2015 Was Not OK But Some Good Things Happened

It’s been difficult figuring out how to summarize 2015.  I distinctly remember this time last year I had so much that made me happy I actually titled a blog post “Finding Joy in 2014” and couldn’t limit myself to just 14 moments of joy.  But I had a feeling that I might struggle in the future to come up with additional great things as the years increase (15 moments in 2015, 16 in 2016, etc).  Perhaps it was a sign that this year would be less than great, maybe it was my natural pessimism.  I’m torn between listing everything that was uncool this year or the people I’m grateful to for helping me through all the uncool-ness, both lists would be quite long.   My compromise is to list both. 

This year I’ve been too busy, cripplingly self conscious and forced to bail on some awesome plans.  My troubles with the whole year could be summed up in the following story. 

August 3 could have been an interesting day, but it was terrible.  The Tour of Utah came to Logan and the Women’s Race went through my neighborhood!  August 3^rd also fell right in the middle of my time-crunched field season so I chose to do work instead.  Choosing work over fun was a responsible decision, but I regretted it.  For years I’ve looked forward to my field season, but this year I was cranky.  Cranky about working alone, unpleasantly surprised I didn’t like working alone, grouchy that I could feel my body aging, angry at how long field work takes alone, and experiencing DEET-related rage at the excessive number of mosquitoes.  All the negativity I was carrying boiled over on August 3^rd.  It rained more than 6 cm in a few hours, sending water everywhere – through my clothes and into my brand new boots, under my “waterproof” tablet case, all over my camera and phone and into my raincoat pockets.  I thought I was so smart only bringing waterproof things with me into the field, but electronics that can survive being dropped in the marsh won’t work when wet.  Water makes it impossible to type on any touch screen so my tablet typed nonsense, I couldn’t even open the data-gathering app on my phone, and my camera was just taking pictures of the rainwater on the lens. 

Every time I tried to wipe off a screen, dry my nose, or get my hair out of the Velcro on my raincoat I got angrier.  As I was counting saltgrass flowers I completely lost it – I wasn’t going to remember how many flowers there were in each plot, I kept dropping my ruler, magic markers don’t work when wet, and it wasn’t even all saltgrass so I was wasting my time there!  I stood up in the middle of the meadow and cursed, “God!  Why am I even here?!?!”  I couldn’t even curse right!  While I meant that to be two separate exclamations, it sounded like one existential plea to Marsh Llama.   With that I gave up and stomped the half mile back to my rig with my boots full of water and another gallon of water quality samples in my backpack (which couldn’t come from my boots for some stupid reason), but without the ruler.  It was hard work stomping all the way but I did it because I regretted working in the rain when I could have been watching the bike race in the rain.  Even worse, I came back to those wetlands four days later to take pictures in the sunshine.  All regrettable and not the only time I threw a crying hissy fit all by myself in the marsh. 

In between visits a Marsh Master came through and mowed over my monitoring well (and maybe the ruler).

This scenario played out many times this year: suboptimal decisions, bailing, self-consciousness and regret.  I bailed on Mt. Elmer, Mt. Peale, and Abajo Peak – what if I’d started on-time and taken the right way up?  I bailed on the last pitch of Parriot Mesa – what if I’d held on tighter?  I bailed on Phyllis – what if I’d taken the stupider, deer-free way home?  I bailed on a really important relationship – what if I’d said some things earlier or waited it out a little longer?  (It’s more complicated than that, but I like the symmetry of the sentence style.)  I had time to write this today because I bailed on birthday shopping after a terrible accident closed Sardine Canyon. 

