Reaching for Heaven

Last weekend we headed to the Consumnes RIver Gorge, a climbing area we refer to as Bucks Bar since that's the road it's on and the town it's nearest. A gorgeous, granite walled area on the Consumnes River about a half hour from our home as you head southeast into beautiful, lonely country. I think I've been climbing once or twice since Jordan was born, and not since Sawyer was born. There always seemed to be plentiful reasons - my climbing harness was pretty tight before both pregnancies and nothing got smaller after, who would watch the children while we climbed, and, oh, that vicious case of vertigo that developed and stuck between both pregnancies. But they've always just been excuses.

When I was recovering from the umbilical hernia surgery, Tom took Jordan climbing. She'd prepped by doing the monkey bars every available moment since school began and her strength to body mass ratio is pretty idea for the sport. As is her intelligence, enthusiasm, and sense of adventure and she of course excelled. It was all I needed to want to get back out there as well. Sawyer is fairly coordinated and I thought he'd like it as well and so we made it a family adventure.

The Consumnes around Buck's Bar is an incredibly stressful location to take a three year old as it turns out. Although Sawyer is pretty well behaved, you realize the pervasiveness of the energy when you're bordered by a climbing wall on one side and a steep drop to a river on another. We set up at a spot that was too difficult for any of us at first, but when we switched to a better spot, we all climbed. I went first and was so excited to have gotten as far as I did - no the top, but I went past the first place I'd decided to stop and was thrilled to have essentially climbed past my vertigo. Jordan went next and went as far as she possibly could, and it wasn't enough for her. Sawyer had climbed on a harness at a smaller spot where Tom was anchoring him form above and liked it, but not enough to give this next wall a go. So Tom was last and styled it, of course, and having him on belay felt good and mostly natural again.

We are very beginning climbers, and although we did a fair amount of it in a couple of springs and summers before we had kids, I'd never call myself anything but a novice, which is fine for me. I'm really happy with single pitch climbs, toproping and climbing in fair weather. Tom would be game for a lot more, I am sure, and has probably spent at least double my time climbing. But it's something I'd rally like to continue, to do more of, and to do a lot more of with my kids as they get older as I think it's great for self confidence, for self control and is a great sport all around. I'd also like to keep doing it as a way to honor a friend of ours who just died this week in a freak winter climbing accident on Mt Hood.
Brooke was one of the very first guides I met when Tom and I agreed to take over ARTA in Lotus. She was welcoming, warm, incredibly appealing and attractive with a sense of humor and pervasive giggle that was refreshing. She never worked a full summer with ARTA in Lotus after Tom and I took over, moving to the Rogue for most of our first summer, but she returned often enough to get to know her and to have memories of her in our house and with our kids. Tom knew her from the start of his ARTA career, in fact spending a day on the river with her teaching her to paddle guide. We went on river trips and Baja trips with her, watching her grow up from a college kid and into a woman, each year more centered and comfortable in a body that shed its baby fat and gained sinewy strength sheathed in the highest of outdoor fashion (thanks pro deals). Her sense of humor and her modesty brought ever more people into her circle of friends, and everyone knew when they met her boyfriend (later husband) Thad, that she had found someone who would only further that growth and strength. Thad was a lucky guy, and she was a lucky girl, the way all relationships should pan out.


She is, actually, the kind of girl you'd like to see your own daughter become. We gave Jordan climbing shoes for her 6th birthday, and there's some irony there. Like there is in all aspects of parenting. Wanting your children to be resourceful, independent, adventurous, fulfilled, and never wanting them to ever be in a situation that you can't personally save them from single handedly. That momentous task of loving someone more than you ever through possible, and immediately giving them the tools and resources to one day no longer need you, and in fact, to fly away from you. I want to give Jordan climbing shoes and then I want to tell her she is never, ever to use them to climb more than stairs.

Hearing Brooke had died stunned us. She's one of those people who is so vibrantly alive that having the opposite of that doesn't seem even a remote possibility. We don't know Brooke that well, but in the tangled web that is ARTA, many of the people we are extremely close to were extremely close to her, and the collective stunned silence in the community is deafening. Her memorial will be at Camp Lotus on Thursday and we're expecting many, many river guides who worked with Brooke through the years to come for dinner and to stay at our place. Tom's organizing the lunch for the memorial where over 300 people are expected. All the questions we have about details we say "we'll just ask Brooke," or think, almost laughingly, "Brooke's going to have a field day over all of this!" And then we remember that she's just simply gone.

