Fan-O-Montana! (Kill me for the joke later) Washington Files Part THREE (after brief hiatus)

(Note: Your blogger (moi) had a really intensely *special* week...and made some silly errors...hence the delay in the story.  You may now sit back, relax...and see pictures of things with WORDS!)

This is Honey Badger, aka Fluffy. He was our mascot from the Montana Night Death Drive.  A furball who toughs it through cones, travel, and trucks as if he don't care.  Cuz he don't. He's Honey Badger. He did way better than the humans did on the night death driving.

By morning, and after a great sleep on a giant, fluffy king sized bed. (God Bless the Best Western in Bozeman. Seriously.), my knuckles were less white and my nerves had gone back towards steel from putty.  We were ready to hit the road again.

Tim had gone out to do something earlier that morning and come back to tell me I wouldn't believe what we'd come through and what we'd missed seeing the night before.  I'd had some inkling of the types of passes we'd been going through, but I admit, I really hadn't expected to see this out the hotel's front doors.

There were some wildfires in the area making our view hazy...but there was something great about this moment.  When I was 16, I got my first glimpse of real mountains in the parking lot of a Walmart. While this is NOT the ideal location to see such things, I'll always remember it.  My friend Joe and I, who'd both never been faced with that sort of immensity, gawked from the sidewalk while everyone else went in to shop.

A man in a ten gallon hat (or y'know, perhaps a 2 liter hat?) came out of the store.  Noticing our gawking, he walked over to us and joked "Not from around here, are ya?"

Not much you can do to blend in at that point, so we copped to being Illinoisans who'd never been out of the flatlands enough to see what we were now seeing.  I know he must have been talking to both of us, but the way I remember it, it felt like he was speaking straight to me. He told us too often people that are from CO take the mountains for granted, and don't realize just how awe-inspiring and incredible they are.  He told us not to forget the feeling we had that day, and not to take things like that for granted.

It stuck with me.  It's strange how strangers can impact your lives or impart sudden doses of wisdom, isn't it?
Anyway, that view in Bozeman that morning from the parking lot....reminded me of that.  I wouldn't know for years what it's like to know the faces of the different peaks, or what it was like to curl up inside a kiva carved out of a cliff...but I knew I had something.

This was our third day on the road. I was starting to feel more in charge of Ol' Bumpy, rather than the other way around.

I thought the third day would be the hardest, but it turned out to be the easiest, when all things were considered.

That was in large part due to the AMAZING sights.  I don't have too many pictures from this portion of the trip, since I was doing a lot of driving....but it plays like an HD video in my head still.

All day, we wound through the mountains.  Montana might be sparsely populated, but I find that to be a good thing, because so much of the land is way too amazing to not be preserved.  I think the first four or five hours of our day were all spent weaving through the mountains, alongside sparkling rivers and pine forests.  Just when we thought it couldn't get prettier, the road would open up or we'd be up on a bridge over the Clark Fork River (which we had to have crossed no less than 10 times, I swear) and there'd be absolutely stunning things ahead of us to explore.  I'll never stop loving exploring places like this.  We couldn't get out and run until our legs fell off, but I think the excitement made both of us want to.  I never thought I'd push Montana so high up on the "places I'd like to vacation" list until this particular day.

That was all going to pale in comparison to Idaho though.   Idaho was a little bit scary.  When we'd stopped at a gas station

 (that didn't accept out of state chicks, by the way...since apparently my reading skills had gone out the window by that time...), we'd found out from Patty and her mom that it was going to be an uphill battle, so to speak.    Uphill and full 20 foot moving truck aren't really the BEST combination, dontchaknow.

We did a lot better, nervewise and I think every other way too, without the whole "shroud of darkness" thing going on.  And while we weren't in Idaho long...it was pretty amazing.

We wound up an amazing mountain pass- probably the biggest one we were ever hit, though it was dark through Washington later that night, so I could be wrong...and came down the other side to find C'ouer D'Alene.