As close as I got to Mt. Elmer, Mt. Peale, and Abajo Peak

In OK years I’d have summed everything up like this:  I’m grateful this year that I wasn’t tumbled down a mountain, struck by lightning, eaten by a bear, slain by a deer, frozen, brain-damaged, or physically crushed.  I’m further grateful sadness hasn’t literally broken my heart and that none of those mosquitoes gave me an encephalitic fever.  While I am happy to be alive, I feel thoroughly beaten by this year.  If I don’t acknowledge that it wasn’t OK nothing will change and I’ll get bad juju pretending that everything is epic and awesome when I fail as frequently as everyone else.  It’s been difficult to get by without weekend warrior victories to boost my self esteem.  At the end of many weeks I’ve felt much older than I had seven days before.  In addition to bailing on so many dreams, I’ve been too busy trying to teach and take classes, and complete my own research to focus on the people and activities I love.  I’ve only put up a handful of blog posts this year because I’ve been too busy to write anything fun.  Instead I’ve been working on expressive writing and acknowledging what I feel without reacting to it, so I’m very clear on just how uncool this year was and how uncomfortable that made me. 

Among the uncomfortable feelings I sat with - all the self loathing generated by editing my video lectures.  I'm too itchy and I hate the way I blink and start sentences now.  

But it hasn’t been all bad.  When I look back at the good things that happened this year, it’s clear that I succeeded when I had my people with me. 

Karina and I climbed Lost World Butte with an assist from Brent

Brent, Karina and I successfully located and explored a safe, abandoned mine

I finished my first ultra marathon with Mike and Austin (and it was a great time)

I led most of Longbow Chimney with Brent (lots of problem solving)

I went on the Maine to Maryland Hazelton Hospitality Tour with Chad (and lobster!)

Karina and I finished the Cache Gran Fondo (oh, the views; oh, the suffering)

Minor Solitary Success – I summitted Mt Ellen (in good time and good weather)

I climbed Lost Arrow Spire with Brent (scary yet satisfying; lots of cooperation)

Ran the Top of Utah Marathon and the Halloween Half Marathon (love my running sisters)

The three of us climbed Steinfell’s Dome (not even rain could dampen our spirits)

Ride Around the Wellsvilles v3 was a success (Spooky Edition)

Other good things that happened with my people this year: I went on two family vacations to Bear Lake, full of good views and great company.  My family grew this year with the addition of a 4^th nibling and a brother-in-law.  My people helped me with teaching by giving great guest lectures and helping with field trips.  After my accident with Phyllis, several people helped me get out of Bicknell, and have continued to give me rides or lend me their cars when needed.  My people even helped me through a traumatic break-up. 

I didn’t tell anyone about the end of my relationship for weeks because I was so upset about it and couldn’t bare the terrible responses I expected.  Instead of giving bad advice about forgetting and moving on, my people said the most helpful things.  They said they were surprised and sorry to hear about it; that they didn’t know what to say, but would be thinking about us.  They cried with me, shared their Netflix recommendations, and gently coaxed me out of the house with the promise of sandwiches.  I’ve got a great support system and have a lot of good karma to pay back.  Ultimately I’m faced with an introvert’s nightmare: I need my people in order to be happy.  I don’t know how to proceed with that knowledge, but it’s comforting to have so many moments that renewed my faith in humanity. 

I turned to my Word of the Day emails for some 2016 inspiration found four new, appropriate words:

Peripeteia – a sudden turn of events or an unexpected reversal

Landloper – a wanderer, vagrant, or adventurer

Indefatigable – incapable of being tired out, not yielding to fatigue; untiring

Pandiculation – the act of stretching oneself

I’m hoping for some fortuitous peripeteias in 2016 and to pandiculate as I become an indefatigable landloper.  Thanks for all the love and support this year.   

Another Deer Story

This weekend I fled to the desert to think and cry some place different than my apartment and office. Due to an unfortunate deer encounter, I've been given a bonus day of thinking. It's been thankfully free from crying and given my a lot of perspective into things I'm grateful for.

I always seem to visit Capitol Reef when I'm fleeing.  The first time I visited the park was in 2008 after a misguided winter camping trip to Bryce Canyon (too cold in December).  I fled again in 2010 following the deer encounter in the Henry Mountains and a failed summit bid for Mt. Hilliers.  Just this summer I found myself desperately racing for Capitol Reef after a successful bid at Mt. Ellens, hoping to beat a thunderstorm.  But this weekend's trip was just to enjoy Capitol Reef and I did.  I hiked new trails and spent all day in an entirely new-to-me part of the park: the Cathedral District.  When I rolled into my camp site Saturday afternoon I noticed the in the orchard next to my site did not care about me at all.  I took it as a sign that the deer knew they had a good source of food (apples) and no threats, as there is no hunting in the Park.  But I see now it was an inauspicious sign of bad things to come.
 