There's really no question about it: you want your daughter to grow up to be a woman on intelligence, laughter, strength, and friendship like Brooke, and so you do all you can to make that happen. You want her to have a life filled with adventure and so you give her those wings as well. And those climbing shoes. But you never stop holding your breath. You know in every instant of your life that which brings you the greatest joy, if ever it disappears, will bring you unfathomable pain. But you wouldn't give up or change a minute of it.

What Thad is going through is equally unfathomable. What my sister went through losing her husband. We all get so irritated at things our spouses do, but then you hear about a loss such as this, and in an instant those things fade and what is left is the photo negative - all the things you have always loved in them. And you try and hold on a little tighter to those things and to be more forgiving and more appreciative and to love that they take your daughter climbing and that they inspire you to ski harder or run faster or write more. Thad seemed that kind of partner, one who made his wife even more herself, more fully realized, more fulfilled.

I want to grow up to be more like my daughter, and my mother, and my husband, and Brooke. I am so grateful to my mother for having raised me to be adventurous, to own climbing shoes, and to travel and to have flown from her nest at my earliest opportunity to go as far on a plane as I could. It shows just how much she loves me. I want to honor all that she did for me, all that my parents did for me, by traveling more, doing more, daring more. I promise to be as safe as I can and as fulfilled as I can. I wish I could promise more. That we could all promise our parents, our husbands and wives, our children more. But we can't. So we hold our breath, love 'til it hurts, let go, and pray.

January 11, 2009 - Is it Tomorrow?

Is it tomorrow?
This is what Sawyer asks when he wakes up.
He asked it this morning, and yes, indeed, it was tomorrow. The aftermath of a rave in my house. Jordan’s 6th birthday party was a disco party like the last three have been; the same group of people (mostly – a few additions, a few absences) have been coming to this same house since Jordan turned one. The difference now, of course, is that almost everyone who had just one kid at that first party now has two. And most of them are old enough to cause some serious destruction.


In college, you knew a party had been a success judging by just how ravaged the house was. It’s clearly no different when you’re throwing a costume dance party for a six year old and you invite her friends, their siblings, and their parents. Just like in college, every single bed had been occupied by someone other than it’s rightful sleeper before the night was over. There was a parasol perched in a jug of apple juice, leggos everywhere, lost bits of clothing (a pirate mask, a gold coin belt, a single black rubber boot, three pairs of socks) strewn about under and over the furniture. Tom made chicken noodle soup the next day and dumping the remains of a vegetable tray into the pot, a lone plastic army man dropped in. There were probably way too many empty wine and beer bottles for a celebration of a child’s birthday. It was a good party.

But I’d stop just a little short of saying it was the best ever. Enter the Birthday Girl. The one I discovered this summer has a strong aversion to loud noise. It was a wee bit loud at our house with more than sixty people in it. And Jordan’s friend Alessia, the one she apparently likes fighting with as much as she likes playing with, showed up early. And so the first two hours of the party had Jordan cowering from the noise and trying to find an unoccupied room to spend time with her friend in. All the while miniature pirates, hippies, fairies and princesses were attempting to spend time with her as well. There were tears shed, doors slammed, feelings hurt and notes written. There was also dinner eaten and marshmallows toasted which helped. A loud and rousing Happy Birthday over two huge dutch oven cakes helped a lot, but not as much as the bath she took right after. It had been such a huge success in LA that I thought it would be the perfect place for her to center herself and have some quiet time with Alessia. When she emerged at 8:30 (the party invitation said 5-8), the disco ball was going and the music was rocking – and the birthday girl had a wonderful time.

I think it was sometime near 9:30 or ten when I was dancing with Sawyer and he was exhaustedly reaching for the disco ball as if in a haze, and I knew it was beyond time. Party raging, I put my kids to bed. A few people started to notice they had their jammies on, toothbrushes in mouths, and started to herd their own broods toward the door. There were probably only a third of the partygoers left at this point, but it still felt like a rager.

Some wonderful folks helped clean past when their spouses had hoped they would, and Tom and I stayed up ‘til midnight, removing duct tape from the disco ball cords, washing dishes, restoring order to the chaos. Jordan, Sawyer and Alessia slept. After spending all day on food, neither Tom nor I had eaten a thing and I hadn’t had enough alcohol (or water) to have any effect on me. So after a while, so did we. It took a long time for me to fall asleep. I was thinking of Jordan, of how strong she is, how her passion and intensity extend through all the things she loves to do: reading, bike riding, swimming, monkey bars, jump rope, school, being a big sister, baking, playing pretend. I was going over the details of her birth in my mind, trying to remember the long and crazy timeline, easily recalling the moment she was put on my chest, what her beautiful face looked like, and how full of love I was. Exhausted, much more so than after a kid’s rave.Although, come to think of it, her birth was crowded, noisy, wild, and ran much later than I expected.We both cried during it but had a great time in the end. Perhaps it was an apt celebration of her birthday after all.

