blogs. just blogs. and losing your mind.

I love to read other people's blogs. I love to catch whiffs of their lives that way. Blogs are like never-ending Christmas letters, which I enjoy, and let's face it, for all the complaints about Christmas letters, lots of people sure send and presumably read them. The main reason people don't like Christmas letters is that they're often used solely to brag about accomplishments, painting a very unrealistic picture of the author's life.

Well, I was thinking that oftentimes I use the Christmas letter approach in my own blogging. Not that I always brag about myself, because, well, I don't have a lot to brag about anymore. Things have been slow since the second grade when I single-handedly raised 3 million dollars for victims of the Nilte-KIX virus. That's not totally true. I guess there was that family I talked down from a bridge last year (an extended family of 28 people - a reunion gone sour) but believe me, awards and medals tarnish, man. Even ones the U.S. President hands you himself. And lately, I got nothin.'

It's more like this: I mostly blog about positive or interesting things. Interesting to me anyway. But my life is not always positive and my thoughts are often quite melancholy, and some of them might be worth sharing. I just don't have on-demand internet access, and sadness and despair aren't things you can really save up to blog about. So instead, I usually think back over my week or weeks and naturally come up with the highlights, the good stuff - pretty scenery, weddings, oranges giving birth to kumquats.

Tonight I read over my blog from last week where I'd pretty much said, "Good, good, good! Everything is real good! We're so fortunate!" and I wanted to slap myself. I mean, I really was feeling blessed and appreciative when I wrote that, but the truth is that I was being very selective in what I wrote about, because I approach blogging like I do a lot of things: with caution in revealing too much. And I suppose that's fine if I want my blog to be like that, but what if I don't? Huh? What then?

It's kind of hard to be in-betweeny with blogging. You either bare your entire soul with very few filters or you give highlights. I actually like both types, because blogs can be so reflective of the different personalities authoring them, and reading them is like spending time with your various friends. But here's the rub: it seems I'm a highlight blogger, and maybe I don't want to be, see. My most favorite blogs or books or even cereal boxes to read are of those people who are the most honest. Highlights aren't all that honest, or I should say complete, but then, blogging isn't some people's outlet for completeness.

So tonight it's 2:35 a.m. and I am the last one standing in the house. Not greatly unusual for me these days, because sleeplessness is the most evident mark of my pregnancy, as well as the growing lump protruding from my mid-section. I have decided that I will blog about a moment of insanity that happened to me today. Even as I think about writing it, though, I realize it's a highlight. Not all together that soul-baring. Well, that's not true. In the story, I do reveal that I talk aloud to myself. But I'm not really embarrassed by that, so is it a highlight or a show of vulnerability? Crud.

Anyway, here's the story:

I was home alone today, as I am most weekdays when we're in the park. I love solitude, so this isn't a bad thing, but it gives you context. I found myself laughing hysterically over a memory of a conversation from several weeks back. Then my mind trailed, and within 90 seconds I was in literal tears over a contrived scenario in which my daughter (as yet unborn, and as yet unconfirmed to be a daughter) was in our car alone (which we do not yet own) in her car seat (which we have not yet purchased), and the vehicle somehow engaged and rolled into traffic. "Stop!" I yelled in my head to the imaginary oncoming traffic as I ran toward the car. The tears came when the ordeal was over, my baby was safe, and I was thanking the bystanders who had helped.

90 seconds beyond that, I was giving an imaginary speech to the same daughter who, at the age of 5, was arguing with me about calling her by her full name or a nickname. I said with indignation, "I named you! I'll call you Blueberry Shortcake if I want to!" Actually, I didn't say Blueberry Shortcake, but that makes the story funnier. Is that not being authentic? Shoot. But I'm still gonna leave it in there.

I stopped everything right there and realized that I very well might be going coo-coo, spending big chunks of every day alone. Then I thought, "No, when people think they're going insane, they're probably not. One of the marks of true insanity is probably still thinking you're a-okay. And since I'm concerned about losing it, I must be fine." Kind of like when you're a kid and think you might've accidentally committed the one unforgivable sin: blaspheming the Holy Spirit. And they say, "Well, if you're concerned about it, you haven't done it."

