Lines, Lines, Everywhere Lines

I started this blog when I was removed from a job that I loved very much.  The blog was a way to fill the time and replace the ugly thoughts in my head with something more positive.  As I learned more and more about blogging, I even thought I could do this full time and make some money in the process.  Problems solved.

Or so I thought.  I can't make money with my blog, at least not yet.  As much as I appreciate those of you who keep reading, the 50 or so "hits" I get a day do not attract advertisers or sponsors.  A successful blogger needs to get about 50,000 "hits" a day.  I am not sure that many people will ever want to read what I write!  Unless I am willing to take a frightening financial leap with lots of risk, and completely change my life, and possibly negatively affect my family, I cannot write full time.

Last summer when the loss of my job was still fresh, my husband allowed me to indulge in my two passions; camping and writing.  I had this exciting, grand idea that I could travel around often in my tin can, meet people, hear their wonderful stories and share them with an audience who would be as captivated as I about people and nature.

But this year, my husband wants to see a return on my indulgence.  He is having a hard time supporting me investing in a future that is seriously unsure, and on an intellectual level, I agree with him.  So I am struggling to keep writing while getting on with the responsibilities of life.  Aside from the fact that I don't have much opportunity to write at home, I have no material with which to work.  Said simply, what in the hell can I write about?  I never go anywhere or do much, and my life is a bit dull these days.

As usual, my family comes through for me.  This morning I was driving in the car with my youngest daughter, The Wise One, and I expressed my frustration to her.  She gave me a rather demeaning eye-roll and said,

"Mom, you're making this too hard.  You can write about anything, look around.  Write about lines.  There are lines on the road, lines overhead, lines in the sky and lines in the car.  Every day, we stay in the lines, we go over the lines, under them, around them.  Write about that."

Okay.  I can do that.

Lines really are everywhere.  There are the lines on our faces and lines in the mirror.  There are parallel lines and lines that intersect.  Sometimes we put one line against another to form an angle to our own advantage.  There are lines we cross, and lines we blur.  Some lines are drawn for us, like the yellow line in the middle of the road.  It keeps us on a narrow path, telling us how to get where we are going.  If we cross that line at the wrong time, we could be in serious trouble.  I like those clear-cut lines, I follow them.  If I am driving on a rainy night and those lines are blurred, I get uneasy.  I do not like blurry lines, I like them defined and easy to see. (That's the OCD talking).

Then there are the lines we draw for ourselves.  For these, we use rulers and sharpies, at least I do, because I have OCD, and these lines are permanent and straight.  We do not cross them, that would be messy.

I have spent the better part of my life walking a line.  I balance responsibility with dreams, staying on the fine line between being what I need to be for others, and what I need to be for myself.  I have taken the safe route, the one that's been drawn for me, because it's easier.  But in all this time of walking that line, I always saw, in my peripheral vision, the wide open spaces on either side of the line.  I think the time is coming when I step off the line, take a turn, and wander into the wide open spaces with no direction, no boundaries, and endless possibilities.

It took an off-hand comment from a twelve-year-old child to make me realize that I am tired of the lines in front of me.  I have stayed in the lines, waited in lines, gone under the lines, and followed the lines for too long, without ever really crossing them.  I soon may find myself drawing my own line, with a straight edge and a colorful sharpie, and hoping others will follow it.

When I started writing this post, I had no idea where I was going with it.  The Wise One tossed me the topic, I thought it had possibilities, so I just started writing.  I never thought it would lead me to this conclusion;  I can write my own lines, I can change my story.  (My OCD just kicked into overdrive).  I don't have to have everything planned, my life doesn't have to keep following the same line.  I can change my course (hyperventilating now) and see where it goes.

I know that the day I can step off the line and take those first few steps away from the hurt and anger over losing my job, the day I can turn away from the people who don't believe I'm worth something more, will be the day I become something more.

I can keep writing.  I haven't even begun to take it seriously, but maybe if I do, I can learn to be a better writer and let my blog take a new direction, not be limited to stories from the tin can.  In the words of The Wise One, I can write about anything.

I mean, c'mon, I just wrote an entire post about lines.  I'd say it's a good start.

A Tin Can for the Wise One

Last night, I had a long talk with my daughter while sitting by the bonfire.  We had been silent companions, enjoying the heat and the dancing flames, when she quietly said,

"My life is boring".  

She went on to say that she goes to school, she comes home, she does her homework, and she goes to bed.  She never does anything exciting or fun.  It's true.  So I asked her if she wants to invite a friend over after her soccer game today.  She replied,

"I don't really have any friends".

I know what she means.  She has a school friend who has taken her on family trips and loves being with my girl.  But that friend has lots of friends, so our Wise One doesn't spend all her time with her.  My daughter is liked well enough by the other girls, but she doesn't get invited to their homes.  I threw out the names of some girls from her class, but she kept coming back with reasons why they aren't her friends.  Finally she said to me, "Mom, I'm okay with not having friends.  Those girls are all into drama and boys, and I don't care about any of it.  I don't need friends.  What I need is a job."

She's twelve years old, and she wants a job.  So I gave her one.

She said she wants to start her own blog, but doesn't want to talk about kid stuff.  I have heard The Wise One talk passionately about politics and religion and the economy, and while her arguments are well-thought positions with intelligence and humor as her emphasis, she does not have the years of experience for her arguments to be tempered with an open mind.   I think the idea of my twelve year old writing a blog about adult issues is a bad, bad idea.