Day Twelve: Kismet

We made it to Morro Bay with the sound of Sawyer crying echoing in our heads – poor guy is pretty happy until his sleep gets interrupted and he and Jordan did two hours of vertical sleeping before the city lights and stops had Sawyer railing against the injustices of the world. Our beloved campground, nearly empty at Christmas, was full of trailers, RV’s and toyhaulers, the acrid smoke of questionable campfire additions stinging our eyes as we pulled in at 9:45 and had the kids in their beds within minutes. Tom and I snuggled into our bed where we were met with face fulls of Austin fur. I’ve never seen a dog that sheds more than our beloved pup, and he apparently was reclining on our pillows during the day’s travels. Definitely time for some laundry.

We headed to Morro Rock beach where the waves were over head-high and nicely shaped, a little messy with the wind and chop, but some pretty wonderful conditions for a surfer from the foothills. Tom said within minutes he’d caught five of the best waves he’s had in the last five years. The kids and I took a long, long beach walk, and ended up surfing the dunes on my parka – they’d sit on it and I would pull them down the slopes. Pretty fun until I remembered the keys were in an unzipped pocket! Luckily, Jordan found them within minutes at the base of our slope. Another family with a dog and two younger children had made camp at our base in the middle of our surfing and Jordan and Sawyer gravitated to the hole their dog was digging. A little low-level sibling arguing about whose turn it was to dig to China with the one blue plastic cup later, and Tom was out of the water.

It was a melancholy beach moment, knowing our vacation time was coming to a close, when suddenly Aidan Robinson came up and scared me with a kid-style “Boo”. Tom had seen Noel on his walk back to the car to change, and we were reunited with our Lotus friends, Jordan and Declan ecstatically running into the surf together, he in a wetsuit, Jordan in a skirt and shirt. Noel had her lovely 11 and 13 year old nieces with her, and all kids were soon involved in a massive sand castle building escapade – save for Sawyer who was a safer distance from the waves, happily making a sand pie.


Immediately, Noel said “You’re staying the night,” and like that, the vacation was extended by a day. Noel’s cousin Martin and his wonderful wife Tracy live on a 500 acre ranch five miles in the hills directly above Morro Bay. When beach time was over, we headed up the hill and parked the trailer on a wonderful cleared flat area adjacent to rustically gorgeous bathrooms with hot water (not requiring a quarter). The kids were quickly running around exploring, Aidan and Declan proudly showing off found treasures of cow skulls and peacock feathers (there are many peacocks running around in addition to the cattle, a fenced-in goat, horses in a newly built amazing barn, and chickens in a coop adjacent to the main house). They bounced on the trampoline, and before long were taking their bikes of the skateboard jump Noel had constructed on the concrete patio.


Tracy and Martin’s generosity was bottomless and all four younger kids enjoyed long bubblebaths to remove the sand from their more delicate parts while Tom and Seth headed down the hill for another surf session. I had a luxurious shower in the bathrooms (actually built for Noel’s sister’s wedding the previous year), and we watched the unbelievable sunset from the porch swing. It was a gorgeous house built by Martin, with the red Mexican floor tiles like the ones in dad’s house, high exposed beam ceilings and an open floor plan centering around a fireplace. The ranch is of the grid and someone had been installing a second, new solar panel that would enable Tracy to switch to an electric fridge from the small and erratic gas powered one she’d had for twenty years. It was an easy transition to dinner at a table set for ten with the three youngest kids eating at the bar next to the table. The fiesta-ware plates were wonderfully celebratory as were the silver wine and champagne chalices we drank from. It was a wonderful meal with lots of laughter. I helped wash dishes while Seth launched the kids into a hilarious game of Flapadoodle.


Sawyer went to bed in Jillian’s room while the rest of the kids watched a video and the adults rang in the East Coast New Year and we all headed off to bed.

The ranch is known as being an incredibly windy place, and we had a few good trailer-shaking blasts, but it was a wonderfully cozy night and a great way to ring in the New Year with old friends and new, and a great blending of our vacation life and our Lotus community, reminding us of how lucky we are to have such wonderful friends with which to share our daily lives and routines.