Anyway, I was thinking about how funny it was that I had gone through three major emotions in five minutes, when I suddenly heard a hissing noise coming from my laptop and speakers. I had music playing through them, and I didn't recognize that hiss. Maybe it was a piece of machinery outside? No. I was very confused. I got up and walked slowly toward the laptop. As I neared, I realized the sound was coming from the kitchen instead. Oh. I had water on to boil for tea.

a few more wedding pics

lovely archway o'er serious brother, communion goblet in hand

My cousin Lora took these.

There have been many a good thing in our lives these days, many a good encounter, many a good person, many a good event, many a good gift, other than not making much money. We are blessed and fortunate. It is a rich and full season, and I recognize it as such; not all of them are, or at least they don’t all feel that way. I’ve had some extra time for reflection and quietness the last couple of days, as I’m to lay low and let heal a very inflamed pelvic ligament, probably the result of too much wedding dancing. Thus, extra time for blogging. What follows is a variety of thoughts and pics from the last few weeks, starting of course with Rachel and Cam’s wedding that took place Saturday.

the big wedding!

Aaaaand, it’s over! After months and months of preparation on the part of many people, most pointedly the bride herself, Rachel’s marriage has taken place to Cameron Peyton Clear, whom we love. They happen to both highly value friendships and keep them alive and vibrant over years’ time, as was evident by their wedding party of twenty people. Friends and family from childhood, school, church, work, and skiing came from everywhere (including folks fresh in from Brazil, east Asia, and Africa) to take part in not only the big day itself, but events before and afterwards. People rode horses, visited the Park, swam in the lakes, barbequed, and sort of had one big vacation together. It was a beautiful show of support and community to get a couple started on their journey.

One cool / hilarious part was that Cameron wanted to be baptized while he was here, thinking it would be him, Rachel, and my dad present. It turned into a 14-car caravan to Glacier Park, each vehicle stuffed to the gills with people so we’d have to pay less entrance fees. We didn’t have a specific destination, but knew we wanted to be somewhere on the shore of Lake McDonald, which is about 10 miles long. We had to find a spot with enough pullout space to accommodate everyone and to coordinate it via cell phones and handheld radios.

I couldn’t take shots of the ceremony itself since I was a bridesmaid, but how’s about I tell you instead? The wedding party lined up five men and five women on each side, the women wearing black dresses of their choosing and holding simple lily bouquets in oranges and pinks. Rachel looked precisely like a princess, albeit more chic. Our dad pastors a Church of God congregation here, and Cameron’s dad pastors a Unitarian congregation in Indiana, so they co-officiated the ceremony. Cam and Rach said traditional vows and then personal ones. As Jason said later, Cam’s vows made the other guys look like kindergartners. They were so sincere and well thought out. Our favorite line was that he would always check out the bumps in the night for Rachel. For her portion of the personal vows, she sang “Answer” by Sarah McLachlan. Then Jason and I sang a Bonnie Prince Billy song while they took communion that says, “I called you back to a place beside me,” sort of a double meaning song, for human-human love and God-human love. My brothers and cousins backed us up on instruments. And whooo boy, the dance floor was hot! We even got my parents out there cutting a rug.

Here are some shots from Holly.

and a few other shots...

Erin's under there straightening something out.

four siblings and three spouses

Me and Jace and the bump

mamas and babies

mama doe and baby fawn

mama orange and baby kumquat

mama plum and baby grapes
mama me and baby ?

horsies

My Pops raises and trains horses to sell or use, specializing in Tennessee Walkers. When we arrived in late spring, there weren't any unbroken colts to work with, but as seems to happen around here, some showed up. A family that bought four Walkers from Dad a few years back (two mares with a colt each) found they weren't riding much and wanted the horses to be back in good care.

So, long story short, Jason has had a chance to break a couple of three year old horses! He has loved working with Harley, seen in the shots below, and he’s just starting in with Dusty Brown, a very shy and small one.

Dad uses the Horse Whisperer and Natural Horsemanship-type training, in which you work gently and in a relaxed state with the horses, teaching them to respond to light and subtle commands. He doesn’t use bits or spurs, and yet these are some of the most responsive horses you’ll ever run across. Also, because he imprints them when they’re young, by touching and petting them a lot, they are personable and almost dog-like in their desire to get close and cuddly with you. Anybody want to buy a Tennessee Walking horse? Awesome. See his website at www.lllwalkers.com. A shameless plug for me old man.

