Lessons from the Doctor

But the lesson here is that even though I’m envious of those other skier people (the star bellied sneetches, as it were), I don’t want to be them. I don’t want to blindly follow someone around the bc and just believe them when they say that the slope is safe to ski. I want to make that decision for myself – to be able to make that decision for myself.

Maybe I should take another avy course. Or maybe I should just start skiing more with the exceptional resources in the Wasatch – the men and women who’ve skied these shots for decades.

Something I know for sure: I probably shouldn’t tour so much with Brad. As much as I love and adore him, the differences in our skiing abilities and goals are so great that they compromise our time together. While he knows the Wasatch intimately, I get lost trying to find the elusive (not really) Powder Park. While I’m trampling shrubbery in Big Cottonwood (still looking for Powder Park), he’s doing boulder problems in ski boots to gain access to a ridgeline.

Plus, he’s bored on the tours I enjoy (most recently, my favorite tour was Spruces to Reynolds Trees to Big Water to Reynolds Shoulder to Tom’s Hill to the Weather Station and back to Spruces – he might have died of boredom had he been along. As it was, he was lapping Days Fork).

I took part in the aforementioned tour on Sunday with these ladies:


Susan and Lizzie are two of my very favorite new friends (Lizzie is the mother of Moxie, who many of you know), and it occurred to me on that tour that had I been with Brad, I’d have cut our time short. I’d have caused some sort of scene and demanded that we bail early.

I don’t know why, exactly, I do that – why I’m less competent and capable with him around. More dramatic and needy. My only explanation is that I’m just so used to him taking care of me – reminding me how to get from one place to another, reminding me of people’s names, reminding me that he loves me no matter how batshit crazy I am at the time…..

The drama needs to stop. I know that it’s important to help one another through things, important to be able to rely on each other, but lately (always?) I seem to have been relying on Brad far more than is reasonable, or expected, or – as is evidenced from being totally fine and psyched on Sunday - necessary.

I am not a star-bellied Sneetch. And that's ok.

Whatif.

“You have to take the superstition out of it,” said Bill.

We were standing on top of Days Fork, and I was coming unglued. Brad and I had dug a couple snow pits, talked about snow conditions and made reasonable decisions based on our findings, but I still felt like the whole mountain could just collapse in a heartbeat. I felt incredible trepidation; like I was just waiting for it to happen.

“It’s not a mystery,” Bill continued, referring to snow science. “You can figure it out. You just have to get in there and look.”

I know.

But the thing is, I can study the snow pack all day – that doesn’t mean I trust it.

I didn’t tell Bill that my fears were bigger than that moment on top of Days Fork, bigger than that particular snow pack. That it wasn’t that day; it was every day. It wasn’t backcountry skiing; it was everything.

It was hearing people I love take a cavalier attitude toward safety. It was hearing people declare, “that slope will never slide,” or “that will never happen,” while looking me straight in the eye.

It’s then that I get all kinds of self-righteous. It’s then that I want to stand on top of a milk crate and scream, “you don’t know!”

Because in my experience, things that “don’t happen” did. Things that “can’t happen” have. And to develop a false sense of safety based on those blind assumptions, well, that scares me.

On the other hand, I seem to be the only one missing out. As I consider the people I see in the backcountry, I’m the only one who seems to stop short of fun because of what might happen. I’m the only one not racking up huge vert because the slope could slide. Do other people even think about these things? Everyone else just seems to be listening to tunes, zoning out and dropping in, concerned with nothing more than the untracked snow in front of them.

There’s a balance, I suppose, and I’ve never been good at balance. Maybe that's why I reference this poem nearly every day:

Whatif
Shel Silverstein

Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow talle?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!

Now for the Christmas Funny.

It's well-documented that I don't celebrate Christmas. (The unhealthy foods, the sitting around, the gifts of things I neither need or want, having to be NICE...it's all too much for me.)

But here's my secret: I absolutely love Christmas time. Well, the holiday season, I guess. I adored it when I was growing up. On Christmas Eve, my parents always threw a party for family (it was wonderful to see close family so happy and healthy and all dressed up; and the extended family, well, that was just for comic relief) and friends of the family. I remember my great aunts (Tillie, Nita, Emma and Rose) drinking Fuzzy Navels, sitting so closely to one another you'd think it had been years since they'd last been together. They were actually neighbors. Only one of them drove, so they'd all pile into her white cavalier - with standard issue old lady seat covers and poppy on the antenna, "you know, so I can find my car at the mall" - when they had to go somewhere.

