I grew up in a family where a car ride meant dog breath in your face and there was always a dog under the table begging for scraps or at the back door… Continue reading
A visit back to the Palouse in Idaho for the holidays.
Don’t get me wrong I love the holidays to an extreme. Probably an obnoxious extreme. Like the, “Make your roommates listen to Charlie Brown Christmas while you decorate the tree, spend money on fancy cloth ribbon, expect family to be like Norman Rockwell” kind of extreme.
Heading home Tuesday night for the holidays to celebrate what we still have and what we’ve built since.
Look at me in my eyes. I know you’re tired. I know you’re only 25 – and you are weary. You wonder if you have a right to be so young, so privileged and still so exhausted. No, you aren’t spoiled. You feel this because you understand, you ARE the legacy of women that came before you.
Weddings, March to October
Late spring always makes me feel a little bit insane, all that solstice sunshine and vitamin D after the gray of a western winter. Couple that with the transition between different lives and all I could really hope to do was hold on for the ride.
Airports tend to be everything an outdoorsy kid hates: crowds, lines, grumpy baristas, an entirely artificial environment, people with 9-5 jobs, powersuits. The only redeeming factor of an airport, BARS, is reduced to only a fleeting IPA dream when you realize you could buy a six pack at home for the price of a single airport brew.
This is coming from a woman who, when camping alone, often locks herself in the back of her car because she’s such a weeny about sleeping outside without other people. This is coming from a woman who chronically packs too many clothes. This is coming from a woman who wants room for her boating, fishing, climbing AND ski gear, as well as a red dress for a night out in Flagstaff.
With my bright “watermelon shoes” and long brown mop of hair, I’ve stopped trying to fit in when running in Japan. I turn up a snowy street, run past a steaming onsen and pass beneath the muddy slopes of the local ski hill.