Vacation Success! 

By 4:00 pm Sunday I declared the trip a success - I did a lot of thinking and some crying and I was ready to go home.  Getting back to the freeway I was about half way between Hanksville and Torrey, thus halfway between taking the Fishlake route west to I-15 or the Highway 191-6 route east to the freeway.  I hate the drive between Green River and Spanish Fork, so I opted for the Fishlake Forest Route.  Things were going well for an hour -I got back into cell service and let my dad know I was safe, Florence and the Machine and Bright Eyes kept coming up on my iPod, I was alert, the 4 hour drive was going to be alright.  I love driving through the Wayne County towns outside Capitol Reef, they're small but seemingly vibrant.  I could really see myself happy in Bicknell or Torrey.

Happy at the Temple of the Moon 

The climb out of Loa into Fish Lake was alright until there were deer everywhere!  I hit the breaks and swerved around one...  Maybe clipped another... Why were they always in groups of three?  Why were they hanging out in the middle of the highway, people were driving 65 mph down that road?!?!  I slowed, wondering how fast I could safely go when a big deer came up and just stood there.  I honked and hit the breaks, but was still going upwards of 45 mph.  There were so many thunks and popping noises.  It was just awful. 

So much carnage. 

I pulled over to assess the damage, thinking maybe I could just call Highway Patrol and keep driving because it looked like just my headlight was out.  Then I noticed the hood was pretty bent.  And there was steam coming out of the bend in the hood.  And there was blood.  Oh, Phyllis!  Oh, deer!  I called my dad to make sure I was supposed to call 911 about such things (my life wasn't in danger....) - yes, call emergency services after you demolish a deer and your car.  I didn't know it, but the dispatcher put a call out to a tow truck and to the Highway Patrol.   I got all my cries out walking down Highway 24 in search of any big pieces of my car (there were mostly small pieces).  I called my dad, who found the number for my insurance company (because it seems I've used all of my insurance ID cards as kindling), I called the insurance company and got a claim started (a first for me, I've never had a collision I could cover with my insurance), then the tow truck showed up and started putting Phyllis up on the truck.  Things went astonishingly smooth given the number of times I said "I don't know, I've never done this before.  Am I calling the right person?" 

Do you know what was happening during the 30-45 minutes between impact and Phyllis getting on the truck?  Everyone driving down Highway 24 stopped to make sure I was alright.  It was a little frustrating in the middle of it all, when I was just trying to explain to the insurance company what had happened.  But mostly it was so nice.  The tow truck guy took me to a hotel near their shop, the hotel clerk was super nice, even though I was filing a report with UHP while trying to check in.

The Aquarius Motel - not bad at all. 

I had a nice warm place to get cleaned up and sleep.  Monday morning I called the insurance company and against all odds, found a rental car place in the next county over and there's an adjustor coming out to Bicknell to survey the damage. I put a call out on Facebook for help and ended up scheduling a ride out of town within an hour.   (Well, the ride was scheduled, but I had 5 hours to kill in the meantime.) I got an office set up at the library and a place to store all my stuff.

Maggie the Bike and my cooler of snacks have a whole auditorium. 

