hub chose a route to eastern Washington, all interstate, then south into Oregon, also  interstate, then a winding, scenic two-lane state highway that we had almost to ourselves.  I was shocked.  Where were all the back-ups?  We stopped at a little mom and pop place at a crossroads town and, as advised, "topped off" the nearly full tank in our Silverado.  The friendly proprietor was a wealth of  information, very happy to see the area make some money from eclipse tourists, and allowed that yes, her little two-pump joint would likely run out of gas with no way for the tanker trucks to get to her in time to refill her reservoir.  Still, she was good-natured about it.

We got to the campground mid-afternoon to discover it had been full since Monday, so my five days early suggestion seemed excessive since it was no better than four.  On to Plan B, a "boondocking" experience off-road somewhere in the forest.  Our truck camper is totally self-contained with a generator, a 55 gallon water tank, propane-fueled fridge, stove, and heater; we also have an air conditioner, microwave, oven, and even a little toilet/sink/shower bathroom. We can go about anywhere as long as the propane and water hold out and can run the generator occasionally.

We weren't sure where to head, so we drove down the paved road leading out of the campground, on the lookout for a likely spot.  I was sure we'd end up on some narrow, dusty logging road in the middle of nowhere, but in only about a mile we saw a turnoff that seemed perfect.  It was a big gravel pull-out in front of a gate blocking vehicle access to an old fire trail road.  The site was perfectly flat, partially shaded, and plenty big enough for our rig, plus our canopy, table, and a couple of camp chairs.  And...it was FREE!  We very soon realized that we had the very best off-road spot for miles around and it would have been snatched up within an hour of us finding it, judging by the slow-moving, envious gawking we witnessed as other campers drove slowly by as we settled in.  I was back to being glad we'd left a day earlier than the original plan.  I took full credit for our good fortune.

Once set up in our sweet little haven, we decided to explore.  Well, no.  That's not accurate.  First I started to worry.  It all seemed too good to be true.  For the first couple of days I was sure there must be a reason the spot was open -- as in "not legal to camp here."  With every car or truck that went by, I was sure they were either: A) Forest Rangers who would tell us to move or,  B) one of those road-raged travelers who would insist on sharing the site with us because, by god, they were tired and hungry and had to pee and we were taking up a space that another could easily squeeze into with us.  I envisioned gun-totin' Eclipse Pirates ready to storm our camper, demanding to be let onto "our" property -- or else!

One remedy I thought to address this concern was to create a "gated community" of one.  Reasoning that no one would drive over or around a felled tree, I cajoled Hub into helping me move a dead, bare-branched 30 foot tall pine tree, that was lying next to our truck, to a spot 20 feet in front of the truck, thus blocking entry into our space.  This is what worrywart introverts do to feel safe.  I credit this smooth move with keeping the pirates at bay.  As for the Rangers, they all smiled and waved as they drove past and the one who did stop to inspect a nearby dry streambed agreed that we had the best spot going.  No problem.

Now on to explorations.  The morning after our arrival we walked up the road to the lake.  The campground was full, but midweek all was quiet.  The whole area was actually a delight of silence.  Living in the city, I'm accustomed to ambient light and ever-present noise.  But in the forest there is darkness and silence.  The only sounds were winds moving through the trees, a rustle in the underbrush, birds chirping and calling; at night a blanket of stars reached across the nighttime sky.  At the lake we noted the splash of a muskrat, a few ducks quacking, the occasional car door slamming or someone slowly driving through hoping for a spot to land.  The people camped there were quietly going about their lazy afternoon business of reading, setting up solar panels, or opening their hoods to discourage ground squirrels from entering under cover of darkness to gnaw on electrical wiring.  (Learning this, we were eager to get back our truck and open the hood!)  We walked the quiet trail circumnavigating the 40 acre no-motor lake.  It was peaceful personified.

