The Moon is Rising

For those of you who have been following along with me on Instagram, you may have noticed a post a few months back announcing my new account devoted to butts (@alicepicklebottoms). Yes, butts. Commence with the eye-rolls and the comments about how Stef is probably never going to grow up. That's what people like about me though, right? Maybe?

You might wonder where and why this all started. I'll be the first to admit: it wasn't my idea. It was Meghan. My roommate. She's the culprit. I had the horrible, terrible, idea last year to convince myself, Simon, and Meghan to sign up for the Imogene Pass Run. For those unfamiliar, it is a 17.1 mile slog from Ouray to Telluride, Colorado. 17.1 miles with 5,000+ feet of elevation gain from the start in Ouray over the first 10 miles to the top of the pass with 4,000 feet of elevation loss over 7 miles to the finish in Telluride. It should also be mentioned that the race starts at an elevation of 7,700 feet and ends at 8,700 feet, which is quite high at the pass summit, even for those of us living at elevation in Flagstaff. In a word, it's brutal. But it's also beautiful, and terrible, and awesome, and a huge freaking accomplishment, and randomly, it has the best snacks at the aid stations...M&M's, Pringles, pretzels, strawberries, chicken broth, gummy bears...quite the spread. I'll probably never talk Meghan into anything like that ever again, but that's all right because we did it once, and once was probably enough.

So anyway, we had already finished most of the run, we had already been DQ'd at checkpoint #1 by missing the time cutoff by just shy of 10 minutes (did I mention this was a run? Ha...we didn't do any of that nonsense...we were just trying to survive the thing), and we were looking for something to lift our spirits a bit to get us through that last little bit before the final descent into Telluride. We came around a corner, and there below us was the quaint little town of Telluride, all pretty and cute and completely unaware that we were dying up there partaking in a race that we had knowingly both signed up for and paid to be a part of. Meghan said, "Let's moon Telluride!" So we did. And that's where it all began...kind of.

Oddly enough, the mooning has continued. Sometimes it's me, sometimes it's other people. Sometimes it's my idea, sometimes it's not. Now that my friends know about the mooning, they get a kick out of convincing me to drop my pants in random places for a quick photo opp. I think the common theme of butts in nature has been a good one. Everything else in nature is naked; it seems fitting that the people intermittently ought to be as well. The reaction to the mooning posts has been overwhelmingly positive. But still...it's kind of weird, right? Posting random pictures of butts on the internet? 

Not so long ago, I was driving along through Colorado, Simon slumbering peacefully beside me in the passenger seat, when I started to really think about what in the heck I was thinking starting an Instagram page dedicated to butts. And not only did I start this page, but I accidentally followed every single person in my contacts list and from my Facebook page as well. By every single person, I mean past, present, and future bosses and coworkers, hospital administrators, aunts and uncles, cousins, in-laws, high school classmates, college buddies, my parents and siblings, and casual acquaintances. Remember that saying about how "reply all" when emailing is a bad idea? Well, I was beginning to think that "follow all" was a really bad idea as well. And just like "reply all," you can't take back a "follow all." Trust me, I tried...and I freaked out about it for a couple days. All those aforementioned people were receiving notifications that some person named Alice Picklebottoms was following them, and on closer inspection, well, there's her butt right there for all to see in her profile picture. And there's her butt again. And someone else's butt. And a dog's butt. And an open invitation for anyone and everyone to submit pictures of their butts for her to post and for her followers, subsequently, to see. And who in the heck is Alice Picklebottoms??*

I'm too old for a quarter-life crisis (been there, done that), and am too young for a mid-life crisis, so really, what gives? I sat there and I thought about it as the van crept through the road construction in Durango, and finally, the clouds parted and the answer came to me. Back in late high school and through most of college, I was a mooner. I don't even have a good explanation as to why; it was just something that I did. I mooned friends and family members, complete strangers, and once, an entire tour bus in Jamaica. I don't know when I actually quit mooning, to be honest. If I go back through my photos, the moons randomly show up, getting fewer and fewer the further away from college I was. They pretty much disappeared all together sometime around 2008, after a trip with my college buddies to Alaska. I guess 2008 was probably the last time in my life that I spent a significant amount of time around people who knew me as "the mooner," and as I moved away from home and met new people, that part of me just wasn't a part of my life anymore. It's kind of sad, as I sit here and think about it. I think we all lose parts of our free-wheeling selves as we get older, but I'm coming to think that we don't always have to, and that maybe it's never too late to get a little bit of those selves back.

I think for most of my life, I've found butts to be incredibly hilarious. I used to draw butts in my coloring books when I was just a little thing (much to my mom's frustration...she never could figure out why I had such a fascination with butts), and then continued to draw them for years afterwards on random books, friends' textbook covers, little notes that were passed back and forth in class. For me, there's nothing overly erotic or off-putting about butts, they're just there, and when they make a random appearance around an unsuspecting group of people or in a breathtakingly beautiful landscape, hilarity ensues. At least I think so. I'm sure there are people out there who would rather not see my butt, or anyone else's butt for that matter, but for now I'm going with the idea that butts are funny and that I'm not the only person who thinks so.

Anyone who has been following my personal Instagram account since last fall when this all began probably recognized Alice Picklebottoms's rear from my previous posts, but to those who hadn't...well, I apologize if you thought some exhibitionist pervert randomly came across your Instagram account and decided to give you a follow. It's just me being weird, as per usual.

To date, I've had several random tasteful submissions with many more thinking about it (tasteful being the operative word if you'd like to partake). It's not an easy thing to drop your pants and have someone take a picture of your bottom, knowing that that picture will be posted on the internet for all to see. I get it. I don't know why I'm not averse to it, but I'm just not. I think at the root of it, I just find it really silly and unexpected, and that's what makes it fun for me. And really, it's just a butt. There are so many worse things on the internet than a butt or two. To most of the people I've talked to about this, it's just innocent and quirky and I hope that it remains that way. There have been a couple creepers here and there, taking far too much personal interest in Alice herself or in some of the other postings. For those people, the "block" feature has come in pretty handy.

If you find that you've always had this burning desire to tastefully display your tush on the internet, you know where to find me. ;) Keep in mind that all posts are kept confidential unless you want me to share your info...some people care, some people don't.