 It sucks that I hit a deer, but I've undoubtedly got more to be grateful for.  I know, Thanksgiving is just a few days away, do we really need one more gratitude post?  Yeah, I just demolished a deer in the one of the more remote parts of the state and everything turned out alright - I should be grateful.  So here is everything that fell into place today -

• I hit a deer within a mile or so of losing cell service.  I was close enough to Loa to be able to call my dad, 911 and my insurance company.  (It seems so many people pulled over because everyone in that part of Wayne County has hit a deer during the winter and knew it was possible I was freezing in my car with no cell service. 
• I spent all day today out of cell service on dirt roads or winding highways with no shoulder.  I hit a deer during the 8 miles of driving that were safe for me to pull off the road. 
• Hopefully I just damaged the radiator and the body.  My airbags didn't deploy (which could be a problem, but I'm happy about it), my tires and windshield are ok, and I'm just fine. 
• I got immediate offers from my family to come get me and tow my car home.  At 7:00 on a Sunday night. 
• I have adequate insurance on my car. 
• I always pack an extra pair of underwear when I go camping (I afraid I'll fall into a stream and get hypothermic due to wet underwear) and plenty of munchies.  So I've got clean clothes to change into and food to eat, despite the fact that Bicknell was shut down for the day (or season) when we rolled back in.
• There's a hotel open during the shoulder season in Bicknell and it's pretty nice.  Deep bathtub, doors that lock, a little coffee maker. 
• I have really, really great friends who helped me out in a pinch and did so quickly. 
• Strangers are also great. Everyone has been helpful. People are just good and it's nice to remember that. 

I didn't really want to have another night to think about things, but all in all, everything is fine.  I'm pretty upset I slayed (slew?) that deer.  And I'm really upset about the damage to poor Phyllis the Forester, but I've just got to be happy that I've got a warm bed to stay in a plan for tomorrow.

Gypsum Sinkhole is cool. But you and I are stronger than gypsum. When the pressure of life (or sandstone) bear down, we don't collapse! 

Should anyone of you wonder what to do when the local road conditions are "Deer Storms," here's what I learned tonight:

• Slow way down.  You can't stop on a dime and those deer aren't going to move.  Something about "Deer in the headlights." 
•     -Don't try catching up to that car 0.5 miles ahead and hope they will flush all the deer away, just slow down.
• After colliding, pull your car safely out of the roadway.  Maybe make sure the deer is also off the side of the road (or let the generous locals help you with that)
• Call 911.  They can dispatch a tow truck and get Highway Patrol involved, you'll need to file an incident report. 
• Keep your current insurance cards in your car.  They make handy kindling when car camping, but their more important function is proving you've got insurance and keeping important information, like your policy number and important phone numbers, at your finger tips. 
• Think about avoiding driving through the forest at night.  Deer seem to come out in the roadway more often then and it's harder to see them. 

Be Excellent to Each Other, Pt 2

It's been a rough week for those associated with the Mormon Church.  The Church's decision to exclude children of gay families from church ordinances caused a lot of deeply felt pain.  The policy itself hurt a lot of people and harsh reactions to it hurt even more.  

I haven't been an active Mormon for the better part of a decade, but I was sick to my stomach over that decision.  I left deliberately because I discovered during the repentance process I didn't believe in the atonement of Christ, without that nothing in the church matters.  That's a heavy sentence, and it took me months of crying in the bishop's office to diagnose.  I stayed for about two weeks after that because I had friends at church and thought maybe there was something to the studies about longevity and church.  But here's the thing, without faith in the parts of the gospel that matter, the 'cultural Mormon' stuff is insufferable.  

Before I figured out what exactly I didn't believe, church was stressful because of the nagging feeling that I didn't belong.  I was skeptical of orthodox views of sin, I hate the word obedience, and I felt pressured to sacrifice my life goals so my husband could do something more kick ass.  It's possible get past all of that if the atonement of Christ brings joy into your life, but I found it doesn't bring me any joy.  Despite having a very clear and nuanced understanding of the atonement (credentials: I read the Book of Mormon three times before I graduated high school, and I read Jesus the Christ, and I graduated seminary), I didn't feel it.  Church is all about the feels and I wanted to feel it so much.  I loved my bishop.  He took the time to talk about faith in a way that meant something to me and I knew that he truly cared about me.  One day he use his hand as a metaphor to explain repentance to me, with the atonement at the center (the palm), then asked me pointedly, "Do you believe that Christ atoned for your sins?"  No, I realized then that I don't.  I’m happy if the gospel makes you happy, but please don’t ask me to muscle through issues of faith.