I don't know if you'd heard anything about it.   For me, I'd been seeing signs for a while and had been wracking my brain trying to figure out what exactly made the name stick out to me.   It wasn't going to matter once we hit it though.   I wish I had pictures from this part, but if I'd have stopped in Coeur D'Alene or anywhere near it, I think neither of us would ever have gotten back in the car.

Coeur D'Alene kind of pops out of nowhere. You're still in the mountains on the approach, but you've been in the same type of environment for some time by the time you come around that all important corner.  I love the way the road is there.  You can't tell at all what you're about to see.  Then the veil just drops...and you're in what I think could be the prettiest place I've ever seen.  It was absolutely breathtaking.  I think I may honestly have gasped a little bit just out of shock.  I looked for pictures on the internet, but some things just have to be experienced in person.  It's magical, and I don't say that lightly.  You come at it from a pretty decent height, on a bridge.  To your left is a huge, sparkling blue lake. On a sunny day like the one we were having...it's like a sea of diamonds.  The mountains surround it on every side and you can see sailboats and canoes and all sorts of things dotting it.   It's expansive, and dramatic....and the kind of place you immediately want to get lost in.  I remember saying to Tim that he could drop me off there and I'll figure out how to get home.  It wasn't THAT far from my mind.  We both agreed NOT to stop at the exit near there...and I really think it was just because that place has such a draw.   I never wanted to leave.  I remember thinking "This is the kind of place I just want to live in before I die."

I barely remember anything directly after that.  The drive continued to be nice, and very scenic, but that place was hard to erase from our minds.   Idaho being the shape it is, we weren't there for too long.   It did feel kind of amazing to finally cross into Washington.  Aside from Tim being excited about moving in, I felt good about making it that far, and the drive having an end in sight.  Later that night, instead of yet another gas station and more Doritos/beef jerky/gatorade/sandwiches...we stopped for ACTUAL FOOD.

We'd been looking for a Taco Bell (hey, the road does weird things to you) for some time when we found a place with a drive-in.  When we got there, we were kind of done, driving wise. Despite our amazing day of sightseeing, the buttlegs were SEVERE, and the sun had been searing into our eyes since we'd been headed due west for some time at this point.   We took an hour break to get a burger, relax in the car, refuel, and rehydrate.  I can't believe we actually took that long, because both of us were excited for the end of the road...but sometimes, you've been on the road too long to even realize how much rest you need.

When we got back on the road, we were in the flats for a long time.  It started to get dusky, and we both started to get tired. I think the adrenaline had finally worn off.  There were still some thing of note...including the town of George.  (George, Washington...get it?) and Purdy. (Couldn't make it up if I tried).  There were some epic bridges, some winding ascents, and some major bridges.  I was fantasizing about beds, and about not having anywhere to drive the next day. And beds. Majorly majorly beds.

I think we really missed some epic sights just before we got into the Seattle/Bremerton area, and I'm a little sad for that.  It was almost a full moon so you could make out hints of what had to be the biggest mountains I'd seen on the trip, and the ascents were pretty long, though not as steep as some we'd come across.  As per usual, the more you want to get somewhere, the longer it will take you.  When we saw the Seattle sign that said we were 40 miles out, we were so happy. Seemed like no time.  We played some celebratory Nirvana and chattered and generally thought about people or beds. Or not driving.

But we had to go to Bremerton. Somehow after the 40 was 20 to Bremerton. Then it'd be another 8. Another 7.  I swear to you it was some sort of trick and it was actually 100 miles.  We pulled into Bremerton around midnight, and we got lost on the way to the house.  Worse still, when we got lost, we ended up coming around the corner only to face a little ski jump followed by a freaking SLOPE up.  Neither of us were in the mood for this, and I had to gun it to get the momentum just to get up.

After shuffling around in the house and trying to figure out sleeping arrangements, then having to recover my phone...it was FINALLY time for bed. Time for bed in Bremerton, man.

And that...is how I got to Washington.

Of course, it didn't end there.   But I needed to snooze then, and I need to snooze now.  Most of all...this is long enough.  I guess I'll catch you on the flip side for more Washington files, then. :P

Beds, man.  They're pretty excellent. (You'll never know this in a more profound way than when you're done with a road trip.)

