Yeesh. Enough with the sappy/mushy/bleeding heart crap already, right? I've always said that while some people wear their heart on their sleeve, I have a letter sweater for mine. Now you know.
So my thoughts this week revolve around the mountains. Over Memorial Day weekend, I helped a friend move into her first house, which happens to be in the mountains. And I told her she needs to read Andrew's blog, because so many of the stories are based on his experiences living in the mountains. And my drum sergeant and corporal live in the mountains -- waaay in the mountains. Now, I like the Rockies as much as the next person -- maybe a little more, because of my personal history with them -- but does that make me a bad person for not wanting to live there?
My Nana & Gramps (grandparents on my mother's side) ran a motel in Estes Park from about 1945 onward. Workshire Lodge was where my mom grew up, and once I came along, it became something of a second home to me. I love everything about the mountains, from the way the breeze sounds in the pines and aspen (no excuse for insomnia, when that's your bedtime lullaby) to the ice-cold-and-oh-so-clear water that was part of a glacier until about an hour ago, to the creatures that share the land with you. But would I live up there? Not right now. I enjoy being able to scoot down to the corner store without making sure I've got provisions in the car. I enjoy being able to take the dog for a walk without wondering if a mountain lion or black bear might be looking for a Sya-sized snack, just around the corner. And I enjoy my commute. My fabulous, short, I-really-should-ride-my-bike-but-I'm-too-damn-lazy, 8 minute commute. And yet, I feel like an inferior Coloradoan for not wanting to move right up there.
And even if it's okay that I don't want to live there, why do I feel uncomfortable because I don't feel the need to spend every spare waking moment in the mountains? That sentiment seems to have eliminated about 90% of the prospects on Match.com. You can't swing a cheesy screen name on that site without hitting 14 guys whose self-described body type is "athletic and toned" and whose interests are comprised entirely of "spending time in the outdoors, snowboarding, snowshoeing, mountain biking and canoeing -- all at the same time". Now don't get me wrong -- I'm as interested in a nice day hike as the next person, as long as I can finish the day with a beer and slice of BeauJo's afterward. Spend Saturday night camping? Sure! Should I bring Mike's Hard Limeade, or do you prefer a Strongbow cider? While my many years in the Girl Scout troop led by my parents have certainly given me the skills I would need to survive a night or two in the wild without a Coleman stove and a cooler full of perishables, I don't see why I need to do so 6 out of 7 weekends. What's wrong with spending the day in your jammies, watching whatever VH-1 marathon is on, snacking on microwave popcorn?
Speaking of which, you may notice that my unscheduled entries are developing a schedule. Monday nights find me sighing at the TV, when NBC switches to that disgusting excuse for a show called Fear Factor. I'm guessing the show started out innocuously enough, with people willing to test their limits in relatively normal events -- leaping off a bridge with rubber bands around their feet, swimming across ice-cold whitewater, climbing -70° cliffs, etc. But at some point (and it could have been the pilot show, for all I know), they introduced things to test gag reflexes as well. And I have no need to watch that. The commercials themselves are enough to make my stomach lurch. Therefore, when I realize that there's nothing on the telly, I find myself pouring out the thoughts in my head. So ultimately, my lack of interest in strenuous physical activity is what brings me and my thoughts here.
While I'm online, maybe I'll see if there's someone at Match.com who wouldn't mind towing me in a snazzy yellow cart behind their mountain bike.
And as long as I've got a somewhat consistent pattern going, I'll post another bit of emotional lint from my past. Still a little mushy, but inspired by those mountains to which I am so reluctant to relocate.
"Silent Power"
Silently powerful juniper,
