My daughter and her good, good friend Brittany, recently finished the Pacific Crest Trail (2663 miles, April 25th to September 18th). Whoa. That’s a lot of walkin’.
Congratulations you two!
I am in awe of your strength on the trail and in the way you hold your friendship. Awesome.
I laughed and I cried reading your blog. You touched me very deeply from afar and I’m oh so happy to have been able to share an aspect of your journey.
I gotta figure out how to give you a blogging award…or I’ll just make one up…stand by…
The final entries in the BEST PCT Blog of 2013 !!!! Click ’em and be inspired.
The homestretch, as perceived by Ranger Smiley.
The homestretch, as perceived most accurately by Ranger Nunnink.
With all my love, Papa
Scrape it. Wash it. Paint it. Stain it.
Preserve the cabin. My mountain refuge.
Be in the moment. No. That’s wrong. Be the moment. I like that better. No, actually, that isn’t quite right either. Just be. Be!
Now that I’ve written “be” a bunch of times, it doesn’t look like a word anymore. What sort of word has a “B” and an “E”. That’s just weird. Be. Be. Be.
Feel the aches in my muscles and be happy that I can move at all. Continue to enjoy the ability to climb scaffolding and contort my body into yoga-like poses (painting as yoga!) to reach that one little spot I missed earlier in the day and although the size of a pea, is now certainly the one place that myself and all visitors will peer and wonder what sort of painter leaves a blemish like that. An incompetent one, that is for sure. “Gosh, it all looks great. Very pretty. Except for that crater sized paint-hole. Did you do that on purpose?” Seriously. It doesn’t really matter.
If one more thing falls out of the cupboard and on to the counter top or the floor, while I’m trying to organize the overabundance of tea bags and boxes I have somehow accumulated, I am going to fly into a fit of tea-bag-ripping rage that may require my hospitalization. You think I’m kidding? I’m not.
I have been trying to reorganize my kitchen cabinets over the past few days. Moving piles of things from one place to another. This here. That there. Oh so much better. Pitching food that I just “had” to have on hand that is now 8 years old and was the feast for some unknown beetle species and its kin whose exoskeletons are my tip for exemplary service and selection. Ingrates.
Every time I feel I’m making progress in one area, a finger gets hooked on something or I’m carrying or moving too many things at once, and entropy balances the equation. Everything falls towards the floor in a whirling, water color mosaic of arms spinning, seemingly juggling cans and boxes and brightly colored kitchen towels and individually wrapped tea bags from vintages that are certainly unpalatable in 2013. Everything moves away from me in a rainbow spray of metal, cardboard and packaging fit to hang in the Louvre, all having served its purpose in landing it on the shelves of my overcapacity kitchen.
The imagery of this tea bag fury makes me smile, even though it’s NOT funny at all. Not at all.
Filed under Musings, Writing