Lost Highway- The Washington Files Part 2

On Day 2 of the Epic Washington Move Road Trip, morning broke the way it usually does for me, no matter where I am...like a plate that someone breaks over your head when you least expect it.  I've never been a morning person, and the prospect of another 12 hours of driving, not to mention the task of tag teaming the felines into their bags, gathering up the hotel room, repacking the truck and generally making your way on down the road just makes it that much harder to roll out of bed.

Roll we did though. There was a really nice hot breakfast for free at our hotel, and we had a bit more time that morning to roll out of bed with less problems and more showers and...a little bit less chaos.

North Dakota isn't without its charms.  In fact, one of my favorite teachers- my fourth grade teacher Mrs. Anderson, is from good ol' ND. It did have some picturesque farm fields, pretty little rolled bales of hay, striped fields that looked like patchwork quilts, and even the fields of sunflowers my mom had been telling me to look for.  And even though Illinois has those things...I started to feel far away in the good ways.  There's something inside me that feels freer as the land opens up the way it did.   When you can drive for miles without seeing a building, except maybe a few lean-tos or old farmhouses, most with the sunbleached, tattered roofs and walls- a skeleton from the past.   As much as I couldn't wait for the mountains-I never can...it felt good.

 I must say though, that North Dakota wasn't particularly kind to us on this trip.  Aside from construction that put us down to one lane in either direction for long stretches, which is bad enough, there were the narrow guide walls and the tall orange cones to avoid-which is harder when your truck is lane-sized....times when we had to actually drive on the shoulder (I kept praying we were balanced enough not to flip) and times when it was one lane period.

Somewhere in mid-ND, we encountered a guy driving an electrical van and pulling a trailer who....should never have been on the road in the first place.  The way he fishtailed was insane.  He'd weave between lanes, go off onto the shoulder, over-correct, and then when he pulled back on, his trailer would start this terrifying tippy little dance.  I honestly thought we were going to see the guy go over.  It was pretty scary.  We kept a good distance between us, but eventually watching the dance was getting to be too much, especially when other drivers would approach him-we cringed every time, hoping they'd get clear of him before the next time he'd cross the white line or drive on the shoulder.  We called the police on him, and at one point, we thought we saw a car pacing him, but nothing came of it.   I had to pass him, and I don't know that my heart has ever pounded that hard while driving.  I knew the guy could veer over any minute, and it seemed like it was taking forever just to get by.  If Tim hadn't been trying to talk me through it, I would NEVER have been able to make it.

After lunch that day, or shortly before (these things all run together) Tim took the wheel.  North Dakota was going to be ending soon, and we'd finally be in Montana.  Since Bozeman was our stop that night...this was going to be cause for celebration.

Something I never knew about North Dakota?  The far western portion of it is AMAZING.   It opens up into badlands.  It reminded me so much of THE Badlands in South Dakota that I loved so much when we went as kids.  I had no idea there was more than one badlands area.   My heart always jumps when the terrain starts changing, and the dirt starts going red- it's all reminders of where I always felt like I belonged.

I was loving it- watching the small canyons turn bigger, the red dirt mix with white rock, and the bands of color and dancing light.

I didn't know what to expect for a lot of this trip.  I haven't really been to North Dakota before, nor Idaho, or much of Montana...this was the first time, at least in my eyes, we were hitting paydirt...the first time that the scenery started to really take your breath away.  It was the first time we climbed, and the first time we were on roads that cut through canyons and wound like the rivers.  Watching Tim experience it for the first time I remembered how I felt....boxed in by something so much bigger than you could really put a finger on without being there....small...sometimes scared by how big it all was.  In the truck, that feeling was magnified.  Ol' Bumpy being what he was is not the most nimble of things, and on the ups, gravity really isn't on your side.  Without a good foot to the gas, there was always the chance you'd be pulled down a hill instead of going up it.