I’m sure I should have a good, solid list of resolutions, but perhaps it’s enough that the last two weeks of being in a car with my family has reminded me of where I perhaps lack in patience with the kids. Jordan is quick to snap at her brother and I worry it’s a trait she’s learned from me and it’s a good reminder to model the patience and calm I’d like her to posses. The trailer, of course, is a good reminder that the richness in life is to be found in where the road takes you and not necessarily in how luxurious the voyage is – the joy in having what is enough and not constantly wanting more. It’s a delicate balance, wanting what is best for the family and what might make my life a bit easier or more comfortable, but also being grateful for the how privileged and rich a life I lead. There have been so many special moments on this trip, it feels like we’ve been gone for a year rather than twelve days (and between the sand and the rain and Austin’s shedding habits, it looks like a year has passed inside as well). I can resolve to lose the same ten pounds or to floss daily (actually, that one I kept), or maybe I can go bigger, working at becoming the person I’d like my children, family, friends and husband to see me as.

2008 will be remembered as the year of transition, with Jordan entering first grade, Sawyer a new school, me a new job, and Tom perhaps a new additional career. We have new animals (perhaps our next travel vehicle should be an ark) and new friends to count in our community. We said goodbye to our beloved uncle and brother-in-law while we shared in the joy of the creation of a new life, and learned to count our blessings and hold our loved ones ever closer. Of course, now I’m crying remembering Ryan and also the grace and strength Allison showed through their journey, and I hope to emulate that grace and to remember to treasure each moment I have with those I love – and to find a way to love those who challenge that grace. Whew. Or maybe I should just give flossing another year and call it good.

Day 11: California Dreamin' (Or, The Emergence of Gidget)

Sawyer is a spontaneous singer, which is lovely. He makes songs up with sweet lyrics like “I love my mommy,” or “It’s really fun on a camping trip.” He also favors Jingle Bells and Frosty the Snowman and today, “Dreidle, dreidle, dreidle.” He favors them over and over and over. Which is pretty much okay given his sweet and soft voice.

This morning we packed up our trailer and gave the dump station our first go (way too successful for the amount we’ve used the toilet, we think we got a little extra for our money in the potty department). We headed north to Huntington Beach to meet up with Ned and Sammy and Jack. On the way we stopped at Target as Sawyer was out of pullups and we were trying for sand toys having made a promise on the first days of the trip. It was slightly odd to be in a shiny retail environment; I felt a bit like an alien on a foreign planet, dazed by the bright lights and colors and red and khaki clad creatures. Even in gorgeous Southern CA, sand toys are a “seasonal item.” We left with pull ups and new crayons. And an sense of indignity that two miles from the Pacific we were about to act unseasonally.


It was wonderful to spend time with just the East Coast Freers as it gets a bit overwhelming with so many extended relatives after a bit. Sammy and Jordan were peas in a pod – or fish in a school. They were drenched in minutes, and had not a single disagreement or episode of tears in their three hours of beach playing. Jack was under the weather, but still had some fun building sand castles with Sawyer who was his usual self, reveling in the joys of sand, rolling, falling, throwing, crawling – as long as he was a safe distance from the water. The beaches were plenty crowded with large numbers of people acting out of season, building sand castles, playing beach volleyball and sunbathing. Despite a lousy surf report, there were lovely though small waves rolling in, and despite Jordan having responded “24” earlier in the day to the question “How old are you going to be when you learn to surf?”, she was ready for her first launch into the waves.


Clothed in a t-shirt and skirt, she walked out into the surf with Tom and he got her own the board, pushed her into the wave, and she sailed a good 30 yards straight into shore, grinning the whole time. Sammy was game, too, amazingly, but she gave it just a single go, having upended halfway into shore – no tears, however. Jordan’s next three attempts were not as successful as her first, but she was smiling despite a good case of the shivers. After another fifteen minutes of sand play, we reluctantly headed for the cars, driven by hunger. As Ned leaves CA tomorrow, we of course were In N Out bound.


Tom did an impromptu concert in the In N Out parking lot before we jumped in and bravely headed North on the 405. It was smooth sailing until we got closer to the 10, and all the reasons why Southern CA isn’t such a dreamland came rapidly into focus. An hour in heavy traffic had us yearning for the wide open northern reaches and we were happy to peel off into Malibu and Highway 1 again, a gorgeous sunset as our farewell. At 25c, the vastly overpriced bathroom in the Malibu ARCO reminded us that paradise isn’t necessarily a product of where in CA you are, so we’re headed north still, it’s past bedtime and we hope to make it to Morro Bay before the kids implode so we can extend our vacation by another twenty four hours, and sail into Lotus with the sound of the ocean still in our ears. And plenty of sand in our cracks.