I basked in this respite with my book while Hub did a side hike that I assumed would mean some elevation gain that I didn't want to tackle.   I watched the few people near me and noted the unusual scene of folks NOT looking at their cell  phones.  They spoke quietly, took in their surroundings, lay in the sun, snapped photos.  As for me, we had lost cell service 24 hours previously and I was feeling the effects of withdrawal.   Then Hub returned with amazing news....

He found cell service!  The trail he was on was not long, nor very steep, and about halfway up his phone started dinging and voila!  I was glad for this opportunity, given that the political situation had been on full-boil when we left home.  I know I should sing the praises of being off the grid, but really, not so much.  Over the next few days, I found that the two-mile hike from our campsite to the hillside near the lake where we found cell service served as as both a carrot and a stick.  It was sort of just right, actually.  I couldn't check my phone compulsively, but I got to look forward to doing it once a day.

Back at camp Hub, the intrepid, decided there had to be a way to get to the lake by route of the back-country rather than up the asphalt road.  He took off to explore.  Just when I was about to finalize my plan for walking a mile up the road in the dark to get the campground hosts to call in the Search and Rescue team, he showed back up at the camper delighted in his success.  Yes!  We could get there from here!  From that point on, we no longer walked up the road to the lake, but went "the back way" through the forest.  We never saw another soul on these journeys, heard only the sound of bird call and the crunch of pine needles and cones under our feet; also the occasional expletive I uttered every time I scratched my calf on another log I had to step over.  After four days of this route, however, I was able to anticipate the thorniest of obstacles and with my hiking poles for balance, mostly made it through the thickets unmaimed.

The fire trail road ended up being the entry to other grand adventures in National Forest Service hiking.  Surrounded by pine forest, thick with birds, ground squirrels, and deer, but no sign of cougars or warnings of bears, even I (a city girl who thinks nature is rather malevolent) felt safe on the trails.  We discovered enormous Ponderosa pines, felled trees blocking our way that we had to navigate over or around, hidden meadows, and a crisscross patchwork of other trails intersecting here and there.  It seems like it would be super easy to get lost in the forest.  I hear that happens...everything really does look alike.  Our best find was a private meadow only about 100 or so yards from our camper.  Surrounded by sheltering pines, this open area of tall grasses afforded an unobstructed view of the sky, which given our whole reason for being in the forest at all, was essential.  We went there to be sure the sun was completely visible between 9:30 and 11:30 a.m, the hours of the eclipse viewing with totality to be at 10:24 a.m.  Sure enough, the sun shone brightly overhead and we had our viewing spot all picked out.

It's funny how quickly a routine is established, but then Hub and I are creatures of habit.  We got up each morning at a leisurely hour, drank coffee, made breakfast, did dishes, talked, meditated, walked to the meadow for Qigong, came back and packed a lunch, hiked our private back route to the lake, ascended the trial to our "cell spot" where I sent texts from Eclipse Central to friends and family.  Hub generally took a dip in the lake (too cold for me) and then we walked back to camp, prepped supper, ate, read, star-gazed and/or watched a movie in the camper. (Yes, we have a TV and DVR too.  Roughing it.)

For a woman who bemoans camping, hates hikes, and is generally an "indoors girl",  I was surprised to find I was having a more than pleasant time.  Perfect weather.  Lots of exercise that was just the right amount of challenging.  Delicious, healthy meals.  Long meandering conversations; important insights.  Cozy confines; comfy bed.  Complete privacy.  All shared with the man I love. What could eclipse all that?

I'd find out...©

INNER ADVENTURING

We got together with a bunch of dear, good friends on Saturday night.  We call ourselves "The Tribe".  It was a potluck gathering full of amazingly good food, lighthearted conversation, and lots of laughter.   Over dinner the conversation went in the direction of people sharing tales of their outdoor adventures -- the things they love to do, where they've done them, where they hope to do more of it.  Hiking, biking, camping, snorkeling, scuba diving, kayaking, skiing, snowboarding, boating; travels done or hoped for in the US, Europe, South America, Central America, SE Asia, China, India.

