random things

my domain host is having technical difficulties today, and so my site will be down periodically throughout the day. this means: no images during these times.

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last night i had post-apocalyptic dreams. walls of smoke, ash, bright lights that sent everyone onto their bellies, tidal waves...running, planning escape. jumping into big cars with bags of whatever we could grab. lots of people milling about as though they noticed nothing. drinking wine. laughing.

worrying about he not knowing i was dead

worrying about not saying my goodbyes.

wondering if i got everything i wanted from my house. and searching for boogie frantically.

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How cool is it that Neil Fucking Diamond wrote a song specifically for E fucking T? (Turn on yooooour heart light! *croon it baby*)

no other alien deserved it more, i'm sure.

except maybe Alf. how come nobody ever wrote a song for Alf?

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while in yosemite , my mother and i went into a mountaneering store so she could peruse the hiking boots.

while in there, looking around at the walls of carabeeners (sp?), frame packs, mole skin, hiking boots... i turned to my mother and said "this is suddenly feeling very weird. the wave of nostalgia i have going over me is very very strong. do you *realize* how much of my childhood was spent in places like this?"

my mother looked sheepish.

but it's true. i would be a 7. 8. 9. 10 year old, kicking my feet and waiting as my mother bought rope and gear and little packaged food items. .as i , desperate for somethign to do, would skim through rock climbing books...just looking at hte pictures.

and the amount of time i spent as a child...as other kids were going to burlington to the lake, or montreal for a day trip, or just playing softball or kickball somewhere in a meadow..

i was clinging to a cliff face (sometimes crying), or out in the woods with my mother and a compass. or with my small metal frame pack filled with my sleeping bag, clothes and some light gear.

we didn't car camp. i still, even though i'm not the hiker i was with my mother, scoff at car camping. that's not camping.

camping is hiking for 6 hours and then setting up your tent in the middle of nowhere. with a brown bag that you fill with water and let warm in the sun so you can use its spigot as a shower the next morning.

small cooking stoves that come apart and fit with ease in your backpack.

somehow we managed to eat gourmet while camping. pancakes. mint milano cookies. little packets of cocoa.

my mother telling me ghost stories about a man who got caught in a large washing machine and having one leg that didn't work so he had to drag it and he lived in teh woods and killed anyone who came into his area ... and hten just stopped and disappeared. then later when i went to bed before her, she'd step drag step drag around the tent. (wonder where i got my sometimes twisted sense of humor?)

waking as the sun comes up to a day of more hiking or just pittering or swimming. and of course, a little rock climbing.

various men came into this mix.

but the core was always mom and me.

when i think about the kids playing kickball, as much as sometimes i wanted to be with them instead of up some godforsaken mountain, i think i was the lucky one.

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