I asked her if she would like to take over writing one of my other blogs, Rooney Speaks.  I started it a while back, but since I have a hard enough time finding opportunities to write on this blog, I have written very little on Rooney Speaks.

Rooney is my dog.  He is a very large, messy, lovable dog who tends to get himself into trouble.  My daughter adores him and is annoyed by him at the same time.  But she was intrigued by the idea of writing about our lives through our dog's eyes, and I saw a little spark come alive inside her.

Maybe writing is her tin can.  We all need a tin can.  Mine is the vintage Airstream I lovingly live in part-time, traveling to my wilderness and learning about adventure as I go along.  My tin can is where I find my excitement, my joy, and my peace.  My Wise One needs to find her own tin can, but I suspect hers will be much the same as mine.

We made a pact.  I will bring Rooney into the picture more often by letting him come to her soccer games and school events, and taking him with us everywhere we go.  She will write about his antics on my blog.  She is quite excited about this plan.

It was getting late last night by the time we finished our talk, but The Wise One wanted to have a go at the blog.  I showed her how to access it on the computer, then left her alone.  She only wrote one small paragraph, because she said she hasn't given enough thought to it yet, but I was pleasantly surprised by what she wrote.  Without any guidance from me, she wrote using Rooney's voice, not hers or mine.  It is a short piece, but amusing.  The Wise One plans to write more.

This morning, she woke up early - as she always does - and ran out to my computer to see how many people have read her blog since last night.  She was thrilled to have 39 hits.  She already understands the satisfaction a writer gets from knowing someone is interested enough to hear what she (or Rooney!) has to say.

It makes me so very proud to see my daughter wanting to follow in my footsteps.  The best part is, unlike me, she is not waiting until she is having a mid-life crisis at 48 to know what she can contribute to the world.  If she sticks with it, The Wise One could someday use the written word to inspire, and change the way people see themselves and their world.  Or she might work at Target.  She hasn't decided yet.

I hope you will check out her blog, Rooney Speaks, so that when she gets home from her soccer game this afternoon and anxiously checks the dashboard, she will have even more hits.  You might even want to sign up to follow her blog.  That way, someday when she is writing powerful thoughts, you can say, "I have followed her from the beginning!'  Who knows?  Her Tin Can might be my Tin Can.  I dare say, hers will be better than mine, and nothing would make me happier.

The Things I Never Had

When I am home alone, I often have the TV on, just to keep me company.  I don't actually watch what is on the tube, it merely serves as background noise.  Once in a while, I pick up on a line or two coming through the TV speakers, and recently heard a sentence of dialogue that got me thinking.  It was a random moment, where my ears just happened to hear the TV character say,

"Those are things I never had".  The actress was lamenting the things she never had as a child, and how her life was negatively affected by their absence.  That kind of thinking brings out the worst in me and in a moment of unkindness, I looked at the TV and said "Quit whining!"

But the line stayed in my head.  I thought about it as I did the laundry.  The words came back to me during one of my many episodes of insomnia.  A theme began swirling around in my head, until I reached the point where I had to put my thoughts into perspective.

www.guess.com

Sure, my childhood wasn't perfect.  Instead of whining about it, I was thinking how lucky I am, because I never suffered.  I had a good home, with a mom and a dad who love and respect each other to this day.  I had the too-important pair of Guess jeans in high school, which any self-respecting teen in the early 80's simply had to have.  I wore those jeans until I became pregnant with my first child.  I had delicious southern fried meals every day, courtesy of my southern mom.  My parents were far from wealthy, but we took a few family vacations, drove a decent car, and had everything we needed.  My parents were involved and caring.  Sometimes a little too involved, but what teenager doesn't feel that way?  The best thing we had, though, was books.

My parents, my sister, and I still love to read.  My dad built a library in our home, and we often went to the bookstore as a family, where my mother could never deny me that third or fourth book in my pile, even though she knew I would read all of them in a week and beg for more.  Once I started middle school, I found amazing discoveries in my father's books.  He had books on every subject, from every part of the world.  I never ran out of things to read in my parents' house.  It was in those books that I found myself.

I grew up in the city.  I realized at a very young age that I hated the city.  I longed for the wide open spaces I read about in my books, I wanted to see the mountains and rivers and valleys.  I wanted to live on a farm.  As far back as I can remember, I coveted land.  I vowed to myself that some day, I would live in a place where I couldn't see another house but I could see untamed land for miles.  Instead of the steady sounds of city life with its cars backfiring and sirens wailing and neighbors yelling, I dreamt of hearing the wind and rushing water.  I believed, as a child, that it would just happen, that I would live in a place when I grew up that existed in my books and my heart.  It never happened.

When I was seven years old, I read The Boxcar Children for the first of many times.  Oh, how I envied Henry, Jessie, Violet and Benny for their boxcar home!  I wanted to run away from home and find my own boxcar to live in, but I never got very far away from my mother's watchful eyes.  In college, I went for a walk one day away from the campus, and found an abandoned boxcar in the woods a couple of miles from my dorm.  I was so delighted that whenever I couldn't sleep, I would walk there in the middle of the night and sit in that old boxcar to dream of my future.  I'm pretty sure that's when the dream was born of living in a little cabin high on a bluff deep in the woods overlooking the water.