There was something neat about experiencing someone else having their first time in the mountains...I think it's the closest you'll ever get to feeling it again, but without the uncertainty that you had when it was actually you.  I tried to balance my need to take pictures of everything with helping my fellow trucker as much as I could.   I gotta say, it's hard to tear your eyes away from things like this sometimes though.

These are the places I always want to run away to.   Along the river there.  Just forget about the road, the truck...where you're going....and run out into the wild and explore.  Follow the river around the bend, step onto the tops of mesas, peer into the valleys....stay.   My friend Lewis was biking through Idaho/Washington around this time, and I saw a picture he took of his campsite along the river in Idaho...one of these days I'll have to follow that pull and take off under the blue skies, walk out on the horizon, and sleep by the rivers.  This goes on my list of thing I absolutely MUST do in my life.

We finally crossed into Montana, and decided to switch drivers.  Took a much needed break in the little welcome center, where I ran across this:

We didn't get to do those things....we had places to be, y'see.  But...I'd definitely lost my interest in sitting on a couch.   Just as soon as the land opened up like that, so did I, and all I wanted to do was explore. 

The rest of that day passed without much incident.  We headed into Montana.  I knew Montana would be quite desolate from my trip through there with my parents, and I remembered right. 

Montana is unique in that you can travel for hours without ever seeing anyone else.  As an aside? A lot of weird names for towns there.  Home on the Range, Cracker Box, Diamond Ring...

The desolate nature of the place was good for thinking, for sightseeing, and for relaxing...until it got dark. 

One thing that you don't realize when you live in the suburbs is how dark dark can be. I learned this living in New Mexico, but I've been back long enough so that when we were plunged into it...I wasn't ready. I don't think Tim was either.  The pair of us spent most of that night white knuckling our way through mountain passes, with our headlights the only light sometimes.   Tim would call out which way the road would curve ahead, so I could concentrate on the two lonely beams of light in front of me.   It's at this point I realized how great a team we were becoming.   Tim was just as scared as I was some of that night- worrying about elk, how Ol' Bumpy would handle steep grades, since they were the first we'd encountered on the trip, which way the road was going...and how much higher we'd be climbing.  I can't say I enjoyed that trip through the darkness, but I can say it really cemented the partnership, and made it clear that 2 were so, so much better than one for things like this.   

I still remember Tim asking me during a rather tense set of switchbacks if I needed quiet to concentrate or if he should talk to me.  I honestly wasn't sure I knew, but then I realized the silence was making me more tense.  So I said "No, talk to me."

About two minutes later- I'd assume this was the time it takes a stressed out brain to think of something...out of the darkness beside me I hear....

"I like Batman."

Though I didn't have the capacity to chuckle at that point, I remember it switching my brain out of panic mode.   It took me a good minute or two to respond....but soon we were talking about the Nolan trilogy, the comics...and even doing Christian Bale impressions.

It took us HOURS longer than it took Patty and her mom to get to the hotel in Bozeman, and even with the Batman conversation, we'd reached the end of our ropes, stress-wise.  Looking back...I think it was kind of neat that we did that. I know I felt like I accomplished something...I know I felt like we conquered the worst of driving conditions, and could probably  handle anything...and we knew that even if the road was like that the next day, we'd at least have the sun to guide us. 

Still, pulling into that hotel was one of the biggest sighs of relief I've sighed in quite a while.  After a quick shower, a stroll to shake off the nerves, yet another gas station sandwich, due to the late hour....and some pepsi...we turned in, having earned ourselves the title of Road Warriors

Thus ended Day 2.  Join me for the third installment tomorrow. Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel.

We've Got a Great Big Convoy....la la...la la la? (The Washington Files-A Cross Country Saga, Pt. 1)

Hello there. I never take a trip without telling all the gory details.  ;)
Ok, maybe not ALL...but at least some.
This trip was an interesting one, in that...I was driving cross country and leaving my best friend behind there.

And this beast you see above this text?  Well, my chariot awaited.  More like scariot.