Christmas day was always happy and calm. We didn't go anywhere too early. Until mid-afternoon, it was just the 4 of us, usually in our jammies, opening presents and dressing Tucker Dog up in all the bows. When my paternal grandparents were alive, we went to their house at 3 pm or so. I remember this so clearly, like it was yesterday: my grandmother always put out her black and white platter (it had a big flower pattern in the center) with pickled eggs and beets, celery and carrot sticks and olives. And my grandfather always made a platter of pepperoni and cheese. I can still see him sitting at their kitchen table, slicing the pepperoni. The way he held his knife made me realize that he wasn't always my grandfather, that once, he was actually a tough guy.

Then we went skiing.

Every year, as far back as I can remember.

That's what Brad and I will do this year, too, just as we did last year, although last year we were with Chris, our housemate who died last January. Chris was kind of a beginner at skiing, not super comfortable skinning up or going down, but he was always the first of us to ask, "another lap?" even though he was covered in snow and probably exhausted. We miss you, Chris.

But this is not a sad post! Not a sad! Not a sad!

No, this post is all about the Christmas funny. All about the seasonal reasons to guffaw and hoot and holler.

Not that they're always intensionally funny. I think this family just thinks of this as a regular ol' family photo:


(Incidentally, I love that they've adopted the beautiful little Asian kids - or at least rented them for photographic purposes - but do they really need to be dressed like dorks? I mean, why punish them for your own fashion shortcomings?)

All kinds of families take holiday photos. I got this card yesterday:


Sounds like all's well with the Wookie family. Chewy said "AAAAARNGH! AAAAR! AAAAANG! AAAARN!" So that's nice.

Christmas funny isn't limited to photos, either. There are funny cartoons:



More to come.

"The Time Has Come for Someone to Put His Foot Down. And that Foot is Me."

Last weekend – between margaritas and extended bouts of laziness – Brad and I joined Bill for a little tour in Toledo Bowl.

Following a junk show morning that didn’t even start till 11 am (for those of you who know my husband, you understand that our start was so late it might as well have been the NEXT DAY) and included one lost wallet, one tour of a newly finished basement, one missing ski, one boot flex test and one stop for lunch, we parked in front of the Deep Powder House and started skinning toward Pole Line Pass.

My memory of the short walk to Pole Line is a lot like my memory of climbing at the Minimum in Maple Canyon. This summer, after getting on the route 49 one time, I announced, “that thing’s, like, 5.10!” and proceeded to declare that I’d “totally flash it” my second try.

Not the case.

Similarly, as I toed into my Dynafits, I turned to the boys and said, “So we’ll be at the top in like, 15 minutes, so should we ski Cardiac today?”

Keep in mind that as I spoke those words, it was 2 pm. It gets dark at 5 pm. Between the three of us, no one is in particularly awesome shape right now, not was any of us really motivated that day (remember the 11 am kickoff?).

Both men looked at me, looked at each other, and without a word, put their headphones on.

Ok, so that’s not how it exactly how it went down – it wasn’t quite so choreographed. But they did look at me like I was a lunatic.

But that’s not news.

They do that all the time.

We ended up having a good, short tour. It was nice to ski with two of my favorite people, and it felt great to push a bit on the climb.

Here's Brad getting ready to point 'em.


And here's Bill's patented photo pose.

About Goddamned Time.

Yeah, again. I know. I'm getting tired of apologizing for not posting, so I should just, you know, post.

Brad sent me this ad yesterday. He got it from Kolin, one of the world's greatest dog lovers. This ad is the kind of thing I'd love to make someday: witty, catchy, golden retriever-focused.

And then, after I laughed and laughed and laughed at said ad, my office mate realized that it was going to me "one of those days" (when my need to laugh out loud prevents those around me from getting anything done) and sent me this IKEA ad. Oh, the hilarity! What is it about angry accented yelling directly into the camera that so delights me? Again, I laughed and laughed. And then I sent it to everyone I know in an attempt to make them have one of those days, too.

The response from my brother was this delightful number featuring Christopher Walken, who - along with people with accents and golden retrievers - always makes me happy. Good lord, what a multi-talented man.

On the skiing front, I am terribly lame. I bailed on dawn patrol because "it's too cold, the snow is too unstable, I'm tired, I'm sore, I don't wanna." And now I feel like I should be out there skinning. But, hey, it's early in the season, and it's high-time I start listening to my body. It didn't feel right, so I slept in. It's not the end of the world.

But on the topic of the end of the world, how about this story? That's right, everyone. Just when you think all hope is lost, you, too, could be reunited with your monkey. Of course, this "holiday miracle" doesn't explain the presence of a tiki bar in Rockville, Maryland.

I’ve Been Rather Busy

I started my new job last week, hence, no blogging.

Sorry.

Here’s what I love my new job as a copywriter for a big time ad agency:

Arnie gets to come to work with me.