*Alice Picklebottoms was a silly name that I came up with when Simon and I were first dating, so it's kind of a little inside joke between the two of us. Alice was a name that I thought would be really cute for a little girl...and in later years, a dog. Picklebottoms just kind of came about randomly...probably because I like pickles and butts are funny, but I thought it a fitting alias for this little side project.

The Trouble with Creative Writing....

Remember back in December when I wrote that blog about stepping back from social media in an attempt to get more accomplished? Remember how I talked about how I was going to start blogging more because I was going to have so much more free time? Ha. That was funny. What’s even more funny is that I actually have spent a lot less time on social media. What I’ve been doing with all that extra time…well…I don’t honestly know.

I truly have been meaning to blog more. I’ve had a lot of good ideas for blogs, but for some reason none of those ideas have materialized themselves into a finished product. The trouble with creative writing is that creativity strikes at the oddest of moments. In the shower…driving down the freeway…waiting in line at the DMV…in the grocery store…during downtime at work…those wee moments of the night when I’m lying in bed on the verge of sleep, promising myself that I’ll remember those random snippets of prose when I wake in the morning (I rarely, if ever, do...although I do remember that I was trying really hard to remember something).  My point is, my most creative ideas seem to strike at the most inconvenient times for putting pen to paper, or more appropriate for this day and age, fingers to keyboard.

Yes, I do have an iPhone, and yes, it is with me 90% of the time, so I don’t really have all that great of an excuse for not capturing my ideas at the very moment that they strike (although capturing while showering or driving would still be problematic). The crux of that matter is that I hate typing on my iPhone. In fact, I downright loathe it. Perhaps it’s because I feel claustrophobic trying to transpose big ideas onto that tiny screen (say what you want about my giant 6+ screen, it’s still tiny); perhaps it’s because I only type with one finger when I’m using my phone, which is exhausting when trying to type more than a sentence or two at a time (don’t even get me started on autocorrect…nothing disrupts a train of thought quicker than Apple’s idea of what I meant versus my idea of what I meant); perhaps it’s because from a very young age, I’ve always been a huge fan of a full keyboard with actual buttons; perhaps it’s because the space where my computer hangs out in my house is an extremely uninspiring space that I don’t really enjoy all that much.

I could come up with excuses all day long about why I haven’t been blogging, but I won’t waste your time or mine cataloguing my laziness and lack of motivation. So let’s just start over. Here and now. I’m going to blog more because writing makes me feel good. I like putting my ideas down for others to see, and I like the ideas and feedback I get. My ideas aren’t the only ideas, and there’s certainly lots of room for interpretation, improvement, learning, and discussion. Just the other morning Simon and I were laying in bed discussing a concept that basically had to do with my thought process regarding our response to the passage of time, and the things, people, and ideas that disappear along with it (yes, a topic for another blog entirely). What I cherished the most about that conversation was that Simon and I see the world though completely different eyes, and I love hearing his perspective. I love seeing my world though his eyes, and my only hope is that maybe he appreciates seeing his world through mine.

As adults in a world that is constantly changing and is full of distractions, I think there’s so much for us to still learn from each other, and I look forward to and enjoy that so much.

I actually started this blog whilst sitting in the van in a random park in Farmington, MN, during our month-long trip home. I happened to have both my laptop and some downtime, and knowing fully that I wouldn't be able to publish it until much later, I decided to try to capture my thoughts. So I got at least that much done. The fact that I'm not publishing it until almost 2 months later...well...that's just how it goes sometimes.

I've made a few changes in the past months about how I approach writing. Most specifically, in where I do it. I created a little writing nook in our bedroom, which I really enjoy. I found a cute little refinished desk on craigslist and put it in a corner of our bedroom that is right next to a window. It looks out into our somewhat wild backyard. I'm planning to put a bird feeder outside my window so that I can watch the birdies come and go while I sit here and collect my thoughts. I think watching birds (and the occasional squirrel) is a good distraction, and it causes a person to be still for an undetermined length of time. I've gone about this with the idea of creating a cozy space, and I'm slowly making it a productive space as well. Sitting on the desk is a little vase that I got from my Grandma Ellringer, and in it is a fabric peony, which is the flower that reminds me of her. On the wall next to my desk are picture collages and paw prints of my three dogs, two of whom have passed away but are still firmly in my heart. I have a string of fabric turtles that my aunt Cheryl bought for me, originally intended to go in the van, but I think they're perfect hanging where I can see them and enjoy them everyday. I'm definitely realizing that I'm a person who is very sensitive to my surroundings. I believe that there's a place for everything, and everything in its place. I also believe that our environment plays a bigger part in our mental and emotional well-being than we're aware of.

So here we go. To starting over (again), and hopefully with the changes that I've made and will continue to make, you'll be seeing me on here a little more regularly. :)   

Social Media Burnout

In the past few weeks, I've debated deleting Facebook from my phone. I had moved it all the way to the very last page of my apps so I didn't see it. It sat there all by its lonesome, with no other apps to keep it company. I've found that if I don't see it, I'm less likely to look at it. I made all these silly rules for myself about when I could and couldn't look at Facebook: no Facebook first thing in the morning or before bed. In fact, I tried to keep Facebook out of the bed entirely. No Facebook until after I had accomplished one thing for the day...run an errand, make breakfast, put in a load of laundry, do the dishes...something, anything productive. Facebook only while pooping, because, honestly, there's truly nothing not much else to do whilst sitting on the pot. No Facebook (or phone in general) when in the company of others. Despite all my best efforts, I was still losing the battle of keeping Facebook from taking up too much of my time and attention.

Social Media used to be a nice little escape for me. A way to immerse myself into the goings-on of my friends, family, and acquaintances. I could sit for hours looking at pictures, reading random musings, and perusing blog posts. Entertaining though it was, it was definitely not very productive for me. I don't expect everything in my life to be productive, and like most people, I'm capable of wasting large amounts of time doing seemingly nothing. I would scroll scroll scroll through my Facebook feed for hours, and before I knew it, my to-do lists (yes, I have multiple to-do lists) were sitting there with not a thing crossed off of them. In order to avoid doing something mundane (but necessary), I would sit on Facebook and waste as much as time possible, meaning that the mundane chore was left for another day, assuming the mundane chore was done at all (ahem, cleaning the toilet...blech).