As my life went on, I fell madly in love with a man from my hometown.  We married, and I moved straight from my parents' home to my husband's home, in the city.  I neglected my dreams as I embraced a new vision for my life with my husband and the three children that came along.  We moved to a bigger house just outside of the city, and I was happy to stay home, raise my family, and embrace suburban living.  My childhood dreams were never forgotten, they just didn't seem important anymore.

Twenty years ago, when my first child was born and I had the perfect husband and we were starting a perfect life together, no one could have told me what I would feel like now.  I couldn't foresee a time when my family would not be the center of my universe.  Then my kids grew up.  Damn them for turning out to be the responsible, independent young adults I raised them to be.  I never would have believed how much it would hurt to be so proud of my kids for making their own way.

Thinking about the things I never had has taken on an entirely new context.  I never had a mountain to climb or a river to cross.  I never had a bear, wolf, or moose run through my back yard, I didn't even have deer in my yard!  I never felt the rush of adrenaline as I rode my bike down a narrow ridge or pushed a canoe down the swift current of rushing whitewater.  I spent my childhood indoors, reading my books and imagining the lives of others, while never really living my own.

Google Images

The things I never had are what move me forward now.  There is a time for everything, and for each of us, the time is different.  I made the choices that were right for me, back then.  I did what I was meant to do by being a mother first and foremost.  I loved it!  Now, I find myself remembering my childhood dreams, and they are reawakening.  I find that I still want land around me, I still want that little cabin, and I still want to climb a mountain.  I may never have had those things before, but dreaming of them for 48 years just makes them that much sweeter.  Now is the time for me to be something all by myself, and that something will grow out of a child's longing to be outside, part of the vastness of the land and the greatness of a natural world.

These days, I don't live in a boxcar, but I do love living in my tin can, the old Airstream.  It's just like the boxcar, except I made it my own.  I park it in the woods like an abandoned old trailer so I can cook outside, search the woods for treasures, and seek its shelter at night.  Just like Henry, Jessie, Violet and Benny, I don't need to be found.  I need to be lost in my childhood dreams, writing the rest of my story, for once making it up as I go along.

Glass Lake, Google Images

Google Images

 I don't use my childhood as an excuse for not living passionately, in a place where I belong.  I was exactly where I belonged for many years, taking care of my family and giving them the best of me.  Now there is a new place for me to belong, and I am being drawn there because of the things I never had.  I recently searched for properties in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and found the perfect piece of land.  There are 360 acres of wild land surrounding a completely undeveloped body of water called Glass Lake.  The property has a high bluff on the north end of Glass Lake, the ideal spot for my little cabin.  Of course, one of the things I've never had is a winning lottery ticket, so I won't be buying Glass Lake at the bargain price of $1.8 million any time soon, but I know there is land out there waiting for me and my cabin.   Right now, I am planning a trip to kayak on Lake Superior, and another trip to the Porcupine Mountains, and several smaller trips camping in the woods in the tin can.  Alaska is still on the horizon, too.  I will hear the rush of water, climb a mountain, see a wolf, and stand in the middle of wide open spaces and breathe the glory of the land.  My time to be inspired by the things I never had is coming.  I am older, wiser, and in the right position to fully appreciate who I might become.  I have been patient with my dreams and I believe good things come to those who wait, so as I take these baby-steps toward my future I am learning once more to be open to what lies ahead and be grateful for the things I never had.

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Dude, That's Crazy!

It is always my hope to inspire even one person to live with purpose, passion, and peace.  When you get to be my age, you tend to look back and wonder why you didn't do it sooner.  It has always been my choice; I just didn't realize it until I had years of living under my belt.

But some people make that choice at a very young age.  They are pulled by their passion and nothing gets in their way.  Surrounding myself with passionate people inspires me, and on the final evening of my recent adventure to the Michigan Ice Fest, I found myself not only inspired, but once again wondering why I had waited so long to do this!  One of my many inspirations came from an extraordinary young woman named Zoe Hart.

Zoe Hart, Google Images

Having climbed Opening Curtain during the day with Zoe, I was looking forward to her presentation and learning more about her.  Zoe's personality shines in even the briefest of moments spent in her company, but I didn't learn much about her history or what brought her here, nor did I have the opportunity to ask her my burning question about why she does this, what makes her different? The answer was self-evident in her personality anyway.  Zoe Hart is joyful, passionate, energetic, infectious, strong, supportive…shall I go on?  I could.  So much life emanates from her!  A compact little bundle of passion, Zoe's every word and every movement made me want to reach for the sky and believe I could accomplish anything.

Zoe Hart, Google Images

One of only four American women to have achieved the highest accreditation from the International Federation of Mountain Guides Association, Zoe is one of the few alpinists I met who did not grow up hearing the call to the mountains.  She grew up in New Jersey, and then went to Boston College to study English Literature in what she calls the path to a normal life.  But then her father passed away unexpectedly from a heart attack, and the impact on Zoe pushed her to find her passion.  She went to the mountains, and the rest is history.  Zoe has achieved first ascents on mountains in Switzerland, Scotland, and Oman, and first female ascents in Alaska.  She also set a first ski descent speed record in Pakistan.

