Some Pics from Training Trek

A chilly sunrise.

One of our 3 cabins--a place of refuge for tired girls and wet sleeping bags on extremely cold nights. My Life's Path also happens to be written on the floor in chalk while "explosives" await to be claimed by their owners. Look closer, and you'll see where my down jacket had a run-in with the stove. I got sloppy while taking off the pot of water and goose feathers and the smell of melting plastic filled the cabin. Good times . . . . I have a new appreciation for rip-stop repair material.

Sled, skis, great wood, and a whole lot of cold--the Northern Minnesotan way of life!

We leave for Expedition tomorrow so I'll be in the backcountry for the next 9 days. I'll leave you with something I came across the other day, which continues to move me:

"The gift of simplicity helps us see what would imprison us. Perhaps not visible handcuffs, shackles, or prison doors--only a few of us have to contend with those today. What imprisons may instead be invisible, or it may be so close to us that we do not notice the power of its grip. What the naked eye cannot see, the naked soul learns to discern.

That bare soul, stripped of its blinders and liberated from its own binding pretenses, reveals how bound and paralyzed by the power of habit and custom we can be. Some prayers speak of these habits and customs as being old. If we do something new and do it only once, there is seldom an automatic impulse to repeat it. But if we do something a thousand times, it is hard not to repeat it. The fresh resolves that we make on New Year's Days and birthdays but soon forget and the repentances we may express seem weak against the binding force of what we have done so frequently. What we do so habitually often creates illusions of security and holds us captive.

Some old habits and customs, to be sure, can serve the purposes of God. Thus we learn to be stewards, becoming habitually generous. Yet other old habits can continue to block God's purposes. As if addicted, we may eat or drink, inhale or inject, the wrong substances. In such a course of dependent life, we will come to feel defeated. But in the company of supportive and challenging people and under the tutelage of God the liberator, all of our closest enemies--which means our own old ways--can begin to be defeated, and we become newly free."

--Martin Marty, When True Simplicity is Gained

Yah, you know?

After a -50 degree night, I am still alive. Wow. Who said hell was a place of fire? No, no . . .hell is -25 degrees (much lower with the wind chill), with wind tearing out your soul leaving you wasted and without hope.

Thankfully the brutal weather has left, and we now have perfect winter camping weather (0-20 degrees). The girls are on their mini-solo (24 hours), so I ran into camp to shower and check email. I tried to load some pics to this computer, but no success. Needless to say, the sunrises have been incredible. The tracks and leftover deer bone this morning also indicated that we had a wolf around our site last night. I'm always blown away and humbled by this . . .all the authentic, wild life that becomes my community while I'm up here. On the way out to the solo sites today, I saw fox, dog/wolf, deer, mice, and rabbit tracks everywhere, and I was thankful for the lives that thrive in the woods. The snow gives away their business, and I can't get enough of it. It's also good to see where "Mangy," our resident fox (I'm sure there are several), is working the sites so that I don't put the girls there to feed him and encourage his begging habits. He is notorious as is. But funny how I love him, expecting him always, and he has become a character in my everyday life here, just as a pesky neighbor would back home.

Again, I can't help but write how thankful I am--for the heat of fire, for the present lack of gusting winds, for the girls and hope they have to offer the world, for my coworkers who are truly amazing women full of passion, and for mukluks, for snow, for eyes to see all this beauty.

My Dog is Fat

Dima went in for his annual shibang at the vet and he has gained a whopping 13.5 lbs. since our move 6 months ago. Between treats from "Grandpa Ron" and my running him less during the winter, he has managed to pack on some serious weight. So, the Valentine's Day $ given to me by my parents went toward buying him special diet dog food that he will be on indefinitely . . . . At least it's in a pink bag.

On a different note, I'm heading up to the northwoods tomorrow morning (I'm SO excited for snow), so I won't be writing as much for the next 3 weeks. Instead I will be sawing down dead trees and attempting to convince girls that life outside in extreme temperatures can be fun. "Your attitude determines your reality . . . ."

Enjoy February!

The Inevitable Post About Past Relationships

Having one channel that sort of comes in on my TV leaves me to the 3 DVDs I own: Bonhoeffer, The Fellowship of the Ring, and White Fang. The last was tonight’s viewing, and now I’m alone with my thoughts and folk music.

I’ve been pondering the relationships I’ve had--a total of two. The first was kind to me, and above all, a true friend. He was loyal and patient, and I didn’t deserve him. The second and last guy was complicated . . .but I loved him for his layers. He grew up in another country and loved the people most people would dismiss. He wasn’t afraid to tell someone that he loved him or her, and I admired his ability to be vulnerable. Vulnerability (especially with guys) is something I’ve always struggled with. Maybe this is because of the amount of teasing I encountered as a tall and awkward girl in elementary and middle school, or because my family didn’t verbalize compliments much—we made sure to show that we loved each other, but we rarely said “I love you,” or “I’m proud of you.” But I knew that my father coming to my track meets and basketball games meant that he loved me, and mom’s trips to the mall to treat me to a new outfit was her way of communicating love as well.