The other day I was at the vet waiting for some prescriptions for my elderly little dog, and in my boredom I got out my phone and swiped over to the Facebook app. My finger hovered over it for a second, and then I put it away and just sat there with my thoughts. I payed attention to what was going on around me. The rescue cats mewling in their cages, a dog yelping in the back, the tittering of the counter girls, the Christmas music softly coming from the speakers above me. I smiled in understanding at a woman struggling to control her dogs, well knowing the feeling of trying to corral multiple animals who have found themselves duped by a car ride into a visit to their most hated place in the world. I watched the Christmas lights on the windows change from rainbow colors to bright white...I didn't even know they had Christmas lights that could do that! I would have missed all of it had I allowed my finger to drop onto that little blue app. And yes, it sounds boring and mundane and inconsequential and not at all contributory to the greater aspects of life, but at that very moment, the vet office was my reality and I wanted to be a part of it. 

I think the disconnect with my reality has been the biggest obstacle for me lately with social media. I'll sit in a room with actual human beings and will be more immersed in the lives of my virtual ones. It's almost as if those living, breathing people right in front of me aren't even there. And this isn't anything new...since the advent of the smartphone this has been happening more and more. It's more commonplace to see an entire group of people sitting in silence, their faces aglow from their phones, than it is to see them engaging in conversation. I love talking to people. I'll talk to just about anyone, but I'm aware of the fact that I talk less when I have a phone at my disposal. I can look at pictures taken in Iceland, Dubai, and South Africa, and think about how cool it would be to go to the those places, when sitting right in front of me is a person with his or her own story about places they've been and things they've seen and done. But I don't ask because it's easier to just look on my phone. It's funny how social media is making us less social with actual human beings. Social Medial is making us socially awkward. For instance, the phrase, "it's not official until it's Facebook official!" As if Facebook has any real say in the legitimacy of anything that's posted on its platform. The only reason it has any legitimacy whatsoever is because we've allowed it, encouraged it, practically demanded it. I remember when Simon and I were first dating, a conversation was had about when we should change our Facebook statuses from "single" to "in a relationship." And what did it matter? That little Facebook label didn't change anything in our relationship. Yet we still placed some sort of value on it.

I also had noticed a shift in the feel of Facebook about a year ago, mostly when the election really started getting going and people were faced with the two candidates that were picked to fight for the title of President of the United States of America. Funny...the term "united" seemed to have lost virtually all meaning this election season. My liberal friends were on fire against Trump, my conservative friends were lauding his existence and his boorish behavior. I engaged in a few discussions regarding the election, mostly just for my own entertainment, as my take on the political process could be described as jaded, at best. I voted. My candidate didn't win. I moved on. Every election has a winner and a loser and for some reason people really seemed to forget that this year. Those on the losing side were appalled, shocked, crying for weeks after the election about the injustice of it all. Am I just rolling over and accepting the fact that our president-elect acts like an entitled, spoiled, immature teenager (according to the media, anyway)? No. Am I nervous about the cabinet of people with whom he's choosing to surround himself? Yes. Am I worried about what America will look like after 4 years of Trump? Definitely. After all that, I'm not filling up my Facebook page with expletives and half-researched or completely false articles about him either. Did I do everything I could to vote locally for candidates who I feel support my interests and who likely will have a bigger impact on my day-to-day life than Trump ever will? Absolutely. I did the best I could with what I had to work with, and at the end of the day, that's really all I can say about it.  That's all I want to say about it, as engaging in conversation about it frequently has us spiraling down the rabbit hole of despair and negativity.

Every time a celebrity died this year, people were rending their hair and bemoaning the year 2016, about how terrible it is that this year has resulted in so many celebrity deaths. It seemed like everyday I was reading a post that started out: "So-and-so just died. WTF? Fuck 2016." I'm sorry, were these people supposed to live forever? I mean, some of these people who died made it into their 90's...is it really that much of an injustice that an elderly person who had lived a full life had taken his or her last breath? How about we change our attitudes and celebrate the fact that they lived incredibly inspiring lives. So inspiring, in fact, that their loss has spurned people to run to social media and blame death, which is completely natural, on an arbitrary year in our somewhat arbitrary existence. Embrace the fact that we loved what these people contributed so much that their loss feels incredibly palpable. There's been so many celebrity deaths this year that I haven't bothered to count. Here's some food for thought...do most people on Facebook know even one name of a Syrian refugee who drowned in the Mediterranean while trying to escape mass extermination? What about any names of the people of South Sudan, a country that has been so war ravaged for years that they probably don't know what a peaceful existence looks like? Can anyone name how many people died of malaria in Africa this year due to a lack of mosquito nets and adequate health care? Who will mourn for them? Who will post "Fuck 2016" on their behalf? Their deaths go unnoticed, unchecked, undocumented, and in some cases, celebrated by those who live in comfort and think that people bring bad circumstances upon themselves, and that if they only tried a little harder, they might turn their ship around and make a better life for themselves. Lofty ideas, those, coming from people lucky enough to have been born in America and have wanted for nothing their entire lives. These victims of our global wars would probably give everything they own and then some to be able to sit in the comfort of their own homes and complain about how Prince died and thus made 2016 the worst year ever.

I think 2016 was a record year for me for unfriendings and unfollowings on Facebook. The negativity was overwhelming, and I just don't want to see it anymore. I'm over the snarky memes, the sarcasm, and the vague references to external and internal struggles. Spit it out or keep it to yourself...if you don't like your current situation, complaining about it on Facebook isn't a productive way to remedy your life. I don't go on Facebook for doom and gloom...I go on it for Tasty videos and trip photos and pictures of the wee ones back home who I only get to see once or twice a year.

I'm not pointing fingers...I've been guilty of negative posting too. I reposted a few articles that were probably poorly researched or in poor taste. I was emotionally escalated by things people were posting and there were times that I responded, not always kindly. I could lost for hours in the comment feed of an article, shaking my head at the sheer ignorance, hatred, and anger of my fellow human beings. I'm trying to change all that. 