I can't say we got off on the best foot the night before the trip or even the morning of.  This picture might not do Ol' Bumpy (who started off being named Billy) justice, but Ol' Bumpy was a 20 FOOT moving truck.  That's a lot of feet.  Not only was Ol' Bumpy 20 feet of truck, it was 20 feet of FULL truck.  The first time I got behind the wheel, I was not ok with it.  I've driven big things, but especially with the way things had gone this year, I was warier than ever driving in general, let alone manning a freaking leviathan.  I took the wheel the first time the night before we left, from Round Lake to Gurnee and the hotel. I was scared. It was large. Large and full and floaty and strange.  But we safely arrived. That was about all I was asking for.  It was really late at night when we got there thanks to some STELLAR movers (all sarcasm should be increased by 11 here, since they were evil) and just some misfortune.  We didn't get to sleep til late, and the next day after our first delightful gas station sandwich (a staple of this trip, and something I won't miss for a long while, if ever) we headed off to Wisconsin. Our goal? Fargo, ND.  Seemed very, very far away.  On top of this was my lingering question:

"What happens when two (kind of) strangers (myself and fellow road warrior Tim) , picked to live in an ol' bumpy moving truck for 30+ hours...work together and have their lives....um...well...truckified...stop being polite, and start being real?"

Tim and I were the chosen ones for the truck, and though it's a bit of a spoiler to the above question...it turned out really well. :) We made an excellent team.  That first day I remember it was part of my anxiety, but it started melting away pretty fast, and we became fast friends, which would be crucial later on. (foreshadow'd!)

The truck got easier to drive as we went along, and we got in a rhythm. One thing I liked is that the gasup schedule for the truck seemed to really coincide with the point at which Tim and I really needed caffeine/water/gas station sandwiches (unfortunately) or to just get out of the dang truck and run around a little.  What happens if you don't do that?

Butt legs.  It's a term I coined by 6 that evening, if I remember correctly.  When driving Ol' Bumpy and sitting in much the same position for hours on end, the bumpiness and sitting still and y'know, general road-like scenario- will make it so that when you get out of the car, you can't feel your butt or your legs. You can't tell the difference between your butt or your legs. You're not sure if you're standing or sitting.  You're not sure HOW to stand.  This, my friends...is what we call buttlegs. There should be a telethon. Or maybe there shouldn't be...

I will say...I do love driving, and I love road trips.  There was a certain responsibility that came with this one, and a lot of anxiety, but soon even a 20 foot truck started to be something I could enjoy driving or riding in, and the scenery started changing quickly.  Wisconsin is really a gorgeous state, and we got to see quite a good slice of it on our way up 94.

Minnesota wasn't our favorite state, if I recall.  This was probably due in part to it being dark, and in part to it being trafficky...and I'm fairly sure, when you're on state 3 for the day, it's got a disadvantage from the beginning for being anyone's favorite.

One thing I enjoy about road trips is the small towns.  I love to get out of the car and be on one of those specks on the map.  It's fun to try and get the feel for a place.  Oftentimes, even when you're just off the expressway, everyone knows each other, and tell stories about secretly living in a house they were supposed to be out of a month ago, what happened to Bill's truck, and who's dating whom.   You can pick up the local specialties and imagine life in a town like that.  Trading stories over coffee every morning and then working in the fields, or the factories...or grabbing your coffee and hitting the big city....it's fun to weave yourself into established stories that way.

Fargo was our stop for the night.  I think we were all ready for it when it came, though it was NOTHING like I pictured it.  I thought it'd be much more of a small town, and instead it reminded me of Gurnee.  There was a crazy alien themed bar that reminded me of Pizza Planet from Toy Story. I was dying to go there, but it was already closed when we got into town.   The Best Western in Fargo is wonderful, and we were glad to get there, get settled...and order pizza from....

Nine Dragons Schezuan and Pizza

I kid you not.  We got pizza from a mashup place-it came with fortune cookies.  And though that sounded like an unfortunate mix, it was glorious.  Fresh, hot...not from a gas station!!!  The cats got let out of their bags too, and got to run around, stretch their furry little legs, and if you're Frankie...generally amuse the public, roll around and be adorable.