Regular readers of my blog will know how quiet I could have been during this conversation.   I do not particularly like outdoor adventuring, nor traveling.  This puts me in a club of severely limited membership in the Pacific Northwest where passions for these things seem to be a given.  (I fit with the bookstore/coffee shop crowd, who also are a common sight here, but most are just stopping by there in between adventures.)

In order to participate in the conversation, I joined in with my usual self-deprecating jokiness about my lack of Adventuring Gene, with a throw-away, dismissive comment aimed at myself about all of the things they love as something I would never do.  It was funny.  I laughed.  Everyone laughed.  I knew I was violating my therapist's admonition about putting myself down, but I thought I had a good handle on it.  Still, I ended up feeling like the "odd" woman out and not altogether great about it.  But not terrible either.  I thought I'd pulled it off.

Later in the evening the conversation took a turn toward touching on "the divorce".  Not mine and Hub's, but mine with my church.  (Again, I've written about this before, so I won't go into the details here, suffice to say, we split up last August.)  It has been a hard ten months since we parted.  Many don't understand why, many don't care, some hope we will reconcile, almost none understand the depth of hurt and introspection that has gone into diving deep inside myself to figure out how it happened, where I was culpable in the conflict, how we all might have behaved differently, whether I made the right decision, and why I cannot go back to a "partner" I still see as a bit dysfunctional, and with whom I have less and less in common...or at least not a common vision.  I'm trying to move on and find connections in a new and healthier way.   There ended up being maybe a teeny tiny bit of passion around expressing this at the social gathering.  I may have used the "F" word.

Debriefing with Hub the next morning, I allowed that I still seem to have a lot of pain and anger around the divorce and I need to do some more inner work to heal that negativity.  I said that the way I live my inner life, with my constant rumination, seeking to understand situations, other people, and mostly myself on a deep level are every bit as hard as climbing a mountain trail, dammit!  My "adventures" are of an internal nature!

The analogy struck a chord with me.  I realized I have nothing to feel inferior about, nothing to apologize for, if I don't do the "nature challenge" others so enjoy.  My challenges come in the form of deep personal work and the summit I am aiming for is increased self-knowledge, inner peace, compassion and "capital L" Love.

Feeling inspired, I sat down and wrote this poem:

THE ADVENTURER

I ford the river of tears

Climb from the depths of despair

Stumble over jagged rocks of doubt

Lose my way

Each step forward a small victory

Each boot stuck in a muddy rut another defeat

Clouds gather, burst

Cold sleet runs down my neck, chilling me to the bone

Will I ever see the sun?  Hear the birdsong?

Look up at a sky so blue, so clear that all pain is lost in its vast expanse?

I keep the vision close to my heart, the possibility of healing, the promise of joy.

One more step forward, one more slide back, heart muscles aching, breath ragged.

It is a lonely journey, the curved path treacherous, ascent steep

I long for sleep, for rest, for peace

It comes in welcome respite ‘round the night fires

Where other faces emerge from the dark, brother traveler, sister wanderer

Stirring the dying embers, finding warmth, feeling strength return

Awake to another day on the trail ahead

Perhaps this is the day

Perhaps this is the hour

Perhaps this is the moment 

When the summit is reached 

And all the world will lay below me

Dazzling like the jewel that is my life

To live, to love, to be.

****

You take the outer journey, I'll take the inner.  I'll meet you where our paths converge.

At least, that's the view from here...©

DANCING QUEEN

Oh dear….where to start?  First, I keep hearing my mother's admonishment: "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."   Oh well, I have usually been successful at ignoring that kind of advice and besides, I can say a few nice things.  So here goes….

Hub and I went to Dance Camp last week.  (Pause for laughter and/or puzzlement to subside).  And I am going to put this on him -- it was his idea to go and he mostly enjoyed it.  I wasn't so keen on it, but it was being held in a beautiful place and I decided it would be fine.  The location was a fairly "rustic" retreat center (part of a State Park) on the waterfront of a small island about 2 hours from us.  We took the truck camper and parked under the trees, thinking the week would be part dance, part nature, and all vacation in one of our favorite areas of the state.