Here’s Dad riding in the July 4th parade in support of a friend of his who’s running for State House position.

our workout video

Bajillions of little home-improvement projects hearken to our family as the wedding day approaches. Company is slated to start arriving this week. Friday was carpet cleaning day, so we cleared the furniture from out of the living room, and when the carpet finally dried yesterday, it was time to move it all back. But Jason and David were in less of a furniture moving mood and in more of a lets-make-use-of-this-wide-open-space mood. The following improv video is the result.

Hardcore aerobic in home workout

the funeral of Michael MacDonald

In Flagstaff recently, there was a mid-air collision between two medical helicopters near the hospital that resulted in 6 deaths. The patient aboard one helicopter was a firefighter on loan in the Grand Canyon with his crew, the Chief Mountain Hot Shots, from Browning, Montana.

This is a newspaper article about the crash that focuses on him. http://www.greatfallstribune.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080701/NEWS01/807010301/1002/news01.


We drove to Browning on Saturday to attend Michael's funeral, feeling a special pull there because of Jason's work in fire and the Park's relationship with this particular Hot Shot crew, an interest in and respect for native traditions, our experiences in Flagstaff last year, especially, as it turns out, hiking the hills where the crash ocurred, and the people we've met from Browning. The service drew in the whole town; this crew is one of the their great prides, and many see the Hot Shot role as a continuation of the young warrior tradition. We joined the long line to view Michael's body and the various effects people had placed in his coffin, and to then kiss the cheeks of his mother and girlfriend. Jason told the family it was an honor for us to be there and that we were very sorry for their loss. I cried and cried and could barely speak.

Unfortunately, the catholic priest, who had the most air time, focused on the heroics of firefighters and military personnel who selflessly sacrifice for our nation, and he strongly emphasized the glories of our government. It seemed odd coming from a white guy to a nearly all-native crowd. If an Indian wanted to say the same stuff, fine, but it truly felt like we had time traveled to 150 years ago, and a government representative in religious clothing was trying to convince everyone that white people's decisions around here are good and justified, though this concept wasn't related to Michael much at all. But otherwise the elements of the service were beautiful, including the Hot Shot crew lining up to pass his helmet, backpack, and boots from one end of the gym to the other, each one holding them for a bit to say goodbye, and Scripture readings by the family. But oh! The wailing when the time came to close the casket. I don't know if I will ever forget the sound, or that of the Indians all through the gym who spontaneously erupted into war cries after "Song for a Warrior" was sang by a group of young drummers.

This is a poem I wrote in the days afterwards.

circles

relentless sun above the Canyon's rims
beads of sweat from under your white helmet,
to be passed from comrade to comrade in a few days' time
thick body of a bee, black and yellow
drips of poison on a needle's point
rotaries, giving flight to the bird
that has come to carry you home

faces of mother, step-father, aunts, friends, strangers gathered
tears fallen onto your round cheeks

basketball
medals of honor
dream catchers
your quilt, white, with a colorful star
all added to your casket before the closing

finality
no escape

thick pink lips come toward yours, thin, off-colored
drums beat, beat, beat to Song for a Warrior
that ends in Blackfeet cries throughout the gym
cries of battles and pains, old and new

CeCe's belly, ripe with your child
life
death
new life

Rachel's bachelorette weekend!

Here are some pictures from Rachel's bachelorette weekend two weeks ago in Pacific City, Oregon. 10 of us were able to be there, and we had a hoot. I am super happy my wittle sis has such a great group of gals around her for support, silliness, sunburn lines we have to work very hard to undo before the wedding, and Sex and the City. Alliteration, see. They're all about it. There was also, as you can imagine, yummy food, wine, charades, and smut magazines to catch up on.

Stacy B. took this shot of my 17-week belly. It seems that when you're among ten women, only one of whom has a child, your pregnancy becomes a topic of some interest. Can't say I minded too much all of the attention...

On our one crazy evening out, Erin had Rachel wear a t-shirt on which various strangers could write their advice for the bride. She got some doozies; drunk men don't have a lot of creativity. But here's the first couple to sign her shirt. Oddly enough, their anniversary is July 19th, Rachel and Cam's wedding date, and they've been married for 33 years. So that was pretty cool.