Maxime Turgeon and Zoe Hart, Google Images

While climbing in France, Zoe met her future husband, alpinist Maxime Turgeon, and they now live in Chamonix, France with their infant son.  When the relationship was new, Max would take care of Zoe while climbing, but now that the honeymoon is over he serves as her greatest inspiration while pushing her to her limits and insisting she carry her own weight!

Zoe Hart and Sue Nott
Google Images

Zoe's zest for living and pushing herself carries into every aspect of her life.  During her presentation, she spoke of her mentors, particularly Sue Nott, who taught her to forget she's a woman when climbing, but hide fashion magazines in her pack.  Sue died while climbing, as have other partners Zoe has had, and the impact on Zoe is to push herself further to keep their memory alive.

It was fitting that at the end of Zoe's presentation, we were honored by a special guest, Sue Nott's mother, Evi.

Maddie, Rachael, and Evi

Evi had been in our group of women that day, climbing the ice for the first time in 10 years.  I was drawn to her from the moment we met for her grace and warmth.  She is one of those rare people that makes you feel good with just a smile and a kind word.  Her encouragement for

 the rest of us that day was so genuine and uplifting.  She was attending the Michigan Ice Fest for the first time, brought by event organizer Bill Thompson to present the Sue Nott scholarship to Maddie and Rachael for their foray into ice climbing.  Each year, two young girls are awarded a scholarship to attend the ice fest and continue the passion of Sue Nott for female alpinists.

Evi faced a roomful of 450 people and spoke of her daughter with laughter and love.  After giving background on Sue's unstoppable quest for conquering mountains, Evi joked that she had sent Sue to college and begged her to complete those last 4 credits to graduate, when Sue left to climb a mountain with partner Karen McNeill of New Zealand.  Evi's voice dropped then, and it seems everyone in that room knew what was coming next except me.  You could have heard a pin drop as Evi said,

Karen Mcneill and Sue Nott, Google Images

"In May of 2006, Sue and Karen left to climb Mount Foraker in Alaska, and were never seen again".

I thought about that statement.  Never seen again.  Two days after they should have made contact, search crews set out, but other than Sue's backpack, nothing was ever found to explain what happened to these two women.  They just…disappeared.  They were taken by the mountain to forever be a part of it.

I began to understand Evi Nott's strength.  Not because she lives with the uncertainty of what happened to her child, but because even knowing the risks, she allowed her child to go.  It isn't that she just allowed it, but she loved and celebrated her daughter in living a life of passion.  It takes a special kind of love, the kind of love every mother should know, to give her child the gift of following her dream.

In Memory of Sue Nott
Google Images

Evi Nott loved and lost her daughter; but she shares her memories and inspires others to live the way Sue lived.  I am honored to have spent time with Evi, I will never forget her smile, the kind words she spoke to me, and her strength.  And even now, she climbs the ice like a pro; she wasn't even tired when she finished!  I asked her how it felt to climb again, and with her beautiful smile, Evi said,

"It felt great!"

It certainly did.










The final presenter of the weekend was a man whose name I had heard many, many times that weekend.  Everyone was talking about Will Gadd.  As his slideshow began, I quickly found out why.  This guy is crazy!  With each new slide, as Will spoke of climbs all over the world, someone would whisper "Dude, that's crazy".  This video shows just what I mean as Will and Tim Emmett climb the never-before-attempted Helmcken Falls in British Columbia, named by Gadd "Spray On".  The following images, taken from willgadd.com, also give you an idea of how he likes to spend his time defying sanity:

Will Gadd certainly has done things that most of us cannot even imagine.  But as he told story after story with a humorous twist, a theme began to emerge, and Will's message is worth repeating.


There is something in the Alpine world called "The List", which Will displayed on the big screen.  It is his list of all the partners and climbers he has known who have been taken by the mountain.  The List is long.  Will Gadd knows, as any climber does, that he is not on The List mostly because of luck, but also because of something he calls "the positive power of negative thinking".

To an outsider, these accomplished alpinists are crazy; who in their right mind would do this?  But everyone I met at The Michigan Ice Fest, while acknowledging the risk, spoke of safety.  People like Will, and all the other presenters at the ice fest, don't just fly to some remote part of the world and start climbing a mountain.  They spend weeks and months researching routes, equipment, weather, rock and ice conditions, and thousands of other details.  Sometimes, even after all this preparation, Will arrives for an expedition, and negative thoughts creep into his plan.  When this happens, Will aborts the climb.  He has learned the positive power of negative thinking, and its how he stays off "The List".

Every single presenter at the Michigan Ice Fest has thousands of stories to tell.  But they also have educations, experiences, and involvement with the communities who welcome them.  I was surprised to learn of the many volunteer efforts they participate in for the environment, the arts, third-world concerns like education and health care, and countless other ways in which these climbers are aware and involved.  They give back so much of themselves.  Alpinists are larger-than-life people who push themselves mentally, physically, spiritually, and never waste a minute of life.  Are they crazy?  No.  They are passionate, purposeful, and peaceful.  In a word, incredible.  I am so grateful to have met them and heard their words, to have felt, just for a moment, what they feel.  I am a better person for it.