On Day 1 we walked into the registration building at the camp and my eyes first went to the couple seated at the registration table -- he pushing past 60 and she on the upside of 40 on his lap, arms intertwined, nuzzling.  They didn't appear to be registering for anything, or talking to anyone, or doing anything in particular -- just hanging out.  When they saw us waiting for a seat, they got up and retired to a mat in the corner, covered with an animal print fabric, and lay down, again entwining arms and legs in repose, as if clinging to each other and napping in public was the main activity of the afternoon.  Hmmm….

We sat across from a guy named Cougar, dressed in purple velvet, who was friendly, if a bit confused, but we managed to sort out the bumps along the registration path and got our work assignments (shared community means pitching in).  We were to work in the kitchen for the first 4 meals of the week.  We liked thinking our duty would be done early with only dancing and beach-walking to worry about for the rest of our time there.

So, let's start with the kitchen:  The Dance Camp folks rented it, so it was an all-volunteer staff.  A very friendly woman greeted us; her husband was the main cook and he was nice enough too.  A surly monosyllabic man in a chef cap was also on hand to sort of berate the volunteer staff with a large cleaver in his hand.  Not friendly.  Another woman who spelled her name Anna had her panties in a knot over something or other of an organizational nature and had verbal fisticuffs with the nice woman.  Also Anna was completely disgusted with eye-rolling frustration when I mispronounced her name, as I bet you would too:  Anna is ANN'-ah, typical pronunciation, right?  Nope.  "It's AH'-nah!" she informed me and turned quickly away so as not to look upon me again, ignorant scullery maid that I was.

We were totally confused, there was little direction as to our tasks, and even less idea of how those in charge were to supervise volunteers.  Lots of roaming around, bumping into each other, and guessing what we were to do ensued.  We got enough direction to finally complete a few tasks, then the hoards (about 100 participants) arrived for their supper of watery soup, a mostly greens salad, a scoop of some nondescript veggie mixture and a biscuit.  Everything was vegetarian and gluten-free, which is actually just fine with me.  But there were also dizzying other options: soy/ no soy; diary/no dairy; rice flour or corn flour; no onions (?)…on and on.  Little signs printed with all the ingredients stood in front of the serving pans where we stood behind at the ready with our serving spoons to offer a dollop of food ("Not too much..we might run out; no seconds until everyone is served").

Everyone had to read the signs to be sure they weren't ingesting some poisonous concoction of eggs and flours and then came the demands:  "Can I have just the top of the casserole; I don't eat carrots (the under layer)."  Or "just from the bottom, please, no cheese topping."  Or "Could I have a larger scoop?…Oh! Not that much!"  Or "Just a little, please.  Well…more than that!"  People and their food issues!  And rude issues!  I wasn't having fun yet -- and never did with the kitchen experience, which went on like that for all 4 of our work-commitment meals, except that we did eventually find things more easily and developed a sense of humor about the whole craziness.  By dinner the next day (our last meal to serve) Hub and I were tempted to dump every lasagna option together in a big pan, mix it up, divvy it out again with a variety of random ingredient signs and see if anyone noticed or cared since it all looked exactly alike anyway!  But we didn't.  That would just be mean….like AH'nah.

Then we went to the first dance, which was sort of fun/interesting/weird/OK/familiar/unfamiliar.  We've been facilitators of a small Ecstatic Dance group at our UU Fellowship loosely based on Gabrielle Roth's 5-Rhythms Dance.  It's a cool, internal, meditative practice.   A clip below will give you an idea, but bear in mind, we don't look like these groovy dancers:  We are mostly over 40, or 50, or 60, or 70; wearing regular clothes, and not so intensely tranced or comfortable in their skin as these accomplished dancers.  We're "just folks", dancing in meditative movement, not making eye contact, sometimes hiding in the back -- just learning to love our own internal rhythms, our bodies, and ourselves in spite of our years, weight, and arthritis.  But anyway, here's Gabrielle Roth and her crew:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cYYzcTzm6Y