Faith is a complex thing that requires consistent exercise.  If you neglect your faith it will atrophy, and in my case it died.  This fits in well with other metaphors about faith: it's a seed you need to water, a cup you need to fill, or a mountain you need to move (do I understand that story right?).   I can't identify the point in time I neglected my faith, I know my family would feel better if I could, but hindsight is a faulty scope.  There are plenty events that led me to be disillusioned, they’re easy to remember but not actually the issue.  However, at some point between 2002 and 2008 the balance shifted in favor of disillusionment, church was only stressful, and my life got much better after I left.  The Church’s new policy on gay families is a watershed event for many; an early frost that killed their seed, their faith glass shattering, or the mountain to move is actually K2.  

Why share this?  Feeling like I didn't belong and then knowing that I had to leave was really painful and it's just a fraction of what gay members and their families feel right now.  I finally left because I was exhausted by emotionally preparing myself for church; hearing members discuss homosexuality as "the evil in the world” destroyed me, and I'm a straight woman.  If the teachings of the church bring enough joy, it's possible to focus on the good parts (i.e., acknowledgement that homosexuality is not a choice, any talk by Elder Uchtdorf, and Elder Oaks’ recent talk).  This new policy on gay parents is bad.  I was sick to my stomach Thursday (Nov 5) night when I read about the decision, knowing how devastated my gay and progressive Mormon friends felt.  No matter where you are in your faith, being excluded by a group you considered yourself a part of hurts, it hurts more if you still want in.  They've been labeled apostate and their children's futures in the Church have been sanctioned.  It essentially erases all the good will any other members have worked to build.  

Reactions have been the worst, I cried all day Friday as they came rolling in.  I know not to look at Facebook to see the good in the world, but it's how I maintain contact with my Mormon friends and my gay friends.  There were a few bright spots, like my friends who simply said they were going to go pray because they were upset and confused.  But I cried until I was sobbing every time a loved one posted "Why are you shocked?  This is in line with the Church's policy."  "Why do you even care?"  "Just be nice and have faith in our leaders!"  I'm shocked because the decision came out of the blue, on the heels of some conciliatory words from those leaders.  I'm really shocked because it feels so cruel to sanction the children and hope that someday they will disavow their family.  I care because I know there are people struggling mightily to balance their love of someone gay (or actually being gay) with their love of the gospel and they just lost that balancing act.  While being in line with church policy and affecting a fraction of the church's membership, it is such a loud statement, unprecedented in its clarity, that those people are not wanted in the Church.  I empathize a lot with that fraction of the Church, having struggled with my own faith.  I have a Mormon heritage; growing up in that community shaped who I am and I don't regret any of it.  It's easy to see why gay members would want their families to grow up with the same things.  

It is incredibly dismissive to tell others to "just be nice" when they've been called apostate and had their most important relationship placed near murder in a list of sins.  (And they've seen just how many of their Mormon friends still don't like gay people.)  There was a collective howl of pain among my friends still clinging to the Church somehow, but the pain has been re-labeled as "meanness."   Calling the pain (or doubt) I feel illegitimate is perhaps the most hurtful because I've heard it so often; it's what I heard every time I had an issue with a doctrine and praying the doubt away doesn't work for me.  We (progressive Mormons, post-Mormons, ex-Mormons, gay Mormons) are crying because the decision to exclude gay families fits into a clear, continuing narrative: we are not welcome.  Please let us be sad about it.  I understand the paradox religious leader’s face in trying to remain steadfast in their faith while also being relevant to evolving societal needs. But this is cruel.  