If you've been following my story, I promised that I would give you the "Beta" on the Michigan Ice Fest; the information you need before you go.  It's very simple.  Just GO.  Once you register with Michigan Ice Fest (and I suggest you start checking in September for opening registration) you will be given the information you need.  Everything else will fall into place once you get there.

But the same advice holds true for anything.  What makes you different?  What passion is calling?  You have a choice.  You can either keep on getting through life, even with success, or you can live passionately.  It doesn't even matter what your dream is.  You can restore antique cars, make beautiful quilts, be an outdoor adventurer, a writer, a singer, an artist.  You can build an orphanage, or decide to be a positive person who brightens the lives of those around you.  You can supply clean water in third world countries.  Share your faith, teach children to read or ski down a mountain or start a website.  Invent a product.  Read every classic novel.  Anything.  You don't have to walk away from your family and your job and your responsibilities; you can do both.  But you have to commit to doing it.

I have spent the last year carving pieces of time into my busy life to do what I love most; going outside, and writing about it.  There are many obstacles, but I don't give up trying.  I believe that if I start spending at least some of my time doing what I love, everything good will follow.

Despite what my friends (and even some of my family) think, I'm not crazy because I wanted to climb ice.  The experience taught me that I am on the right track to becoming the person I always believed I would be, I just got sidetracked for 25 years.  I left the Ice Fest feeling strong, peaceful, joyful, and with the sense that I had been in the right place, with good people, and for a reason other than climbing.

This summer, I plan to Kayak in white water.  Dude, that's crazy!

Google Images

The Climb

Planning an adventure always leads to expectations about what the time will bring.  As I prepared to begin my journey to Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore for the Michigan Ice Fest, I had months' worth of fantasies about how the weekend would unfold.  Based on my research, I pictured myself exerting great amounts of physical and mental strength as I climbed a 60m tower over Lake Superior, or possibly hanging by my fingers and gathering the strength to avoid plummeting to my death.

Courtesy Google Images

Neither of those expectations were the least bit realistic.

I also imagined that after climbing all day, I would retire to my motel room to organize my thoughts, jot down some notes, and maybe even write a little bit.  I had brought some simple food along, and pictured myself thawing out after a cold day with a cup of Lipton's Noodle Soup, munching on trail mix, and drinking coffee while I sat in front of my computer.  This, too, proved to be a wrong assumption.

Being a part of the Michigan Ice Fest was nothing like I expected, it was so much better!  Walking over to the Ice Fest headquarters at Sydney's in Munising, Michigan on that cold and clear Saturday morning, I found myself thinking about the climb ahead, and also being excited for the people I would meet and the stories I would hear.

www.michiganicefest.com

The day started splendidly when I arrived and found the process of renting my climbing gear and learning how to use it simple and efficient.  For someone with OCD, I could really appreciate the outstanding organizational skills of the event organizers and the ease with which climbers were prepared for their day.  Once I had my gear and had adjusted my crampons (those metal spikey thingys you put on the sole of your boot) I joined my Intro to Ice Climbing Class for Women and checked out the white board listing our instructors for the day.  Ben Erdmann was on the list.  The same Ben Erdmann who had given a slideshow on Thursday evening and lives in my dream home in Alaska.  I cannot begin to tell you how excited I was to learn that I would be climbing with the guy who happily lives in a tiny cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere.  It's like we're connected, even if Ben doesn't realize it.




I met the women in my class, and we all boarded the shuttle to the drop-off point.  There were 15 women packed into the van, which took me back to my college days of seeing how many people can fit in a VW Beetle, but no Ben Erdmann.  Where was Ben?  Was he not coming?

On the shuttle ride, I sat nearly on top of a young French woman named Jen who is a graduate student at Purdue.  Already I was hearing a story worth telling.  Jen loves her home country of France and plans to return there to live, but is studying for an advanced degree in Aeronautical Engineering.  Just to be polite, I asked her in which motel she was staying, and she said she'd been sleeping in her car for two nights.  What?  It's been, like, really cold at night!

Evi Nott and Maddie
www.michiganicefest.com

Throughout the day, I also met the other winner of the Sue Nott scholarship, a 17 year old girl named Maddie.  Just like her co-recipient, Rachael, Maddie proclaimed herself to not be a winter person, but adventure wins out over discomfort every time for Maddie.  She talked about her friends and being so ready to go off to college, like any typical teenager, but I knew she was not typical, so I asked her the same question.  She had said none of her friends do the things she does outside, so I asked what makes her different.  Giving the response I was getting used to hearing, she said "I don't know".  I pressed her on the subject, listening while she spoke of pushing herself mentally, tolerating harsh conditions, and reaching goals.  Maddie likes ice climbing because in that moment, nothing else matters.  Her friends think she's crazy.  Yeah, I get that.

I grew tired of trying to explain my question to people, so once we had hiked up the steep hill (I was beginning to really hate that hill) and reached the Opening Curtain, I approached a group of four women and simply asked "Why are you here?"

Gina, Tina, Suzie, and Renee are a fun loving group of gals, but their story is amazing.  Two of these women were diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in their 40's.  Both women were told by their doctors to give up, take to their beds.  They refused to accept that prescription, and became inspired by a motivational speaker named Lori Schneider, who climbed the Seven Summits after her own diagnosis of MS.  Lori has taken these four women, two with MS and the other two as their caretakers, on adventures beyond anything they've ever experienced.  They have climbed Kilimanjaro!  The Michigan Ice Fest was one more opportunity they seek to push themselves and laugh in the face of challenge.