So we get to the dance and find something very different.  Many are wearing colorful, flowing pants and skirts, tiny tops, dreadlocks.  Many are doing Contact Improv dance.  Now, I knew going in what this was and I warned Hub that there might be a lot of this going on.  There was.  We decided we would not participate.  We didn't.  Still….this was what we saw (Check out the couples at about the 3-5 minute mark for the full-on effect, but at Dance Camp there were often 3-4 dancers together):  https://www.youtube.com/watch?  v=kQDZT6vfEyQ

Still, even that wasn't the problem with the Dance Camp.  But let me say the nice things first:  I loved just doing our own thing at the dances, although I felt like a voyeur with all the "contact" threesomes going on around us;  I loved the women-only circle and learning about/doing Sacred Tantra Dance (not sexual at all -- very beautiful and soulful); I loved the Kirtan (sacred chant); I loved the voice classes with instantaneous harmonies; I (mostly) enjoyed a couple of sessions of "small group time", with six of us meeting for a "sharing circle".  Hub liked the Breath Work class (I thought it was weird and refused to participate -- bad attitude?) and we tried the Massage and Bodywork class, but it didn't meet our expectations, mostly due to the instructor's style.

No, the real problem with Dance Camp was the campers.  Most were parts of large dance communities in the Northwest and California.  Most perhaps knew each other, or of each other, before arriving.  Most were into the Contact Improv or Zipper Dance (similar), and many struck me as an unfriendly, unwelcoming, insular clique who were so focused on "creating meaningful connection through community" that their style of dress, speech, near constant eye-gazing and stroking each other ended up feeling like such an orgy of sensuous exhibitionism that any sense of true community was virtually impossible.

So I basically dropped out after Day 2 (of 6).   Hub went to a few more sessions than I, but we also both escaped to a small town we love in the area, walked on the beach, watched sunsets, ate in restaurants that served food actually seasoned with interesting flavors, visited with a friend, explored.  Dance Camp became a place that more creeped me out than  delighted me and I plan never to return.  And I feel sort of badly about that.  I think there were a number well-meaning people there, people who I might have liked but who were so caught up in the group "dance" of Ego and even some neuroses, that the whole scene felt like a place to flee from rather than embrace.

That said, I'm sure their closing circle (which we skipped) was one of prolonged hugs, misty eye-gazing, promises to meet again, and declarations of "best ever" experiences.  So, maybe it was just me.

Had we stayed up late for the "Sultry Cafe" from 10 p.m. - 1 a.m., I might have come home with a new attitude. When we asked what that was, we were told:  "Oh it's the best!  It's where you can really strut your stuff!  Wear something sexy!!!"

Or, I might have come to the same conclusion about Dance Camp after all.

At least, that's the view from here….

P.S.  There were two serious sprains and one broken foot at the camp; Hub and I both came home with a gastrointestinal "bug" that may or may not be related to the well-intentioned, but lax kitchen cleanliness standards.  Just sayin'. ©

SOUNDS OF FREEDOM

“The Sound of Freedom”.  That's what they call it over near Oak Harbor, home of the Naval Air Station on Whidbey Island.  This area is also home to Deception Pass State Park, one of the most beautiful natural wonders of Washington State.  We were there "camper-ing" for a few days.  While beautiful, it was not tranquil.  Park rangers told us troops from NAS Whidbey Island will be deploying soon. They can tell by the increased training maneuvers overhead, nearly continuous at all hours of the day and night.  The rumble of the cargo planes and fighter jet engines sound from far off, coming closer until at times deafening overhead, then just as quickly receding, only to be repeated over and over.  By our third day, I could actually tune most of it out except for the roar directly over us.

Believe me, I feel pretty petty complaining about this.  I am proud of our military expertise.  I like that we are good at what we do and I know that getting good takes practice.  It's just that I never realized the practicing was so constant.  