Few of us know how to talk about the feels and it seriously impedes conversations about faith.  It took me hours to write this and I've been thinking about it for seven years now.  I've started to write it many times and gone on to write about events that were hurtful.  But I've come up with my own personal strategy for dialogue, developed from careful observations of my boyfriend’s family (who are seriously good listeners).  Ask real questions, LISTEN to the answer, wait, think, and then only say something if needs to be said.  It's easier to ask questions poorly, only listen to come up with a counter argument, and then say something [hurtful/useless] immediately.  Good conversations about complex issues don't happen online and they don't happen fast (maybe the biggest issue for me and my family of hot-heads).  There have been a lot of anecdotes* slung around that fit well into our confirmation biases, but very little that actually encourages understanding and empathy.  I'm sad for the future of the Church because so many empathetic members just left, leaving a lot of voices who will stand up today and say "Good riddance."  

I may never stop caring about the Church because my family is there and I will love them forever.  I cried until I couldn't anymore because I struggle with things that come between me and the place that holds my family.  I know that while they work to process this terrible decision, they also worry about my salvation.  But the pain and hostility I've felt when members discuss feminism and homosexuality make me feel like I should distance myself from the Church.  I'm so tired for being rejected.  

*I must mention my Internet pet peeve: "Well said."  I won’t read anything on the Internet with the tagline "Well said".  It's probably not well said, just bolder (read: more rude) than the re-poster dare be or a stupid meme.  I care more about what you think in your own words.  

All Alone and Very Scared (and Tired)

I’ve been thinking a bit too much about my death lately.  It’s weird, but I’ve become concerned about how people will think of me when I’m gone.  I write in my journals primarily when I’m upset, which could give the impression I’ve lived an unhappy life, unappreciative of the amazing people around me.  Sure, there have been some unhappy times (July-August, for example, my theme was “Everything is stupid, everybody sucks”), but my life is overwhelmingly awesome.  Just last week I went on a solitary vacation full of hiking, spectacular views, and lots of time to contemplate the good things in life.  And when I’m not by myself, the people around me are pretty great.  So, if at some point the forces I talk about below make their move to take me out, try to remember me as a bad ass out doing awesome things (not the scaredy cat who wrote this huddled in my car with a hatchet).  

The view from my most recent adventure.

Being on a solitary adventure gives me a great perspective on all the ways I haven’t died yet.  I wasn’t struck by lightning, mauled by a bear, or tumbled down a talus slope - they were all remote possibilities though. In fact, I spent the first night of my adventure sleeping with a hatchet inside my tent because I was worried about deer.  That night I was out like the fire that I never got started; Benadryl, a long day working with Canvas, and six hours of driving saw to that.  But I woke up suddenly at 1:00 am to noise in my campsite, specifically around my car.  I knew it was deer, or maybe a very large raccoon, but I still sat right up, shaking, trying to see my assailants in the dark.  Then I said, “Get out of here” and went back to bed.  A similar, but more dramatic thing happened five years ago when I was camping by myself in the Henry Mountains.

Mt. Hilliers.

At 11:59 on July 17, 2010 I was alone as I could possibly be at the Starr Springs Campground in the Henry Mountains.  The Henry’s are one of the most remote ranges in the country; in fact, they were last range in the Lower 48 to be surveyed or added to maps.  I had come there to be alone.  Having just acquired my master’s degree, I had some serious soul searching to do about my next steps.  Plus I had been obsessed with the Henry’s for years.  I stared at them constantly and pointed them out whenever possible (I still do that because you can see them from everywhere in Southern Utah).  There’s something so fascinating about that much remoteness sandwiched between Capitol Reef, Canyonlands, and Lake Powell.  Plus it’s a bunch of steep, igneous rock in the middle of the Colorado Plateau.  Why?  Buffalo and beryllium, why? 