They do it well.  They never stop laughing and smiling and cheering each other on.  "The Girls" were not just inspiring, but brought much enthusiasm, support and joy to our little group.  I loved them.  Later, when I found them throwing back shots of whiskey at Sydney's, I loved them even more!

Zoe and The Girls

I was still wondering where Ben Erdmann was when our other instructor, Zoe Hart, gathered us around for some tips on climbing.  Zoe is a very energetic and commanding person whose passion is contagious and whose sense of humor is almost painful in its honesty.  As she was explaining the "poop and thrust" method of climbing for women (you had to be there), Ben Erdmann appeared out of nowhere, like a mythical figure of God-like proportions.  Maybe I was the only one who thought that, but he does, after all, live in my dream home in Alaska.

I was anxious to climb.  So were the others, because when Zoe called out "Who wants to go?" several women beat me to it.  I ended up climbing with Ben as my partner.  First he showed me how to configure the double figure-eight knot in my rope, then I learned the verbal signals between climbing partners.

I asked, "Belay on?" to which Ben replied "Belay on."

I said, "Climbing" and Ben said "Climb on".  As I approached the ice, I turned back to him and said "Just like that?  I've never done anything like this before!"  He assured me I could do it, and I assured him I wasn't so sure.   I was arguing with Ben.  I told myself to shut…up

Ben Erdmann and Me!

This was the moment.  I was determined to make it to the top.  I was also scared out of my mind.  I did not believe I could do this.  But Ben Erdmann believed I could, and Zoe Hart, and Jen, and The Girls.  With much encouragement, including Ben telling me I'm a natural at climbing (I bet he says that to all the girls), I found my rhythm and kept going.  Suddenly, I knew the answer to my own question, though I'm not sure I can explain it.  Like everyone else I had asked, I have difficulty putting it into words.   While I was climbing, everything else fell away.  There were no thoughts of bills to pay, schedules to keep, dogs to feed, dinners to prepare.  There was no hurt over losing my job, or feelings of failure, or questions about who I am.  For 30 minutes, I was an ice climber who heard and felt the frozen wall, listening to its voice telling me when to go on and when to rest.  I was part of something big.  It wasn't that I felt small compared to the ice, I just felt like I was part of it.  An incredible peace washed over me and WHAM!  I fell.  Ben had my back; it wasn't until he had stopped my fall on belay that I remembered to call out, feebly, "Falling…"  Ben told me to get right back on the ice, so I did.  I was done arguing with Ben.  I focused on the simplicity of climbing.  Toe, toe, heels down, push.  Wrist flick, stick, pull up.  Over and over and over until I reached the top, surprised at its sudden appearance, and disappointed that the climb was over.

Zoe Hart

I looked down at my climbing partner and called "Take" so Ben would belay me back down.  When my feet touched the ground, I was overcome with emotion.  Zoe Hart walked up to me and said "So?  What do you think?"  Unable to say anything of what I was experiencing at that moment without bursting into tears,  I looked Zoe in the eye and said "I…am…AMAZING!"  She loved it, and was so excited to see a newcomer experience what she herself has felt so many times that she made my words our battle cry for the rest of the day.  Every time a woman finished a climb, we would all hear her call out how amazing she is.

My expectations for the climb were all wrong.  I came here with something to prove.  I wanted to show myself and everyone else that I will not be defeated; that I can and will do something hard and face adversity and climb a mountain and come out on top.  But that's not what the climb was about at all.

Jen and The Girls

Every person on that hill has faced a challenge.  We each have our own story, but we all had to climb on and reach the top.  But it was less about me than it was about the community of strangers who stood beneath me, watching me squeeze my butt cheeks (thanks for the tip, Zoe, it really helped) and believing I could do it.  Because of them, I believed I could do it too; and I did.

Climbing the ice was empowering and humbling at the same time.  I felt strong for having done it, yet I also stood in the shadow of nature's power knowing that I could never match it.  I knew that no matter what was going on in my life, this was something no one could take away.  I did it.  I can do so much more than I thought.  Even though I am almost 50 years old, I found a place where I belong.

I wasn't done yet either.  I climbed again, I hiked with Jen to the next ice formation and took pictures of other climbers.  I introduced Jen to Zoe, who is from New Jersey but married her French climbing partner and lives in France.  She and Jen chatted away in French and it sounded beautiful.  I also whispered to Zoe that Jen had been sleeping in her car.  The funny thing is, we've all done it, when we were young.  But once you become a mom, the thought of a young woman sleeping alone in her car when the temperature is below zero is horrifying; Zoe took Jen in that night and gave her a bed.  Zoe is awesome.

Grimpez sur, Jen!

I did not want the day to end.  I had climbed with a group of amazing women, and Ben Erdmann, who got quite an education that day.  I met Evi Nott, the incredible mom of Sue Nott.  I watched Evi climb, not believing it had been 10 years since she had done this.  But my toes, with their distinct lack of feeling, were telling me it was time to leave the climb.  I may have limped away and left the climb, but the climb will not leave me.  Something inside of me has changed.  Sure, I went home the next day and it was right back to laundry and cleaning and errands; it will be quite some time before I can go on another adventure.  But this feeling remains.  I went, I saw, I felt, I learned, I did, and I was embraced.  I'm one of those crazy people now that does that sort of thing, and I love it!