That's because I don't have much history with the military.  Mine was not a military family.  My dad was rejected for WWII service on a medical deferment (which caused him great shame, that being the war all the men wanted to be part of).  My brother joined the Army on the "buddy system" in the early 70's but I was married and gone by then, and paid little attention.  Plus they split the buddies up and it seemed soon they were all home.  I never bothered to understand the whole story behind that.  (Oh, yes, I do regret how completely self-absorbed I was as a young woman.) And that's the extent of my personal knowledge of how the military works.  

My impersonal knowledge has been a knee-jerk uneducated bias based on distrust due to military excursions that, in my judgment, we had no business making.  But that has everything to do with politicians and little to do with the military itself.  I've learned to lay blame on those who make decisions, not those who carry them out.

All of this may be why I was so moved by a "military action" taken during a time of peace.  There is an unassuming and, unfortunately, nearly invisible museum at the Bowman Bay side of Deception Pass State Park near the campground --- a Civilian Conservation Corps Interpretative Center.  I spent a little over an hour there Wednesday afternoon, plenty of time to see the exhibits and view the short video explaining the CCC and what amazing work those men did in nine short years to clear, plant, build, and create a lasting legacy of nature conservation and state and national park infrastructure.  

In a time that was worse, but sounds mighty familiar lately, our country was in a deep economic depression.  Jobs were scarce, people were losing their homes, bread lines were long.  For young people at that time, opportunity was non-existent; a huge number had no high school education, some were illiterate.  Lacking in education and job skills, they were the most unemployable of the unemployed.  

FDR instituted a program whereby these young men, aged 18-25, would work on civilian conservation projects to earn money for their families back home while getting an education with on-the-job training in a variety of skills.  They would work at shoring up the neglected natural lands across the country, notably "out west", building roads, trails, bridges, and parks, fighting fires and planting seedlings.  

At the Interpretive Center, I read the first-person accounts of CCC camp life, looked at artifacts from the camps, saw photos of these men and their work.  Soon, I realized I was looking at all of it through a haze of tears.  I don't know why I was so moved by this exhibit.  Maybe it has something to do with these young men all looking like my dad, who was their age in 1935, and even a bit younger than my own boys are now.  Maybe it was the gratitude they all seemed to express for having been given this opportunity to help their families and learn a skill.  Maybe it was the appreciation for craftsmanship I've always felt whenever I've seen characteristically CCC-constructed structures in National and State Parks, so sturdy and so part of the natural setting in which they sit.

Maybe it's the idea that millions of people were helped by a huge government program that initially brought together four cooperating federal agencies -- The Departments of Labor, War, Agriculture, and Interior -- to oversee various aspects of the Civilian Conservation Corps. This peacetime initiative improved our access to and experience of the natural world for generations and showed that government has a role in creating programs that help its country's citizens.   The Republican candidate for president this election season was recently recorded stating his distaste for those who rely on government for assistance.  He apparently would not have been a proponent of the CCC, an idea which still seems like a good one (and in this day would also include women and integration of people of color).

As I took in the exhibit, with fighter jets running practice missions over the solid CCC structure which houses it, I thought about the ease with which we have used our government's resources to wage war, yet how vociferously we have argued about using those resources to help those in need.  I hope when you have a chance to visit this little gem of an exhibit, you will be inspired by this time of peaceful military might -- and then send a prayer for the safe return of those flying overhead.   There are many Sounds of Freedom.

 

At least, that's the view from here....©

THE CAMP LIFE

Today's word: ambivalent.  About what?  Well, as I sit to write this post I could go in any number of directions and find ambivalence lurking.  But for today our topic, dear readers, is camping.

Yes, camping.  Something legions of folks seem to enjoy immensely given the traffic jam that has become our State and National Parks.  Reservations made a year in advance for a tiny patch of dirt and grass and a few trees are necessary at the most popular destinations.  I'm afraid I don't really get it.