Just the other day, I deleted the Facebook app off of my phone. I kept coming up with excuses to avoid it, but I finally did it. Thoughts of paranoia ran through my head: how will I keep in touch with people? how will I know what's going on around Flagstaff? what will I use to entertain myself during an extended sitting session on the toilet? And then I remembered all those people I know who don't have Facebook, and how they somehow seem to make it just fine without it. I actually have the luxury of remembering a time when there was no such thing as Facebook, and somehow I was able to have a normal life then. So I deleted it. I still have a Facebook account on record, I just need to access it now from my laptop, which means that I typically will have some other purpose in mind besides Facebook when I sit down to use it. It's ironic really, that in the past couple weeks, I've received more compliments on my Facebook postings than ever before. Compliments in person, not on Facebook itself. So it gave me pause as my finger hovered over that little wiggling X above the Facebook app before I sealed its fate. I want to you all to know...it's me, not you.

I want to be engaged in the life around me. That doesn't mean that those of you who are far and away have lost any sort of importance in my day-to-day life...I still want to see what you're doing, where you're going, what you're eating, what your kids are up to. I just can't allow myself to do it as much as I was before. I'll still be around...my Instagram account (@fetsywetsy) automatically posts to Facebook, and truth be told, when I look back at my Facebook feed, that's the majority of my posts. So really, not a whole lot from my end is going to change.

I'm hopeful that this little change will help me work toward whatever it is I feel I could be accomplishing. This is my first blog since June, so I'm off to a good start. I've got a few more ideas for blogs, so hopefully I'll get those posted in the next few days. Simon and I are off on an adventure in January, and while I probably won't have my laptop along for blogging (but maybe I will), I'll be posting on Instagram from time to time. But mostly, I think I'll just be enjoying my time in the moment, with my phone tucked away, the sunshine in my face and the sea breeze ruffling my hair.

Life is short. Be present for it.

 

Sentimental Leanings and Such

On Saturday Simon and I are having a garage sale with our friend Meghan and Emily. I should say that Meghan, Emily, and I are having a garage sale, and that Simon is helping. I don't know that Simon is capable of paring down his belongings much more than he already has, which means that most of the stuff from our household on the garage sale happens to be mine.

A few years ago, prior to moving to Flagstaff, Simon and I had a massive garage sale with our friends Ben and Elizabeth, who were also moving. It was probably one of the biggest garage sales that I've ever seen...basically it was two entire households paring down into whatever could fit into two small apartments, respectively. It was physically and emotionally tough. Going through the things we'd kept over the years always is. There's so much attachment to things; so many memories come rushing back just at the sight, the smell, the feel of something that's been tucked away in a box for years. For Ben and Elizabeth, a lot of their belongings were things that they used and looked at everyday, but no longer had room for. I sometimes think about how hard that sale was for them...I wonder if they cried or were tearful when no one was around to see. They seemed so strong and resilient at the time, as they always do, for they are some of the strongest people I know. I've never really asked them about it, as I was afraid that maybe it would be upsetting for them to talk about. 

This time around the garage sale is a little different, in that now I'm selling some of my favorite things. These are the things that weren't even considered for the first garage sale. My Christmas decorations, some of my Willow Tree people, my kitchen chickens, my Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer bedsheets. It sounds so silly to be attached to material things, but there it is just the same. I spent the day going through my things, putting prices on them that, to me, seemed far too low, but were appropriate for a garage sale. Sentimental value means nothing to people looking for a deal. I ended the day in tears, as poor Simon, who doesn't have material attachment, drove me home in silence. Which is good. Sometimes being quiet when you're upset or in the presence of someone who is upset is best. He knew I was in a bad place when he offered to take me to Freddy's for frozen custard and I declined. I never pass up frozen custard, but I'm also not a stress eater...I'm more of a stress-starver, and even the thought of one of my favorite treats becomes nauseating.

I know deep down that it's stupid to be so attached to items that were most likely made by some poor, mistreated factory worker in China. But I held on to all these things for a reason...they made me happy, and they have memories attached to them. I remember where I was and who I was with when I got most of those items. Some of them were gifts, some of them were impulse buys, some of them were to fill a space on the wall or the shelf. But all of them are things that I like.

I'm at place in my life where material things just don't really have a place anymore. I live in a tiny apartment that's already bursting at the seams with things that are mostly necessary for everyday life. I look around my kitchen and there is not one knick knack. There's barely room enough for cooking instruments, let alone an entire decade's worth of chicken paraphernalia. The living room, the bedroom, the bathroom...more of the same. There's just not room for all my favorite things here.

For the most part, I don't miss my things or even think about them when they are tucked away. They've spent a significant amount of their time over the past decade stashed away in boxes collecting dust and mouse poop and who knows what else in our storage unit. Out of sight, out of mind. But seeing all my things today...my chickens, my snowmen, my candle holders...all my fun and pretty things that I've collected throughout the years...it's just tearing me apart. I know that in a few weeks, heck, even a few days, their absence won't be so palpable and I won't even miss them, but right now it's leaving me very raw.

Even those garish red and yellow curtains that I bought at IKEA all those years ago...they're nothing special...they're not even very appealing, but my grandma hemmed them for me over 10 years ago. I held them in my hands today and I ran my fingers over the stitches and it just made me miss her so, so much. I could just picture her feeding the fabric into her sewing machine, something so simple for her but a skill that I never quite mastered. Hemming those curtains was something that she did for me because she was good at it, and because she loved me, and because as she had gotten older, she liked having things to do that made her feel useful. Grandma was always very concerned about being useful and once commented that when she was no longer useful, that we should just throw her into a ditch along the highway. I found that request to be a little extreme, as even when her fingers became too arthritic to sew, her hands were still wonderful to hold. To me, there would never be a point in my life that she wasn't useful. Never. I want to keep those curtains just because they are a physical reminder of her...of something she did, of something she enjoyed. She died 6 years ago and sometimes she feels so far away, but today, seeing those curtains made her feel close again, while simultaneously making her absence so painfully palpable.