Be sure to check my next post for the inspiring stories of Zoe Hart and Will Gadd, and to read about an incredible woman, Evi Nott.  My day of climbing may have come to an end, but I did not retire to my room for microwave soup.  My Michigan Ice Fest experience was far from over!

The Map On My Windshield

Happy New Year!  I'm starting out right in 2013, writing on my blog for the first time since November. The holiday season is just too busy!  I suppose one of my New Year's Resolutions should be to simplify Christmas, but I do not make New Year's Resolutions; I don't need any more reasons to fail.

But I have learned much this past year, which I plan on using to make 2013 a much, much better time for me and my family.  The year 2012 was rough, and at times I wanted to give up.  Ending it was symbolic for me as new doors are opening and fresh possibilities are waiting.  As always, while searching for signs of where I should go from here, I have several plans to travel, meet people, and learn.

When I travel, I seek people who have stories to tell.  Everyone, everywhere, has a reason for why they are in a certain place at a certain time.  Sometimes the reasons are exciting and fun, sometimes heartwarming, and once in a while the story is a sad one.  But the best stories have a little bit of everything.

In October, after my dear friend Debbie and I had spent most of our camping trip lost in the wilderness, we decided to visit the Upper Tahquamenon Falls on her last full day before going home.  As we walked the path back after exploring the falls, my dog Rooney attracted a lot of attention, like he always does.  A woman approached us to greet Rooney, and as we exchanged pleasantries, she mentioned she was from Toronto, Canada.  We asked what brought her here, and she replied,

"The map on my windshield."

This is her story.

Betty didn't get along well with her mother for many years, but had recently reconciled with her and the two became the best of companions.  Taking her mother everywhere, Betty learned to appreciate a mature, honest relationship while discovering that her mom was a fascinating person.  They traveled extensively, but had never been to Michigan, so last summer they planned a trip to cross the bridge into Detroit, and drive north to the wine country of the Leelanau peninsula.  Betty had heard great things about the area, and she and her mom were very excited.

Then Betty's mom died peacefully one night in her sleep.  Devastated at the loss, so soon after Betty had come to a wonderful relationship with her mother, she ultimately decided to go ahead with the trip to Michigan.  She felt her mom would have wanted that.

Before she left, Betty went to dinner alone one night at a fancy restaurant.  There, she met a man.  He was very nice, and handsome, and they talked about life and dreams and plans.  Just when Betty thought this might be a man she could spend time with, his son arrived, and the man left.  But not before Betty had told him of her plans for the trip to Michigan.

She dined alone, then left the restaurant to go home to an empty house.  When Betty got to her car, there was a piece of paper on her windshield.  It was a crudely drawn map, with instructions to drive north and cross into Michigan to Sault St. Marie, in the Upper Peninsula.  From there, the instructions gave her many options of which places were a "must-see" in the U.P., where to stay, and so on.

The map was signed by her pre-dinner companion.  How he knew which car was hers, Betty did not understand.  But she took his advice, changed her plans, and a week later drove to the U.P.  She told us of an incredible journey, seeing places she had never dreamed could be so beautiful and meeting some lovely people.  She said it ended up being the trip of a lifetime, and even though she was alone, she felt her mother with her.  The map on Betty's windshield changed her life, gave her the strength to go on, and introduced her to the idea that she could go anywhere, see anything, be anyone.  It freed Betty, for the first time in her life.

I wish someone would put a map on my windshield.  I wish a stranger would tell me where to go and what to do once I arrived, because I've been trying to figure that out for a year now.

Courtesy Google Images

If I think about it, the map is on my windshield, I just can't quite see it clearly yet.  All these months,  there have been signs pointing me in a new direction.  I've just been too caught up in self pity to recognize the signs.  Time really does heal, though, and pity is turning to hope, despair is fading and excitement is building.  Like Betty, I can also now be free to become whoever I want to be.  I don't have to be defined by the job I lost, or the friends who faded away during my time of strife.  I can become someone better, someone who is passionate about life and eager to set goals.  I can finally, for the first time, be in control of the direction I take.  I can put my own map on the windshield.

I won't be making any resolutions, but I will be strengthening my resolve.  I can be more than I've been.  I can do it with the love and support of my husband and kids, and Debbie, the people who have never stopped believing in me even when I did.  I can do it with the fond memory of meeting Betty, whose story affected me more than she will ever know, and whose strength encourages me to be stronger, smarter, kinder, and forgiving.  Ooops, those sound like resolutions, don't they?

Thank you all for listening to my stories this year.  I hope you have a spectacular New Year, as I plan to.  I promise to keep writing if you will keep reading, and probably even if you won't!  Stay tuned for some exciting news in the next few months as I forge ahead, drawing my map and enjoying a few detours.  It's going to be a fun ride!

A Childhood Remembered

I raised my family.  I gave up a job I hated, in a field that repulsed me, with a degree I found useless, to raise my family.  It is a decision I have never regretted.  I spent 20 years happily taking care of my husband (most of the time), keeping the cleanest house on the block (actually, probably the cleanest house in the entire town) and spending every minute with my kids.