• A footnote on San Louis Obispo
I had heard about this but never seen it until we happened to notice it while walking around SLO on Christmas Eve: an alley between two buildings, the walls of which are entirely covered with pieces of chewed gum. Most of you will recognize that as my own personal version of hell. I recommend never, ever visiting it. Ever. I am shuddering as I write this.

Day 10: Cold as Ice

The days have been getting progressively warmer since we got to So Cal – and from our first day here it’s been a lot warmer than in Morro Bay and especially in Santa Cruz. So what did we choose to do with this abundance of sunshine and warmth? Our favorite Orange County activity, of course – ice skating!

Last Christmas in Santa Fe, we took Jordan for her second ice skating experience, and Sawyer his first. For Sawyer, it was definitely a bit on the too soon given as he never even remotely achieved a self-stable moment on the ice. Jordan did well, though there were a significant number of falls. (Though we managed never to squash her.) Two New Years ago we were at this ice rink in Cerritos. I had a broken foot and Sawyer was all of 15 months, so we both sat it out. This year was a blast.

All the cousins and aunts and uncles came, and Mary took pictures while Dave prepped dinner back at home. We were all amazed at how well everyone did. (Julia who is nearly four was beyond exhausted and slept after three minutes total on the ice but was lovely after her nap.) Jackson and Sawyer had huge grins on their faces the whole time and were remarkable. Sawyer was calm and relaxed and probably has double jointed shoulders, but never cried when he fell and never asked for a break until two minutes before the session ended.

Jordan enjoyed a sleepover with her cousins the night before and although when we left just before eight she was in jammies and ready for sleep, apparently when they got to Aunt Jen’s, she decided that going to bed before ten on a sleepover was just no fun. Consequently, when we showed up at 10:30 the next morning, she was dressed in a beautiful pink princess gown with Medusa hair and Medusa manners. After throwing the pieces of the Candyland game at her brother as her launch into a meltdown, we gave her the choice of a bath, a nap, or going back to the campground without participating in the day’s activities. Her tears were no match for the overwhelming soothing warmth and comfort of the water. Given that it had been a good three or four days since her last shower, she was pretty well due for a drenching and it came to me that being it water and being able to immerse herself would have the usual calming and elevating experience – and it did. She emerged a new and well behaved girl, ready for another park session (the new trick: eyes-closed forward and backward monkey bars).

She was a superstar at the ice rink, still tired but not enough to want any breaks f=or to get upset at her falls. She stripped down to her t-shirt after the first lap, a polar bear in her element, and Tom and I both had so much fun switching back and forth between the kids, and even enjoying a few date laps, reminiscing about our pre-teen days at our own roller rinks – all too easy to remember with the fashions of the 80’s unfortunately making a comeback. I don’t remember our jeans being quite so tight, however, although I did enjoy the coltish look it gave the girls, like newborn foals taking their first wobble ankled steps. We also didn’t have cell phones with which to text and call the boys at the other end of the rink. But the Journey and Cyndi Lauper tunes were the same. It was so nice to have all the kids meltdown free and enthusiastic the whole time. The grownups, too, for that matter.

Some of the adults were hitting the “Vitamin M” (Motrin) pretty hard before dinner, and there was more talking from the kids’ table than the adults. I think we hit our 6:45 departure time pretty much on time, with Sawyer for the second night being in jammies and pull-up for the easy transition into his bunk. Despite Jordan’s late night, she didn’t fall asleep, but I think it didn’t take long once she was snugged up in her bed. Tom and I borrowed The Sixth Sense from the Nakamuras and he watched while I played games on my iPod and watched, way too much of a wuss to watch it all directly. Even still, I had ghost dreams and had to take a deep breath before leaving the trailer to go to the adjacent potty at 1:45 am. In my defense, the light outside was flickering eerily (but I convinced myself pragmatically that it was due to a faulty bulb). Once back in bed I attempted to ignore than light knocking on the side of the trailer, blaming Austin for the noise. It was nice to not have to walk down our hallway to check on the children, I could just glance at their bunks. In the movie, when ghosts are nearby the temperatures drop. In our trailer, the temperatures seemed to go up through most of the night. And I slept like a newborn foal.