Last weekend we took to the woods on a family camping trip an hour north of where I live.  We spent a few days packing up "the rig" -- our truck and truck camper -- with ample supplies of clothing, dishes, utensils, cookware, food, drink, lawn chairs, firewood, tarps, hiking poles, grill, bug spray, and toys (plus books and crocheting -- for me -- for possibly sleepless nights).

We drove to the campsite and "set up" under gray skies, having endured an impressive thunderstorm and driving rain at home only a few hours prior to our departure.  We gazed upward with some anxiety, but decided it had mostly blown over.  Mostly.

Shortly after Son One and his family arrived, and their tent was set up next to our rig, and we were about to settle in for a nice picnic dinner of grilled salmon, the thunder started to roll again, the skies darkened even more and sprinkles started to fall.  We "girls" headed into the relative comfort and shelter of the camper while Hub and Son One put up a tarp while caught in steadily increasing rain, loud claps of thunder, and too close-for-total-comfort lighting strikes.  The tarp was held in place with a startlingly complex and weblike number of ropes tied to various trees, truck, camper, and shrubs.  I give it to them, it was impressive.  We ate inside the camper.

Finally the rain stopped and we ventured out.  The tarp protected us from dripping branches and we enjoyed a nice campfire, although the smoke from any campfire, no matter where I sit, tends to blow right in my face and I worry about breathing all those carcinogens in addition to finding "eau de smokey" not a fragrance of my liking.  Still, spirits were high.

Then the Burlington Northern freight train rolled by, about 200 yards from our campsite on a busy set of tracks obscured by trees and behind a barbed wire fence, but when that whistle blew and the wheels clickity-clacked over the rails, I swear it sounded like it was pretty much coming through our campsite.  This happened about 10 times a day.  And night.

But we persevered.  Next day the sun peeked out and we had a beautiful family  hike.  It was terrific fun hiking upward through a lush NW forest to a look out over the vast expanse of sea dotted with islands in the distance between the U.S. and Canada.   We came back to the campsite to enjoy some lazy late afternoon quiet time.... well, except for the trains, and what seemed to be a family reunion behind us at the adjacent campsite, and the steady stream of cars, trucks, RV's, kids on bikes, camp rangers, dogs, dogs, dogs, and an infestation of raccoons with no qualms about daytime strolls into the campsite to see what was for lunch.

So it went on like this...times of great fun, connection, natural beauty; and times, for me, of wondering...Why?  Here's the thing.  We are very fortunate to live in a beautiful home, with a view of the city, mountains, and bay.  We have a forested greenbelt behind us and a large yard with no neighbors on two sides and other neighbors, who are quiet and well-behaved, a fine distance away.  We have a covered porch, with a view, and a heater in case it is chilly when we sit out there.  We have a very comfortable bed and a large bathroom and a fully equipped kitchen.  We have lots of entertainments at hand.  It is more comfortable, more convenient, quieter, and more private AT HOME than it was in that campground.

I hate how I sound.  I don't want to be "that person" for whom roughing it is the Marriott.  (HAHA)  But, alas, I sort of like my creature comforts, the warmth and familiarity of the home I've created, the beauty surrounding me where I live, the quiet I'm enjoying right now as I sit to write and hear birdsong from the open deck door.

On the other hand, I loved the hike, the beach and tide pools at low tide, the novelty of our family enjoying time together away from home, the joy on "Angel's" face as she experienced the wild freedom of living outdoors for a couple of days, and most especially the S'more's for lunch, which I almost never make over the stove at home.

I know some of you will admonish me for going the State Park route, where all of the noisy, crowded, annoying encumbrances I've mentioned are to be expected.  You might suggest I put as many belongings as I can carry into a metal framed pack, strap it to my back, and take off for the wilderness.  I suggest you get a clue.  I am no way going to do that again.  Been there.  Not going back.