They were good years.  When the kids were little, I loved every season and the opportunities they brought for outdoor fun with my kids.  Even rainy days were fun, when we did art projects together, or curled up on the couch with a good Disney movie.  Summer brought numerous camping trips, with hikes in the woods, days on the beach at Lake Michigan, sleeping in tents and cooking over an open fire.  One of my favorite memories is sitting around the campfire at night with the kids when they were very young, reading to them out loud stories from the "Legend" series of children's books.  The Legend of Sleeping Bear, The Legend of the Loon, great stories that garnered my children's rapt attention.  Last week, while I was cleaning out my college sophomore's room as he moved into an apartment, I asked him what things in his closets did he want me to keep for him until he had his own house.  Max immediately pointed to the Legend books.  It made me smile, because I wasn't sure how much of those days my kids remember.

Fall was for exploring in our backyard.  Making collages out of colorful leaves, watching squirrels prepare for winter, seeing the changes in the deer hides, all were wonderful opportunities to teach my kids about the natural world.  Winter, of course, meant ice skating, building snow forts, snowmobiling on the jr. sized machines my husband bought, and skiing.  We all find it funny that I taught my kids how to ski, by skiing down the hill with them between my knees, since my husband is the accomplished skier of the family and I am not.  I tend to break bones (mine and other skiers) when I ski.

In the Spring, we would plant seeds, water them every day, and watch things grow.  We built and painted bird houses to see baby birds take their first flight.  We cleaned out our closets together, held garage sales, and spent days going to parks and museums.

But then a funny thing happened on the way to the woods.  The kids started growing up.  Suddenly, my days of teaching kids about life and nature were replaced with…hockey.  We no longer woke up early on summer mornings to water the flowers together; instead we woke up even earlier to drive on the highway to Chelsea for summer hockey training.  The rest of the year, our lives revolved around hockey.  My husband, Steve, changed jobs, had more time for us, and became Max's hockey coach.  I was the reluctant manager.  Every weekend, and many school nights, we loaded up the Suburban and drove to far away rinks for games.  We sat in Sport's Bars eating crappy food between games.  We were not outside, we lived in hockey rinks.  Then my daughter, Keely, discovered horses, and when we weren't at rinks, we were in the ring.  At least with the horse thing, I was outside and at a farm, but still we spent much of our time in the car driving to and from the farm.

Max and Keely's childhood moved at lightening speed, while I quietly despaired over their increasing lack of interest in my world, a world of quiet walks in the woods and a fascination with the nature that surrounds us, as they fully embraced Steve's world of sports and social events and community service.   Now Steve was taking them on the annual ski trip and I stayed home, tired of being laughed at on the slopes.  I took on a seasonal job in the summers, and I worked so much that camping was out of the question.  Max also worked there, I brought the girls with me, but everything had changed and I missed those days of raising my children, when they thought I was so smart and cool, and they were eager to learn what I could teach.

So I went through a period of time, when Max and Keely became teenagers,  feeling that I wasn't as necessary as their mom.  Which led me to think about who I am apart from being their mom.  I got nuthin'.

But sometimes, life has a way of catching up with us.

This summer, I began to see a reversal, of sorts.  Max asked me if he could take my vintage Airstream on a camping trip with friends.  I said no, because nobody touches my Twinkie, but I was delighted that he wanted to take his friends camping.  Maybe someday, Max will buy an old tin can and fix it up for his family, and teach his kids how to camp.  Keely went on two trips with me this summer, to Michigan's U.P., and she slept in a tent willingly.  She's more outdoorsy than she will admit.  She is a Cross Country runner, and while she never speaks of it, I know she gets it; the feeling of running through the woods in the early morning, dew soaking her shoes and silence filling her mind.

Max and Keely don't remember the details of their early childhood.  Sometimes they will see an old photo and say "Oh yeah, I remember that" but mostly they do not reminisce about those days of hanging out with mom, every minute of every day, or the bond we had then.  But maybe, just maybe, I can start to believe that those days really did help shape them, that some remnant of their memory makes them want the same things someday, when they have their own families.  Perhaps they will grow, as adults, to be a little bit like me even as they are a lot like their dad.

The good news is, I still have an 11 year old at home.  Nina is my buddy, and she doesn't realize it yet, but I have seen the future, and I will be clinging to her childhood far longer than I should.  I will hold every moment with her as precious, now that I know she, too, will grow up and not need me so much.  I look at her and want her to always stay little, until I look at her big brother and sister and realize that Nina will eventually come full circle like they did.  For a time, my kids had to branch out and become independent, but then they circle back to their beginnings.  It's all good, it all leads to the final outcome of my children being the best of me and Steve while being the best they can be on their own.

As Nina is growing up, I now have the wonderful option of growing up myself.  Each year I have a little more time to start remembering who I really am.  In seven years, Nina will graduate from High School.  I now understand that the time will fly by way too quickly.  So I have seven years to practice who I am going to be when I am no longer just a mom, when I will have the time to start a career and be defined by what I do apart from raising my kids.  I'm thinking about writing children's stories, or perhaps the Great American Novel that changes the way society thinks about mothers.

I have really liked just being a mom.  Unfortunately, my kids will not cooperate by staying home and needing me forever.  Hopefully, when Nina graduates, Max and Keely will have given me…GRANDCHILDREN!!!!!  Then I can start all over again!