So here I sit at my computer...a snotty, sad, ugly-crying mess...trying to work out all these emotions and feelings that are running through me at this very moment. I know that it's silly to keep things that are just taking up space in a storage unit...things that haven't seen the light of day in years. They should be enjoyed by someone, even if that someone doesn't happen to be me. My things made me happy and now it's time for them to make someone else happy. I just wish I could send their stories with them...the chicken-shaped salt and pepper shakers that I got in North Carolina when I was out shopping with my friend Suzy; the snowman I got from my ex-boyfriend's Grandma (who I adored) because she knew that I liked snowmen the best out of all the winter characters; the pug Beanie Baby that I got from my parents because, well, I love pugs; the Party-Lite votive holders that I've kept for all these years because I thought they were pretty, and because they still hold the faint scent of the peach-scented candles that I always liked the best...those Party-Lite candles remind me of all the in-home parties I went to with my mom, her sisters, and her friends...all us girls sitting around eating snacks and not worrying about homework, or laundry, or bills...the flickering firelight of the candles dancing off our laughing faces.

There is so much power in memories, and sometimes that power is overwhelming. Memories carry with them a sense of pride, happiness, and loss. I think that's a good thing, but it can also be a very painful thing. As we age some of our older memories fade while we make new ones. It's funny how some of those memories are but a distant thought in the back of our minds, and then all sudden come rushing back at the sight or touch of something nearly forgotten. Does it mean that we should keep these physical manifestations of our memories? Even if that means decades worth of storage rentals and dusty boxes moved across the country and back again? I guess right now I don't know. I should probably figure that out before Saturday, eh?

I hope your memories mostly make you happy...even the sad ones.   

It's Going to Be an Uphill Climb

It seems like forever ago that I was 9 year-old kid sitting in an orthopedic office listening to the doctor tell me that I would most likely need a hip replacement by the time I was 40 years old. My grandpa had had at least one, if not both of his hips replaced at that point, so I kind of had a general idea of what a hip replacement was. I wasn't scared, I wasn't worried...I think being that young and having a family member who had had the same thing done, and who had recovered really well, left me without a sense of dread or fear. My parents, not even in their 40's themselves when this statement was made, were probably worried. I guess I don't really know.

My hip deformity had been discovered at my 6-month check up when I was just a wee little thing. The nurse noticed while playing with me that one of my legs wasn't moving quite right. So they investigated. Turns out I had a very shallow, almost non-existent hip socket on one side. Nothing to go too crazy over...I was just put in a little leather harness that basically kept me in a sitting position for a few weeks...maybe a few months...I have no idea...that time of my life is beyond my memory. What I do know is that once out of the harness, I was just like any other kid...tearing around, getting into stuff, teething, talking, growing...you know, all the stuff that normal babies do. In truth, my hip deformity has never really slowed me down. It's been such a non-issue for most of my life that when I asked my parents which hip had the deformity, they can't remember. Neither can I, even though I can clearly see in my mind the Xray of my spindly little legs lit up in the doctor's office all those years ago. I'm leaning towards it being my left hip. Then again, it could be my right. I've got a 50-50 chance of guessing correctly.

So I'll be 37 this year. 3 years to that daunting 40-year mark, and 3 years until that predicted hip replacement. For the most part, I still have little to no issues with my hips. Every now and again the left will "lock up," as I like to call it, but a simple stretch and turning my foot inwards usually takes care of that. I don't know that saying it's "locked up" is a correct description of what's actually going on in there, but given a lack of an in-home MRI, it's the best I can do. Day to day, my hips are fine. I do notice them aching and sore after a long run, but a lot of people have sore hips after a long run, especially if they train as little and as sporadically as I do. I don't know what degree of soreness is normal, and what might be attributed to my hip deformity. After a run, my hips ache equally.

I sometimes wonder if running is going to expedite the process of my impending hip replacement, or if it's going to happen regardless of what I do in my active life. The doctor made it sound like I was going to need surgery no matter what, but then again, there was no possible way that he could have known that the 9 year-old girl sitting in front of him would be running up mountains in her 30's. I know that running is hard on a person's joints, any person's joints...doesn't matter if they're fat, thin, fit, muscular...whatever. I think the overall key to running is to listen to your body...it'll tell you if something is amiss, if you need to take a break, if maybe a certain activity just isn't working for you. So that's what I've been doing...listening to these hips, these knees, and these lungs as increase my running along the trails in my pretty little mountain town.  

The other day I summitted our local Mount Elden here in Flagstaff for the third time in 2 weeks. The first time I biked (see previous blog), the second time I ran/walked with Simon, and the third time I hiked the entire 12 miles with my friend, Meghan. Today I ran between 7 and 8 miles on the local trails here in town. I don't know what's happening to me in regards to this whole running business, but I really really like it. I'm impressed thus far with how well my body has been tolerating not only the distances, but the elevation gains as well.

In my last post I wrote about how I was spurned into riding my bike up Mount Elden by the owner of Pizzicletta. Well, since riding up the mountain on a bike proved to be an almost epic failure, Simon and I decided to run it last Sunday. It was the same dirt road that we had pushed our bikes up a few days prior, only this time we had only our feet as our limiting factors. It was amazing how much easier it was without the bikes (duh...hahaha!). We weren't able to run the full six miles without walking a bit, and that was expected. I didn't beat myself up about it, although I was a little disappointed that I didn't run more of it. Simon (my cheerleader), had to remind me that prior to taking on this 12-mile run with it's 2000+ vertical climb, I had only run about 3 miles without stopping. So...the fact that I was running at all, and that I was running this particular course, was pretty impressive. So I decided to be impressed with myself. In hiking the entire thing with my friend Meghan, I realized that I worked just as hard as I had running/walking it (although I was slightly less out of breath, which I appreciated), and it only took us about 15 minutes longer than the previous time on foot. So...either Meghan and I are super fast hikers (we're pretty bomb), or Simon and I just took that much time to run it. Or...maybe on that steep of a course, given equal abilities, it's just not all that possible for me to run much faster than a brisk hike.