Though she was bright eyed and bushy tailed...we were not, and turned in for a decent night's sleep before more open roads, bug murdering, and sightseeing. 

Half speed.

So I've been on another hiatus.  I think I ought to write more often, to be honest. I've always known it's what clears things out of my head, but sometimes I just want to keep those things close to my chest.   Right now I'm feeling that way...at least half that way.

I feel like if I *don't* get this post out of the way, I can't write about the road trip and helping my best friend move to Seattle.   So I want to write.

But I know what I'm going to need to write to get to that, and I guess I feel really guarded right now.

I mentioned to someone who proceeded to completely ignore it the way you can know something's getting in your head and causing you to feel a certain way...and that even when you can pick it out, what's doing it, and you can intellectually know it's the cause...sometimes that's not enough to get it out of your head.

I guess that's what I am going through right now.

The night I got back from the trip I had a series of bad dreams that reinforced what I already knew.  That my world here got a little bit smaller, and that when that happens...I retreat.  I make it worse because I take it to heart whether I try to or not, and I figure it's easier to just muddle through any sadness and weird thoughts on my own. I start to create trouble where there isn't any, and I get reckless.  I want so badly to run to someone I care about but it's also the last place I'll let myself go.

Well...I'm going to try to change that. I'm going to try to trust.  I feel like if I don't this time, I'll really be lost.
All those dreams I had that night? Were about the people closest to me suddenly booting me out.  It's pretty clear that I'm doing the booting in my own head, and I need to stop it.

So there. That's my "intimate chat with me" that I'm spilling onto some blog page somewhere.

Now on to trip photos and stories from the road.  Can you dig it?

Should but Didn't, Did but Shouldn't.

 

Signs you didn't see....

Sometimes when you least expect it someone hands you a mirror and you start to find the reasons for the things you didn't think there were reasons for. 

This has been on my mind for days and I've had a hard time finding the words, but I'll try to locate them and put them in some semblance of order. 

Knee jerk reactions have taken me by surprise lately- I've twice in the same night recently found myself not knowing where something came from.  First it was a pretty torrential cry that popped up in an otherwise unremarkable evening.  I've been a great "bottler" for a long time now, so when the pressure builds enough to pop the top, it's a pretty spectacular mess.  Or that's how it feels.  Still, I was with someone I trust absolutely, and more importantly than that, someone who wouldn't judge me for not knowing where the sadness was coming from exactly, and things started to calm down as I realized I wasn't alone and didn't have to be. 

Having said that though, it's another reflex besides the one I have to let things build up that bothers me.  Somewhere in that great big spill of sudden emotion,  someone reached out and said something I not only needed to hear, but wanted to.  Exactly the right thing at the right time, but not because it was the right thing to say....because it was felt and meant.   And I slammed the door in their face.  I did it with force, I did it with speed, and just as quickly as I'd done it, I regretted it.  

Like I said, this had/has gnawed at me for a while now.  In discussing it later with a friend, that mirror got handed to me.  And the things behind that shutout became clearer whether I liked it or not.  Slam the door out of fear- the fear that you're just "being a victim" and that that's how you'll live your life, playing the strings of tiny violins and bemoaning the things that happened in your past. 

But the truth is...I spend so much time avoiding that label, trying to pretend circumstances don't matter, I don't realize what effect they have.  The way growing up knowing something is glaringly missing feels...or the way that all the criticism and negativity will make you the kind of person who feels like they always have to prove themselves.   The way it feels to hear all the right words and out of naivete believe you won't get left in the dust, even though you do.every.time.   The way it feels to walk out the front door on a windy day with your heart completely in someone else's hands.    It creates fear of rejection and defensiveness and makes your heart a locked room.  Entry forbidden. 

The truth is, you don't let that define you.  While ignoring it is healthy, holding on to it can't be either.  But when someone brings so much love into a room and you slam the door shut before you realize why?   Well...I guess it's time to re-evaluate how you're doing things. 