Anyway, the first guy broke up with me after I had sent him an email telling him how much I genuinely loved him. I cringe, now, knowing that I sent him an email, but he was several states away and I hated talking on the phone . . .besides, with an email or a letter, I thought he would have the chance to let the words settle without having an obligation to immediately respond. A couple of days later he broke up with me, stating that the love he once felt for me no longer existed. I didn’t know what to do at first—here I had finally verbalized something that was real, and vulnerable, and I got rejection in return.

Looking back, I can see what probably informed his decision: I was going to go to seminary somewhere, none of them near him. I was a neurotic mess with the whole decision making process and was trying to include him in the decisions, but then wondered if I should be doing that, and so on. It didn’t help that I was still having a hard time getting used to actually having a boyfriend. I had been independent for so long, and didn’t know how to refer to him to my friends and coworkers. I wanted to call him by his name and not “my boyfriend.” It felt like a foreign language, but I think my hesitation translated as a lack of interest in having a relationship, when in fact, it was just my getting used to something new. I’m sure there were other things I said, or wrote, or didn’t say that hurt him too. Regardless, I managed to lose one of my favorite friends in the ordeal.

And then there was the second relationship—fast and intense. He blindsided me. I had no intention of dating someone right away in seminary, but after a few conversations on a park bench and an invite to his place for tea, I became intrigued. He was a man on a mission and full of hope, at that time. But a 2 month trip to his home reminded him of his first loves, and when he came back to me stating that I was the only reason he had returned, I panicked underneath the pressure. I said a lot of wrong things, did a lot of wrong things, and then ended the relationship, hoping that it would free him to return to the land and people he loved. Deep down I was hoping that he would fight for me, and that he wouldn’t let me leave him. But there was no fight, and when I left for California, I finally began the process of ending the relationship internally. Though I thought I had let go of him in late April, my heart hadn’t moved.

Thankfully California brought a revelation: healing is not simply “rest;” it is actually quite painful. I think of physical therapy and all of the work that is involved in rehabilitating something after it has sustained an injury. Movement has to happen daily—even if it hurts like hell—so that health can come again. So here I am, exercising my heart and being vulnerable to the poor souls who take the time to read this. Thank you.

I’ll end with this . . .sitting in an apartment that I love with a dog that I love in a state that I love . . .and having a job that I love to support it all . . .is truly appreciated. I savor it differently than I would have before. And I think, too, that I’ve finally met up with an old and much-missed friend: hope.

Dog Booties

Dima got his first pair of booties last night. He ballerina-walked around the apartment several times to get the feel of them, and then managed to chill for awhile.
Why am I buying dog booties? These past couple of days I've been exploring Oconomowoc on foot with the dog and have been enjoying all of the independent shops. There is a gear shop not even a block away from me, my bank is literally across the street, and coffee shops with free WiFi abound. There are also varied pubs and one, of which, has karaoke on Tues. nights. I know this because I hear them as I'm trying to sleep. Last night's playlist was predictable: drunk women singing Hit Me with your Best Shot and the haphazard choir of men singing You've Lost that Lovin' Feelin' in return. I couldn't help but laugh. Wisconsinites . . .and yes, I'm one of them.

Anyway, back to the booties. The last shop Dima and I visited was the dog bakery--my downstairs neighbors. There I learned the history of the place while Dima was given a copious amount of treats. As I wandered and the owner talked, I stumbled upon booties that were too cheap too pass up.

In Cali, hiking in the San Gabriel Mtns was hot and dusty; very hard on the paws. Here hot rock isn't so much of a concern (unless it's July or August), but the extreme cold (if we ever have any this year) might warrant paw-coverage. So now the booties sit next to his leash, waiting for some decent winter weather.

Barnyard Pics

"The General," who occasionally rides on the backs of the sheep when the snow gets too deep for him. Who can blame him?
Zoe (behind) and Kiya--The Chocolate Crazies who sandwich me in on the bed.
The General gets some love . . . .

If Wendell wasn't older and already married . . . .

One of many reasons why I love this man:

"And I told him that a man's life is always dealing with permanence--that the most dangerous kind of irresponsibility is to think of your doings as temporary. That, anyhow, is what I've tried to keep before myself. What you do on earth, the earth makes permanent."--Mat, from A Place on Earth, written by Wendell Berry