I am not a fast runner. I am not a competitive runner. I am not a runner who cares about my time, and I don't allow the time of anyone else running along with me to get me down. Although, truth be told, I am impressed by some of the times of the winners of the big races. Those are performances that I could never hope to obtain, and with good reason. Those people run like it's their job. For a lot of them, it is their job. Day in and day out...running. I don't have the body, the stamina, the motivation, or most importantly, the genetics to run the way the professionals do. And that's okay. I'm happy with just getting out and doing something that I wouldn't otherwise do. So it takes me a little longer because I'm unwilling to push myself to the point of failure.

In taking on the challenge of meeting the Pizzicletta folks at the top of the mountain, I just started earlier than the rest of them. I gave myself not only time enough to get to the top by 8:30 in the morning, but to also have time for a stretch break near the top. I don't like to be pressed for time...it gives me anxiety and makes me feel like a failure. If I have to leave my house at 6:30 in the morning to meet them at the top 2 hours later, so be it. So what if most of them do it in an hour or less...they are athletically different than me, and good for them. They are comfortable pushing the limits of their athletic abilities, I am not. But...we all run/hike/bike the same path and get to the top at the same time, where we take a group photo, congratulate each other on a job well done, and head back on down the mountain to begin our days. We are together, but not the same. It's amazing, and it's been such a good motivation for me to increase my running goals.

In just over a couple weeks, Simon and I will be running the half-marathon portion of the Grandma's Marathon in Duluth, MN. I'm stoked, and given the running that I've been doing in the past two weeks and my running goals for the coming weeks (hello, altitude training!), this could be my best half-marathon yet. Or not. It might not be my best, but I'm going to run it and I'm going to finish and hopefully I won't be last and hopefully I won't poop myself...it's good to have goals, am I right? After Grandma's I have the remainder of the Run Flagstaff Summer Series road races, which take place in and around Flagstaff...I'll be able to make it to 4 of the 6 total races. Then at the end of August I have a 10K at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon...the race itself is at over 8,000 feet of elevation, so that one will most likely be a struggle for me, but I'm excited for it. And then...the big one...I'm hoping to register for the Imogene Pass Run this year. 17 miles up and over the Imogene Pass between Ouray and Telluride, Colorado. Without a doubt, this would be the most challenging foot race to date for me, and quite possibly, the most challenging foot race that I'll ever attempt. But I'm going to do it. Assuming I get in, as registration usually sells out in under an hour. My alarm is already set for 4:45am this coming Wednesday...and then a celebratory run afterwards...hahaha! I've already got a crew of people willing to run it with me, which is awesome. It'll be tough, it'll be long, but it'll be amazing. After Imogene there will be a Beat the Blerch race in Vegas in October (still haven't decided on a distance...either the 10K or the half), and the Key West Half Marathon in January of 2017, which I'm also looking forward to...it'll be so pretty.

So there it is...I think I'll be running more this year than all my previous years. Which is funny, seeing as after the last half-marathon I did I made the comment that I need to stop running half marathons...hahaha! As of right now, there are no marathons in my future. People always tell me that I'm going to cave and sign up for a marathon, but I don't see that happening. The half-marathon distance, which is 13.1 miles, is perfect for me. I don't have to be as vigilant with the training, and I know for a fact that a full marathon would wreak havoc on my body in ways that the half-marathon never could. Given all the cool places that they have half-marathons throughout the world, I think I'll have enough races to keep me busy for the next few years. I just found out recently the US National Parks have their own set of half-marathons, which would be the perfect way for me to knock out some of the Parks in my quest to see them all. What better way to see our nation's prettiest places than to run through them? :)

As always, I'm looking for people to run with. Know that I do not run fast, and that I take little walk breaks to allow my lungs to recover a bit. Overall, and despite the walking, I'm told that I'm able to maintain about a 6 mile/hour pace (I don't keep track, remember?), which I'm more than happy with, but might be too slow for more serious, competitive types. If we cannot have a conversation while running, we are running entirely too fast...hahaha! So there's that.

I wish you all a fantastic Memorial Day weekend...remember all our friends, family, coworkers, classmates, and strangers on the street who have served in our military and have done what most us couldn't or wouldn't do. They deserve our utmost respect, on Memorial Day and everyday! Be safe out there!   

Pride and Crankjoy

About a week or so ago I saw a post on my Instagram feed from one of the local pizzeria owners here in Flagstaff. His name is Caleb, and he owns Pizzicletta, which in my opinion, is probably the best pizza place here in Flagstaff. It's woodfired pizza in a custom built oven, and it is so incredibly good. The ingredients are fresh and locally sourced when possible, and I believe the meats are cured in-house. And the gelato...oh my goodness, the gelato. The best I've ever had. I can't even describe in words how good this place is. Pizzicletta is on our short list of places to take guests when they come into town...provided their idea of pizza is more adventurous than the meat lover's at Pizza Hut. Working right along next to everyone in the kitchen is Caleb. He's been there every time I've been there. For all the good things I can say about the restaurant, I could probably double that about Caleb. Granted, I barely know the guy, but I've interacted with him a few times here in Flagstaff, and I think you would have a time finding a more engaging, genuinely nice person. He makes you feel welcome in his restaurant, and come to find out, in the great outdoors as well.

In celebration of the Giro D'Italia, which is a 21 day bike race in Italy, Caleb has been running up Elden Lookout road in Flagstaff every morning since the bike race started. Today is day 12. He has publicly invited anyone who wants to join, and has a crew of four people who have thus far joined him every morning to hike, bike, or run up the mountain. The best part? A free pizza just for making the trip.

Elden is no joke. The summit is 2,000 above Flagstaff, which sits at a thin-aired 7,000 feet above sea level. Living at this elevation is difficult enough at times; exercising at this elevation will make even the fittest flat-landers feel like they've never exercised at all. I've been living here for almost 4 years now and I still get out of breath with light-moderate exercise. I keep wondering if I'll ever acclimate. Due to the elevation and the moderate climate, Flagstaff is a big draw for professional athletes, particularly runners. It's not all that unusual while out on the trails or at the local coffee shop to rub elbows with Olympic hopefuls and runners sponsored by athletic companies. It's actually really cool. Although seeing them on the trails barely breaking a sweat and having an entire conversation without missing a breath makes runners like me look like we're running underwater. It's inspiring for sure, and also very humbling.