Super nice co-workers.

A Powerbook G4. I know, I’m so shallow.

Being so close to the Aves, where I walk Arnie each day at lunch.

Peet’s Coffee, always on tap. (I know – historically I’ve dismissed Peet’s as poseur joe, AND IT IS, but it sure beats Folger’s crystals.)

My responsibilities, which include all sorts of things I’ve never done before. It’s nice to be learning new things every single day.

Interacting with the company’s other offices, in LA, Phoenix and DC.

Cucina, my new favorite lunch spot.

Arnie warming my feet as I type this.

The old building that houses our offices – kind of like the early days at Backbone.

Studio work.

Studying copy and language choices.

The organic Dancing Deer baked goods in the kitchen right now.

The woodsy out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office.




I’m so lucky. I’m really grateful for this opportunity. It’s amazing how life’s scariest moments can really turn into gifts.

Among the many reasons...

I've decided to try being a vegetarian for a while. Lots of reasons. Readng the Omnivore's Dilema. Remembering The Jungle from 9th grade English class (have you read that book? Good Lord, nasty shit in those meat processing plants...). I'm currently reading Skinny Bitch, which is a hilarious look at all the garbage we consume.

(In addition to meat, I've also given up diet soda. That's how seriously I'm taking this.)

But the thing that really did it, the image that really sent me flying head first into veggie territory was this one:

But the cooking was hard.

Well, not the cooking, exactly. It was more the preparation that bothered me. The touching of the bird. The raw body all slappy and cold. YUCK. Seriously, I almost started crying when I pulled the neck out of the body cavity. Jesus, we're a bunch of damn animals, eating this bird. They're not cute, exactly, but does that mean we should mock their deaths by shoving their "parts" inside their bodies, just so we can eat more of them? Good lord.

I know. I'm being a little dramatic. (Just a little? Hell, this is a good day.)

I felt terrible. I didn't like it at all. I don't even like tofu, and I was wishing for a tofurkey. Or a pizza.

It smells good now (I know, I'm a hypocrite. No surprise.), but I think this will be the last time I make bird.

That for which I am thankful.

Laughter. People who make me laugh. People who laugh with me. Out loud and till my face hurts.

Family. Brad. Mom, Dad and John. The Barlages. My two boys (yes, they're dogs).

Friends. When they tell me "everything's gonna be ok," I believe them.

Places that inspire me. Knowing where they are and returning to them again and again.

Frost on the ground this morning. It's about goddamned time.

Tiger balm. I guess I'm getting old.

The woodstove all glowy and warm. Thanks to Brad.

Time to rest, to read, to knit, to relax. Not everyone gets that time. I'm lucky.

Hanging in there.

Just like this guy.

If only I had one of those posters...the kind my 4th grade teacher hung all over her classroom, the kind that scream, "I'M A LONELY SPINSTER!"

But I'm not a lonely spinster, of course. I'm so blessed with a wonderful honey and supportive friends. Thanks to you all for your amazing and uplifting posts.

An update: I was just offered a cool position at a cool company. I'll share more as soon as it's all formalized, but suffice it to say that I was only unemployed for approximately 4 hours. That makes me happy.

Single Income Household.

The shoe dropped and clocked me in the head.

Downsizing.
Eliminating redundant positions.
Termination.


All the corporate things that I was so blissfully insulated from for so long came crashing down today. I was "let go." Well, along with, like, a dozen or so others.

I'm not bummed about the job. It's fine; I understand. It's just business and I know that this is the way it goes sometimes. What I'm sad about tonght, as I sit between my two sleeping dogs, is that I didn't get a chance to say good-bye. It was so clinical and cold and antiseptic.

"Effective immediately."

I didn't get to hug the people I grew to love in my short time at the agency. To wish them well, to promise to stay in touch and actually mean it.

I guess that's how it has to be, though. They have to cut the cord swiftly and completely, otherwise closure would never come.

So moving on now. Looking for a new job, thinking about what I REALLY want to do. Brad, who is wonderful beyond words, is encouraging me to take my time, to enjoy myself and play and climb and ski. He's just amazing. It's hard, though, to relax and have fun when I'm unemployed. Hate that word.

But maybe he's right - maybe that would be better now, for a while.

Ok, relaxing, relaxing....

Well, but before I do that, I'll just ask that if you hear of anything, keep me in mind - a copywriter, a PR maven, a marketer and brander, a critical thinker.

How tacky - using my blog to promote moi.

Sorry.

I'm pretty teary-eyed, though, as I think again of the friends - at the agency - who I'll miss terribly. And that's the heart of it. It's not the job, it's the people.

Sigh.

Me, right now.