I don't want to be that person.  I didn't know exactly that I was that person.  I regret what I said that night- I wish I could go back and let it all in completely.   One thing that makes me feel better though, is I felt understood even in that moment.  I trusted that even if I didn't say the right thing, it would be ok.  I had faith that there would be another chance.   I trust that the words that were spoken came from something very real, and harder to slam the door on than I think.  And I'm grateful for that.  

It's time to change the signs.

Fractured Fairy Tales and a Room Full of Bees

I've been thinking about things lately, probably more deeply than is even really advisable sometimes.  I mentioned it before, but I guess it's still pressing on my mind.

I don't think most of us are naive.  I know in my circle of friends there's a lot of loss and tragedy and pain that people have had to deal with and so I would never say they've had blinders on their eyes or that they were perma-glued to their rose-colored glasses, and though a lot of people have accused me of it, neither have I.

I don't think that stops us from believing "things will work out" and "they'll make it through" and "he loves me not...he loves me" at least somewhere in the backs of our heads.   And maybe we don't always believe it.  We're smart enough to know that this isn't a movie, and boy doesn't always meet girl, lose girl, and get girl back.   The dog does die at the end sometimes, and the house burns down.  We intellectually know it but when it applies to us we have a remarkable ability to push it out for the things we want to happen.   Or to hope that maybe just this one time, it works out that way. The thing no one wants to hear is that when you FINALLY unbottle your heart and say "I love you" that you might still be alone when you walk out the door.   Or that no matter how hard you try, sometimes you can't make it better.  You can throw everything you have into trying to make a relationship better, to resolve years of hurt and misunderstanding, and in the end, when the sun sets, it just might not happen.   And it won't be your fault.

And that...is depressing.  You want to think that the people you love will love you back...that your family will accept you for who you are, and that as far apart as you get from someone there's always going to be a way to get back.  And that that doesn't always happen is honestly a tragedy.  It breaks the hearts of the people involved, and it breaks the hearts of the people who love them and want so badly for things to work out for them.  Comes with a sort of hopelessness that's hard to shake sometimes.

And although for a while after work today, the really really depressive side of me was winning out, I'm not here to be depressing.

Because there's something else I was reminded of today too, and that's that even when the people that shouldn't fail you do, and the people that are supposed to love you unconditionally don't...you might still run across someone, somewhere who does.   You might run across the people who know things are bad at home, and they invite you over for spaghetti and tell you you don't have to leave if you don't want to, and you get to be a part of someone else's family and have pizza night and let their cats gnaw on your hair as you eat your breakfast.

You might also run into the person who shouldn't have anything left in them to give but will still stop everything and save you before you explain and the first time you ask.  Or the person who will pick you up, get you dressed, drive you to the hospital and hold your hand while you drift in and out and your body shivers from fighting the sick. 

I guess my point is...we all want people to love us.  We want the people that are *supposed* to love us to love us.  We want people we love to love us.

But I think one of the best things in the entire world is finding it when you don't expect it.   And getting it when you don't even necessarily deserve it. I was reading all these romantic stories and thinking....I don't know the words sometimes.  It was so cool hearing people say the words, even if they hadn't said them to who they were for yet, because they were afraid.

For all my words, when it's the most important I can be rendered instantly mute.  Or at least profoundly stupid.

"Bees!" I'd yell, expecting some sort of  Notebookesque kiss or tears.
"Bees!"

Maybe I'd even make some gesture to try to explain.  Some kind of buzzy little gesture that's supposed to clarify that what I said was "Bees!"

You think I exaggerate, but I'm sure this is something that would happen.
And what I'd mean is...

I love you SO much.  I also really, really hate bees.  You know this already. You know I run around like I'm being chased by a killer every time there's one of those crazy pollen hungry insects in my vicinity.  You know this is illogical, and so do I.

But what I mean when I shout "Bees!" like it's the only word I know...is that I love you.  I love you so much I will sit in a room full of bees if I get to spend that time with you.   And you will mock me, and tell me horrible stories about killer bees and the toxins and the horrible way I'll die from all the terrible, awful bee stings.  And I'll laugh as though you're not scaring me at all, and then I'll wait a half an hour, then I'll ask for percent chances of that ACTUALLY happening, and you'll give me the actual answer, which will probably still make me feel better.  And I would go in that room, because the safest I've ever felt is with you.