Henry Mountains and the surrounding desert

I was pleased with my campsite: empty, remote, shady, water tap present and a clean pit toilet.  Awesome.  I zonked out early that night, too, but at midnight I literally bolted upright in bed because SOMEONE WAS OUTSIDE MY TENT!  And it was dark and I was ALL ALONE IN THE MOST REMOTE MOUNTAIN RANGE IN THE STATE!  My heart was pounding like I’d never felt it, but it seemed my assailants couldn’t hear it because they just kept circling my tent.  Or maybe they could hear my heart and my fear was part of their ritual.  On the chance they were part of that last free-roaming buffalo herd or fellow travelers who were just mistaken I said, “Hello?”  They didn’t startle, so they must not be bison, and they clearly weren’t surprised by my presence inside the tent, so they must have been stalking me.  I tried bluster, “I have a gun.”  – Some hesitation in movement – 

  

The scene of my intense, frightening moment

Time to formulate a plan.  I did not have a gun and whoever was out there probably knew it because my voice was shaking hard enough that my lie statement sounded more like a question.  I did have a multi-tool… in my truck… which had a 50% likelihood of starting (battery troubles).  I was trapped in a nylon prison!  I couldn’t see who was after me or escape them quickly.  I could tell there was more than one set of feet… that occasionally wandered into the woods and came back… and I hadn’t been raped or murdered yet… or gored.  So I shook the sides of my tent as hard as I could and yelled, “Hey!  Get out of here!” and the assailants startled a little, one ran off.  My heart was still pounding insanely hard, so I lay down to further formulate my plan. 

Then I fell asleep, immediately.  I slept like the dead, except I wasn’t dead because wandering deer weren’t trying to kill me.  I searched the ground the next day and all evidence points to deer.  Turns out that day I had run (and won(!)) a 5K race in Cannonville, 150 miles away, had my first sit down meal all by myself, hiked up a wash in the Monument I was sure had drug lords guarding a marijuana plantation, and it was still 70ºF at midnight.  I was tired.  Additionally, in the moment of my intense fear (really, the most scared I’ve ever been) I remembered the best advice my mom has ever given me:

“No one will spend three hours creeping slowly down the hallway to kill you, they’ll just do it.”  

That advice came from experience watching murderous hallway shadows intensely while my dad was out of town.^*  Whenever I find myself accosted by deer or convinced someone has just crawled in my window I tell myself, “Go to bed, Becka.  Let your death be a surprise like Gosh intended.”^{^} While it is likely that anyone who came all the way to the Henry Mountains to kill me would be into some crazy rituals, it’s highly unlikely that someone would come that far just to kill me, which is strangely comforting to remember.  Similar situations have played out on other camping trips but I find myself far less frightened, more startled and annoyed.  I figure if I live my night in fear of the terrorist [deer], then they’ve won. 

All the evidence my assailants left

*Second best advice came from my Auntie Boo, who told me to buy a clear shower curtain when I moved into my first apartment, that way I wouldn’t have to get scared and check for intruders hiding in my shower.  Ten years later I still buy clear shower curtains. 

^Except the night I wrote this in the Abajo Mountains.  Dogs, cows, bears and wind.  Too much noise and too many bad options for what was waking me, so I slept in my car.  Plus I was within hearing distance of a road with its own OHV speed limit full of literal hooting and hollering rednecks.  I should never have watched Deliverance. 

My Secret Old Lady Pastime

I have a secret that I've been slowly letting those close to me know about, but it's time to let the world know, because I am not ashamed:

I LOVE COUNTED CROSS-STITCH

What is counted cross-stitch?  It's a fiber art medium where designs on a canvas are produced through a series of X's (or crosses) stitched into the fabric.  You might recall seeing counted cross-stitch designs in your grandmother's home, because it seems to be something popular primarily with a generation 50 years older than me.  Like many things popular with the elderly, cross-stitch may seem less that useful to your average 31-year old when viewed superficially, but on a closer look it's clear there are many benefits to sitting and stitching.  It's a very low impact activity, it won't tweak your back like skiing or require days of recovery like running.  Cross-stitching stimulates the brain as you work to find the best, most efficient way to stitch your pattern with each color.  Plus counting continues to be an important life skill.  Finally, cross-stitching gets the creative juices flowing because you're actually creating something stitch by stitch and skein by skein.  It may take days or weeks for the picture to emerge, but as the final design takes shape the delight of adding more stitches grows.