So, I know I will continue to camp on occasion.  I really can't complain too much about the camper -- it is quite comfortable.  It's just that I still don't really get the allure of parking in the woods for the weekend.  But I do love the smell of a pine forest, an open meadow of wildflowers, the vast expanse of a Pacific Beach, the sound of crashing waves, the open vista of a high country highway....so if camping gets me all that, I guess I'm still "in", even if somewhat reluctantly.

At least, that's the view from here...©

DEFINE "SIMPLE"

Voluntary simplicity.  I'm all for it.  There has been a slow erosion of our collective ability to see through the marketing blizzard that keeps us hopping to corporate-sponsored self-interest in our spending and consuming habits.  We THINK we need more, bigger, better.  The end result is an economy in shambles and an environment on the edge of disaster.

Yet, there is a tendency in some circles to romanticize the "good old days" when times were simpler, people were more important than things, and consumerism wasn't a national past-time.   I think a bunch of those words need definition and context: "good"?  "simple"?  "things"?

I am one generation removed from the family farm.  Both of my parents (and their parents, and their parents....) grew up on family farms in the rural midwest in the 1920's and 1930's.  Twenty acres of corn and beans, a large kitchen garden, some dairy cows, chickens, hogs, and horses to pull the plows.  They ate what they grew, slaughtered hogs for sausage and ham, gathered eggs and wrung the necks of chickens that ended up on the kitchen table.  Milk came directly from Bessie out in the barn.

Both of my parents fled this life the minute they could in the 1940's, escaping to the city to find factory work, buy a modest home on an old tree-lined street, and plant flower beds skirting the lawn.

We never went camping when I was a kid in the 50's/60's because my dad's too vivid memories of waking up with ice water in the glass by his bed after the fires went out during the night, of hauling water, tending animals and doing hard, physical outdoor work on the farm every day left him with no desire to re-live this existence for recreational purposes.  He worked hard and was proud that HIS family had a roof over our heads in a home that was warm and comfortable.

They also had no desire to plant a garden.  They had both worked long, hard hours growing the food their families would eat on the farm.  And in seasons when the garden was meager, hunger was a reality.  They not only didn't eat well in that case, they also had little to barter in town for grain, sugar, and flour, further decimating the pantry.  New clothes, toys, Christmas gifts?  Not so much.

Most nights they went to bed at early dusk, bone tired and beaten down, only to get up and do it again every single day of the year.

I guess you could say their life was "simple" and "things" didn't matter, but I'm not so sure those old days were "good" either.

So I get impatient about romanticizing about the "good old days" when discussions of voluntary simplicity and non-consumerism crop up.   Yes, we need to examine our wasteful ways, but returning to a by-gone time isn't my goal.

I want to look squarely at my own weakness for Madison Avenue's influences and become much more discerning about what I need versus what I want.  And that becomes a tricky thing indeed.  I really, really want an I-Phone.  Do I NEED it?  Hmmmm.....  How about that big truck and camper we bought last year?  Need?  Want?  Or our annual trip to Kauai?  Need?  Want?  It seems easy to decide in theory, but there are a million ways in which my life is enhanced by satisfying some wants in ways that are important...experiences and memories are what make a life full and rich.  I want that.  Need, however, is pretty basic stuff:  enough food to keep me from starving, adequate clothing appropriate to the season, shelter from nature's whims.  Finding the balance between need and want is where my energies lie.

Here's what I will do.  I will voluntarily do my best to ponder each spending/consuming decision I make to ensure I am awake and aware of my motives.  I think by doing this I can simplify my life and the choices I make, with an eye toward economic equality and environmental health.  I have some "cleaning out" to do; some "downsizing" some day; that all feels good.

But for now, I also know I want to honor what my parents endured by realizing that our abundance of CHOICE was hard won by the hard work and sacrifice of people who came before us.  They weren't perfect; maybe their own trials made them easy fodder for Madison Avenue too.  But I know that if my garden fails, Costco is right down the street.  They made sure I wouldn't starve; now I need to make sure others, and our planet, do not suffer from the result of my wants outstripping their needs.

At least, that's the view from here....©