So yesterday I told Simon that I want to try to bike up Elden to meet up with Caleb and his crew. They get up early in the morning and meet at the top at 8:30am. It's about 5-6 miles uphill from the parking lot at the base of mountain. Simon was a little skeptical, given that he's ridden up Elden Lookout Road on his motorcycle and had an idea of how steep it was. Having never been up the road myself, I had no idea what I was getting into, but I thought to myself...it's only 5 miles...I can bike anywhere for 5 miles. Ha! Was I in for a surprise.

To set the stage, I ride a single-speed mountain bike. In the world of mountain biking, this is not the most advisable set-up, nor is it all that common. Given that I don't ride the burliest trails in the world, I found little use for all the gears that come on a traditional mountain bike. I switched to a single speed a few years ago after realizing when I was out on the trails on my bike, I rarely, if ever, switched gears. Having had a fixed-gear road bike for several years, I decided that I wanted to get a single-speed mountain bike as well. So I found a beautiful single-speed Gary Fisher (now absorbed by Trek) with 29-inch wheels on Craigslist a couple years ago, and I'm so in love with it. The bike fits me perfectly, it rides like a dream and it's geared pretty decently to my activity level. At least I thought it was before trying to summit Elden. I should probably also mention that I haven't ridden my bike since last fall, and the fact that I chose this particular ride as my first of the season was probably overly ambitious.

Elden Lookout was a struggle. I made it about halfway up the mountain before realizing that there is a very good reason that people ride bikes with gears, and that reason was staring me straight in the face in the form of a gravel road with a grade angle that was challenging even for a person on foot. Trust me, I spent plenty of time on foot this morning pushing my bike up those switchbacks...it's steep.

I had two goals in mind for this morning...to make it to the top, and to beat Caleb, who I referred to as "The Pizza Guy." Caleb runs up Elden, and he started a full half-hour behind Simon and I. On our way up, we were passed by 2 mountain bikers, but otherwise didn't see another soul. As we were getting near to the top, I thought for sure we would beat the pizza guy up there. And then I heard voices behind me. And suddenly there he was, keeping pace with a biker and having a full-on conversation like he was leisurely walking on flat ground. I was walking my bike at the time, laboriously mouth-breathing, and he passed me like I was standing still. He gave me a quick shout of encouragement and disappeared around a curve in the road, still chatting away to his biking companion. And that's how it is here...the athletes are just on a whole 'nother level. As we were nearing the top, Caleb was coming back down the hill. He explained that he was running back to look for someone else who was on their way up. So not only did he run all the way up, he was running back a ways to find the missing person and then was going to run back to the top to join us there for a photo. It was mind-boggling. I told Simon that we had to get to the top before he got back there for the second time...hahaha! We did accomplish this, but not by much.

We were greeted at the top by the two mountain bikers who had passed us, and a gal who had hiked up the other side of the mountain on the Elden Lookout Trail. The other bikers thought we were insane for trying to ride up the road on single speeds, and truth be told, I think they were a little surprised that we had made it at all. They complimented me on my gear ratio (which I know nothing about), even going so far as to call it 'burly.' Which is kind of funny, given that when they had each passed me, I was walking the bike...hahaha! No matter...I did it, they did it, we did it. Getting to the top is the goal, and no one really cared how we got there, just that we came out and shared that moment with them. We spend a very short time at the top talking and looking around. It was such a clear morning that the guys were convinced that we could see the north rim of Grand Canyon from there. Maybe we could...my geography is relatively poor when it comes to this area, but I definitely was able to see a canyon of some sort. Way, far away.

Throughout all this...the slog to the top, the cramping quads, the burning lungs...I kept going. Mostly due in part to Simon, who is my ever present cheerleader. He kept me going by telling me that there were level spots ahead (there weren't), and by telling me that I was in Beast Mode. I told him I felt like I was in chipmunk mode, and he explained that technically, a chipmunk is still a beast. I commented back that if that's the case, then our lazy pug back home who was undoubtedly taking his 3rd nap of the morning was also a beast...hahaha! I wanted to quit at the halfway point, convinced that there was no way that I was going to be able to get back on the bike at any point from there on up, and the thought of pushing my bike up a mountain for 3+ miles was incredibly unappealing. He encouraged me to keep going, and we rode our bikes on the flatter parts (flat, meaning that it was a gradual incline rather than a steep grade). We walked when I petered out, then rode again for short distances. And somehow, we made it. Granted, we were a little later than the designated time of 8:30, but we still made it, and even though I had to walk some of the way, I had accomplished something. How many other people can say that they summited a mountain this morning before 9am? Well, the 4 people who got there before we did, of course...hahaha!

So now that I've ridden bike up Elden Lookout Road, I've convinced myself that on Sunday I'm going to run up it. And by run, I mean run a little bit, walk a little bit....until I get to the top. It's four-ish miles from where the gravel starts, and again, will be straight uphill. We're going to give ourselves just shy of 2 hours to run it to the top...it'll probably be at least an hour back down. It's weird to be so ambitious about these outdoor activities lately. It feels good, and rather than be too upset about what my body can't do, I have to remind myself to be impressed by what it can do. I was talking to Simon earlier about how I don't want my fitness to be defined by how much time I spend in the gym, how much weight I can lift, how many classes a week I take. I want my fitness to be defined by what I can do, where I can do it, and how well I can tolerate it. So that's my goal. To get outside and do something...and most of all, to have fun doing it! See you on the trails!

The Period Blog: Epilogue

Just when you thought the period posts were finished, here I come with another one. Since there's nothing following an epilogue other than a sequel, I guess we're at the end of the road. I just wanted to check in with some updates, as several of you gals and even a few of you guys were somewhat curious about all this period stuff and what some of us women go through on a monthly basis. Is it time for menopause yet? Sheesh...

Okay, so I last left you after having deciding that I was going to get a uterine ablation, which, to recap, is the procedure in which the uterine lining is permanently damaged causing scar tissue to form, thereby making it nearly impossible for a fertilized egg to attach, and resulting in decreased or non-existent periods. I found a doctor here in town who came highly recommended not just by women who had had procedures done by him, but by nurses who worked in the operating room alongside him. There is no better recommendation of a doctor, in my opinion, than by the nurses who work for him or her.