My most recent project, people on the beach

None of the benefits of cross-stitching that I listed above comes close to my favorite reason for cross-stitching: it makes me feel closer to my Grandma Fisher.  My grandma was a very talented cross-stitcher.  She was particularly talented at stitching patterns of LDS prophets in various shades of sepia (something I've never come close to being able to do) and completing large poems and quotes.  My grandma finished a cross-stitch project for pretty much every life event her children (all six of them) and grandchildren (almost 30 born before she passed away) celebrated: birth, special birthdays, weddings.  She was really gifted at letting her grand kids know she thought about them often.

Some projects I've got from my grandma

Grandma Fisher passed away when I was 15 and one of my greatest regrets in life is that I didn't get to know her better while she was around.  Grandma had rheumatoid arthritis for much of her adult life and as she got older dealt with repeated bouts of pneumonia.  My sister was really close to Grandma, they seemed to have many common interests, among them was a passion for "The Price Is Right."  I was afraid Grandma just might die at any moment and aside from cross-stitching I didn't think we had much in common.  I mistakenly thought that if I got to know her too well I'd be much too sad when she passed away; I know, it's ridiculous, everyone is really sad when their grandparent passes.  When she died I was particularly distraught that she might not have known how much I loved her.  Who knows how I ended up with all my grandma's cross-stitch thread and patterns (I think Liz got a rabbit fur coat; there were also some original joints that had been replaced up for grabs), but it's an awesome reminder of a connection I shared with my grandma.

Grandma and Grandpa Fisher

When I sit down to start a new project I get to go through the four boxes of thread I was left with.  I love all the colors (so many options, so vibrant), but I also enjoy noticing the carefully labelled sections that came from my Grandma.  As I finish each skein of yarn I find the cardboard holders she taped over to make sure the thread was transferred smoothly.  It gets me a little teary eyed, to tell the truth, while I sit and feel some kinship with a relative I haven't seen in 15 years.  I like to imagine that my grandma felt the similar joys in zoning out to focus on a project and finally finishing something that I feel.  When I spend an afternoon stitching and watching "Sherlock" I can imagine that she felt a similar level of joy hanging out with my grandpa and putting together something beautiful.  It would be awesome to sit down for a talk now so I could thank my grandma for all that she taught me, it's so nice to have a sit-still type hobby.  Finding that potential commonality has been a blessing, but it's really difficult to describe.

Carefully labelled cross-stitch thread I inherited from my grandma

As I work through a cross-stitch project I remember all the things my grandma taught me about stitching: start in the middle, starting and finishing a thread without knots, remembering to make the back look as good as the front.  I like to sit back and watch a little TV, marveling at how Grandma was able to complete large, ornate patterns when her hands must have hurt due to the arthritis.  Stitching is also a good time to contemplate what a great family I've got.

The big project

 Cross-stitching is a good time to be methodical.  The back of a project should look as neat as the front, so you shouldn't be dodging all over the place.  Pacing is important, going too fast or forgetting where you were inevitably leads to knots (which have to be untied or the back won't look good).  And it requires some focus to keep count of where you are.  I think cross-stitching is the perfect way to simultaneously keep my brain running while decompressing from the day's activities.  Plus it's the only craft that I have any skill at and it's nice to feel like I'm good at doing stuff.

Unfortunately, this craft I enjoy so much has left me with a number of Precious Moments scenes I don't have any intention of framing and hanging

So there you have it, I love cross-stitching.  It's an important family connection and lots of good fun.  Call me domestic if you will, I'm no longer ashamed.  However, I am still left with a number of silly, completed cross-stitch projects.  I'm not sure why, but I don't enjoy Precious Moments pictures, despite having stitched several (I think it's the eyes, sad looking babies doing grown up thing, something's wrong).  I've got lots of beach themed cross-stitch projects too that I feel just don't match the vibe of my decorating scheme (they're far too polished to sit along with the pictures of wetlands I've taped to my walls).  While I'm on the subject of it, I highly recommend those of you reading from the Logan area take up cross-stitching because the selection of patterns at the craft store is stupidly small, maybe if we pool our collective interest they'll stock up on patterns for more than just tea towels.

More ocean scenes... More things I probably won't hang up