Work has been a little stressful for the past few days, so I'm walking around like the fellow in the picture. Whenever someone says my name, I whirl around and say, "WHAT? What is it? What? Why did you say my name? What do you WANT?"

It's a normal part of the biz, I'm told, but still. Wow. I'm a wreck.

That said, I saw this video on Dooce's new website, and just laughed right out loud. Funny, funny, but maybe not appropriate to watch at work. Especially if you live in Salt Lake.

Dooce, by the way, lives right here in the foothills of the Wasatch and is among the funniest writers in the world ever ever ever. I may or may not have tried to locate her home based on the daily photos she posts. Yeah, I know, "speaking of inappropriate...."

The Bunny. She is a Cannibal.

Oh, but what a cute wittle cannibal!

Helping.

Ed and I raked leaves and pine needles yesterday. Arnie helped by holding down the piles.


He didn't quite understand, though, that we had to keep piling.

Brothers. Together Again.

Today when Brad and Red pulled into the driveway, Arnie was so excited to see his brother that he jumped up on the van and kissed Red right on the snoot. Red kissed Arnie right back and when he jumped out of the van, they wiggled and wagged and sniffed and smiled.

I almost started crying - that's how cute it was.

They missed each other. I can't believe it.

Later, we hiked up Grandeur and I stopped to take a few photos.

Happy boys.


Still happy.


More happy.


I have about 15 more images of the same, but my respect for your time prevents me from posting them. I know you're very busy people. I'm looking out for you.

When Mormons Go Bad

One of our clients just annoyed me into such a state that one of our very kind-hearted, very "good" account managers (you know the type: clean cut, friendly, looks you right in the eye because he doesn't have an evil, shrivled, black heart like moi) said - in an attempt to talk me down, thus convincing me to finish the project - "What a Deushe*."

See, now I feel kind of guilty.

*The spelling error must be forgiven, though, because, after all, can anyone really spell it without looking online?

Wishing I could be like this guy tonight...

But no such luck. Too many leaves to rake, too much laundry to do, too much of the house to clean...hopefully Arnold will understand that his "exercise" tonight = following me around the yard while I rake...poor guy.

Mouse in House, 2

There are more mice in the house. Ed killed one while I was away, and now I'm finding mouse droppings in our cupboards (not where we keep the food, nothing THAT gross, but in the under sink cupboards of the kitchen and bathroom).

I think Brad's annoyed with me because of my refusal to deal with the situation, but the thing is, while I don't like the mice being in our house, and while I worry about the dogs getting sick from them, I can't bear the thought of killing them, of scooping up their rigid, furry-but-blood-soaked bodies and tossing them into the trash can.

(Trash because our recycling bin CLEARLY states, "No Dead Animals." Now, how many people do you suppose tried to recycle road kill before the recycling company had to go so far as to print the rules on the can?)

Just like I haven't been able to eat meat lately, because the thought of hurting an animal breaks my heart (I know, I know, that's the reason 6 YEAR OLDS become vegetarians), the thought of placing a trap for the "critters we dun' got" just does not sit well with me. So Brad will have to deal with it when he gets home.

This is my act of civil disobedience. Well, this and my refusal to wear open-toed shoes in the winter.

666

Teri , whose blog is delightful, and who values her animal companions as much as Brad and I value ours, tagged me for "6 Things." My "6 Things" will take on the theme of "Katie's Perfect Day."

1. Strong black coffee in the brown stonewear mug I took from my parents' house when I went to college and still have. In fact, Brown Stonewear Mug is one of my oldest possessions, and one of the 2 things I brought into my marriage. (The other was Arnie.)

2. Long run with the whole family - the dogs running beside me, and Brad on his bike, pacing us and singing the Rocky theme song.

3. Healthy, homemade brunch including the careful combination of eggs, potatoes, spinach and cheese.

4. Throwing the Frisbee with Brad, while the dogs run and prance about happily.

5. Climb or ski.

6. Fire in the woodstove, homemade pizza and red wine, Scrabble.


Yes, I know that's more than 6. I sort of shoved a couple together to make it SEEM like 6, but you, my savvy readers, are very shrewd. You figured me out.

I tag you.

Golden Retrievers for Everyone.

This is the greatest story ever:
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071102/ap_on_fe_st/odd_animal_rescues

This little guy, Toby, knows the Heimlich. See how naturally smart and aware Golden Retrievers are? That's why I never bothered to train Arnie; I knew he just SENSED how to behave.

Seriously, this story made my day.

In case you can't read the story (are you kidding me? You MUST READ THE STORY!), here are a few photos of Toby with his mom, whose life he saved by jumping on her chest while she was choking.

The lesson here, of course, is Always Encourage Your Dog to Jump on People.