So what's my point, aside from pointing out my own ineptitude for saying things I mean, and my fantastic ability to deflect actual feelings with humor?


I feel lucky tonight, for the spaghetti, for the "savings".  For the lilacs in my bedroom window just because my best friend's mom knew I loved the smell.   For the Seattleite who kept me sane when I was feeling isolated in Los Alamos and sent me books and gloves and hugs,  for the hand at the hospital bed...for so many things.  It doesn't fix the relationships I wish were different or make bad relationships better, but it makes me want to shout "Bees!" at someone and hope they understand how deeply they're loved.

You'll Walk Alone, but...

This picture was taken just about a year ago in Boulder, CO. I took the trip to Boulder completely alone, and despite a rough morning that involved leaving someone behind who was the absolute last person that I wanted to leave behind,  I had an amazing day taking things at my own pace, exploring...breathing in the mountain air and finding my own way through a new place.

These mountains are burning now.   Less than a year later, much of the state I was born in and the state I found home in are on fire.  The day I arrived in New Mexico...my very first day there, I was just getting into Santa Fe when I spotted a small plume of white smoke off in the distance.  I'd stopped to get gas and try to stretch my legs a little before the push to Los Alamos, which was a little over an hour away.  As I drove out of Santa Fe, that small plume from 20 minutes before had become a full force wildfire- I'd gotten on the road just before they started to close it behind me.  I'd never really understood "spreading like wildfire" before I saw that.

The truth is, things burn.  They burn out of control, and sometimes there's no stopping it.   The wind keeps blowing gale-force, the heat is intense and it won't rain.  The truth is, when it gets to a certain point, you can't fight the fire.  The truth is even the firefighters can't stop things from burning to the ground sometimes.  The memories you had can be engulfed by flames, and the thing you've dedicated your life to can be nothing but ashes in the wind. 

That's the worst truth there is.
You'd like to think that with enough water...enough firefighters...maybe fight fire with fire...maybe you could save it.
But you can't.


This weekend something like that happened in my own life, my own family.   Suddenly there was something that just...happened.  There was no fixing it, there was no way to help even.  There was nothing that could be done except to watch something sacred, beautiful and amazing suddenly disappear.

Truth is, it's not the first person I love I'm seeing lose something like that this year.

So you watch the fire burn out of control.  You watch walls of flames block people in, you watch the edges curl in, the darkness spread, and the pieces get taken by the wind.  

The truth is sometimes you won't even have an eyedropper full of water to throw at it.  And you'll want to dig with your bare hands til they crack and bleed just to have a bucket to toss at a firestorm.

The truth is sometimes we can't do anything about it.  There's loss and there's pain, and as much as you want to take it away, or make it better, or even to just be there for someone...sometimes they're going to be walking alone.  Sometimes the only way they can face it is them and the storm.    Sometimes it's all they can do to keep breathing and you can't be a part of it at that moment.

A few years ago, I said this to someone

"You don't have to walk alone if you don't want to."
    
Something I've held onto is "You'll Never Walk Alone."   I took it to heart.  I took it as a challenge to always be there for the people you love.   To value your friends and family as highly as you can, and to make it more than words.

What I'm learning is...sometimes you have to walk alone.   Sometimes, something happens and you can't hold on to anyone.  

Sometimes you have to watch someone you love suffer, and sometimes they have to suffer alone.  
You have to learn to trust that the love is there.  

You have to realize that you can't do anything.   Sometimes you'll be one place and they'll be someplace else, physically or elsewise.

So the truth is... you will walk alone. You'll face things on your own.  
The truth is, you'll watch people you love go through things and you won't be able to do anything.

But the truth is also....
You don't have to walk alone if you don't want to.

And all you can hope, when there's no words to say, and no water to throw on the fire, is that that's enough.  You can't stop the world from burning , but you can offer a hand to hold.