I had it in my head prior to meeting this doctor that I was set on ablation. What I appreciated the very most about him, is that he took the time to sit with me and to talk to me about all the options out there. Birth control medications, IUD, Ablation, Hysterectomy...all those options were on the table and we sat and discussed all of them in depth. Oddly enough, it turns out, all four of those options carry significant risks, and the odds of the risks really don't change from method to method, but the risks are very different depending on which method you choose. I hadn't thought much about that prior to making my appointment, and I was really glad that he took the time to go over all of that with me. So we made an appointment for me to get an ultrasound, as anatomical variances will outright eliminate certain options. More specifically, the IUD or the ablation.

So I got the ultrasound. Not going to go too in depth about that whole procedure, but I'll just tell you, the wand they use looks like a big white dildo. Turns out, I have a heart shaped uterus, known as a bicornuate uterus to those of you in the medical field. Cute right? A uterus shaped like a heart? Not so much. Basically what that means is, I have almost (but not quite) two uteruses...uterii...whatever the heck you call more than one uterus. So the uterus is normal at the bottom, and rather than opening up into one larger reservoir, it branches off into two separate reservoirs. I still only have 2 ovaries though. In humans, this is considered a malformation. However, if I were a rodent or a pig, this would be completely normal. Unfortunately, I am neither a rodent nor a pig...although sometimes I feel as though I take on their behaviors depending on my current mood (lying in my own filth, hoarding...things of that nature). So what does this mean for me? A few things, actually.  It's very likely a significant cause of my very heavy, somewhat irregular, devastatingly crampy periods...so I'm not just being a whiny wimp. ;)

Having a bicornuate uterus is actually quite rare, occurring in 0.1-0.5% of women. A bicornuate uterus could very well be the reason I've never had a pregnancy scare, as women with this type of malformation tend to have a lot of trouble getting pregnant, depending on the severity of the malformation, of course. Women with bicornuate uteruses (uterii) also tend to also have a higher incidence of recurrent pregnancy loss, spontaneous abortion within the first 3 months, birth defects, preterm labor, and breech births...all of which are undesirable in regards to pregnancy...breech birth being the least undesirable in that list, as most of the time, breech babies are just healthy babies who happen to be oriented in the wrong direction for vaginal birth. Most if not all pregnancies in women with a bicornuate uterus are considered high-risk. There are procedures that can be done to correct a bicornuate uterus to make it a more hospitable environment for a developing fetus, and from what I've read, those procedures have been very successful. But that's not of interest to me. At all.

It could almost be assumed that I was never intended to have children in the first place. There's a weird sort of peace that comes along with this diagnosis. If having children was something that I had really wanted, it would have most likely been a very long, very difficult, very stressful process for me to conceive and to deliver a full-term healthy baby. Honestly, knowing this about my body makes me feel better about the choice I've made to not have children. All this time I've felt that I was throwing my lack of desire to conceive into the faces of those women who simply couldn't...turns out I'm most likely one of those women who can't easily conceive, and all that feeling bad was most likely for nothing. Not that there was any reason to feel bad in the first place, but it was hard for me to watch my friends and family struggle with getting pregnant while I sat there all viable and with no desire to have children at all. Turns out I'm not as viable as I thought. Sigh of relief, actually.

So what does that mean for my birth control and period options? Well, the bicornuate uterus causes a lot of problems in that area as well. An IUD is basically out, as it won't sit properly in my uterus and would most likely be pushed out. The uterus in general is pretty sensitive, and doesn't take well to having things in there that don't belong, particularly if that thing is ill-fitting. My doctor said that we could give it a shot just for curiosity's sake, but he's not confident that it would be successful. If he's not confident, I'm not confident, and given that I'm the one paying for this service, I'm not about to embark on something just for curiosity's sake. Hysterectomy is out, and truth be told, wasn't ever really in, as that's kind of a last-ditch effort when all other methods have failed. Birth control medication is out...not having anything to do with the shape of the uterus and everything to do with the fact that I didn't tolerate the hormones when I was on them in my 20's; there seems no reason to think I'll tolerate them any better now. The ablation procedure is still on the table, although my anatomy would pose difficulties with that as well. During the ablation procedure, a little device is inserted into the uterus that heats up and basically scalds (cauterizes) the lining of the uterus. Typically, the device does all the work...in a normal shaped uterus. My doctor explained to me that this device likely wouldn't be successful for me, and that he would have to go in manually and scrape away the lining of my uterus with one tool, and cauterize with another. Sounds a bit like peeling and then burning a carrot. It also sounds complicated and rather miserable, and carries with it a little higher risks than the aforementioned ablation device. Also, given that I'm under the age of 40, there's a 20% chance that my uterus will just heal itself, and my only option after that would be the hysterectomy. He was completely confident and has done this particular ablation procedure before on women with malformations just like mine, so I trust his judgement and his abilities. But...I'm hesitating.

I hesitate because I'm a nurse and I know that a procedure, any procedure, carries with it some significant risks. I would have to be put under general anesthesia for this procedure, meaning that I would be completely knocked out, breathing tube in, the whole 9 yards. I know that surgery in healthy people has less risks associated with it than less healthy people, but the risks are still there. Over the years I've kind of adopted the idea that if you don't need surgery to save your life, then maybe it's best not to do it at all. It's silly, I know, but there's a part of me that's terrified of having significant negative outcomes in the interest of an elective procedure. Are my periods really that bad to outweigh the risks of an elective surgical procedure?

So here I sit. Doing nothing about my periods other than what I was doing before. It wasn't a total loss though...I found some great natural period products and I learned a lot about my own body. It's weird to feel so good about knowing that the process of having a child would be difficult for me. I don't know why that makes me feel better, but it's almost as if now I have a physical reason to back up my choice to not have children. As if choosing to not have children was never a good enough excuse to those who don't understand or can't empathize. So now I can say, "My uterus is weird! That's why I'm not having children!" That's as good a reason as any, right?

So there it is...the final chapter (for real!) on this whole period thing. Can't wait for the menopause blogs, right?? Thanks so much to all who have supported me along the way and have asked questions and given advice. It was all very welcome and very helpful. :)