One Wish

A few weeks ago, we had several good soaking rains in a row. I took the kids to the Tempe Festival of the Arts and with the rain and the cool breeze, it reminded me of Portland's Saturday Market which is held under the Burnside Bridge in Portland, Oregon.

I got so nostalgic, I felt a little weepy. It was silly. I haven't lived in Portland since 1988, and haven't even visited since 1995. But I loved Portland. The weather, the people, the trees and green. The mountains, rivers, waterfalls, beaches. I'm sure it's changed, everything does. I'm sure I romanticize it. But it was a lovely place to live. A lovely place to hope to live again. But until then, my one wish for the coming year is for more soaking rains to remind me.

PUTTING IT DOWN

My friend Adam has a book. In it is the story of two Buddhist Monks walking along a road. They come to a stream where a woman is pacing back and forth, unsure of how she will cross the river. One monk simply picks her up, carries her across the river, puts her down, and continues his walk with the second monk.

The two walk on for another ten miles in silence. Suddenly, the second monk says, "Brother, you KNOW we are forbidden to touch women . . . HOW could you do that?!" The first monk replies, "I put her down at the river's edge . . . why are you still carrying her?"

The New Year's resolution this year is to put it down. To quit carrying all the baggage of things I cannot fix nor change. To release the guilt, the sadness, the anxiety, the extra weight I keep as a barrier between the now and the past.

I am hopeful. I am joyful. I feel free.

Bugs, Bunny

Well, after deleting 2700 temporary internet files like Blogger asked me to do, I still have no tool bar to post pictures or do spell check. Sigh. Guess you'll just have to visualize this one in your pretty little heads.

The nice neighbors, who shall remain nameless, aquired a bunny rabbit. It was soooo cute that shortly after they aquired a second bunny rabbit. Shortly after THAT they began breeding like, well, rabbits. Now the heat of last summer took the lives of some of the smaller ones or weaker ones, but it appears that the cooler temps agree with them. They are no longer content to hang out and dig dens in the nice neighbor's backyard, now they are nibbling the tender winter grass in the front as well.

This has just proven to be too much temptation to Dumb Cat, who has made several futile runs at catching those wascally wabbits. I thought it was rather amusing to watch his frustration level rise.

Last night I let Crazy Daisy out into the backyard to do her business. Usually she wants to come RIGHT BACK IN because it's cold, and she thinks she's delicate. I was concerned because I sat watching some infomercial for quite some time and the princess of the doggy kingdom did not bang at the door demanding to be let back into the warmth. Fearing she had plunged into the pool and was frantically dog paddling waiting for me to save her, I opened the door a squinted out into the yard. There she was, playing with a toy, shaking her head. I called her to come, because I was getting cold, and I'M delicate, and so here she comes at a dead run with her toy. Only when she reaches the door I discover that it is not a toy, it is a A DEAD BABY BUNNY RABBIT. More accurately it was HALF a DEAD BABY BUNNY. And as I'm blocking Daisy from entering the house with it, and trying to get it away from her, I glance up and there is Dumb Cat in the corner of the yard snacking on the other half. I swear he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. So I had to throw on my jeans and sweatshirt as the sun was coming up and clean up the carnage before the kids (or heaven forbid, the nice neighbors) were aware of the horror that had befallen one of the rabbit multitude.

I keep trying to tell myself it's survival of the fittest, and the cat's natural instinct and all that, but YUCK! Poor bunny.

Gone green

I think I'm being punished. My blogger create a post page no longer gives me the option to post pictures or change my font or even use spell check. Hmmmm.

I'm off to a funeral for a 56 year old this morning. Moral of the story? Life is short, enjoy it.

I'm changing my page to green for the holidays. I'm actually looking forward to setting up the tree tomorrow and then having the puppy knock it all down. Bec is coming over to help make Christmas cookies, so that will be fun this year. And yes, I'm even thinking about sitting down and making the Christmas cards.

What's on your plate this time of year?

There is always SOMETHING to be thankful for . . .

Just in case anyone out there is under the impression that I am a bitter curmudgeon-in-training . . . well, there may be some truth to that, but . . . here is my annual list of things I am thankful for:

• Two healthy, happy children who are not quite yet embarrassed to be seen with me.



• A good, enjoyable job working with terrific people, many of whom I hope to be friends with forever.



• A clean and sober (two years now!) spouse with a smile on his face.



• My currently clean home. My currently clean laundry. My currently clean dishes.



• Friends. Old, new, nearby, far away, in-and-out of touch. There are so many of you that I feel like I could call at 3 a.m. and you would be there for me. I hope I never have to, but it's nice to know I could.



• The Mormon moms who are willing to take on a Scout den of 10-year-olds.



• Cloudy and rainy days.



• The JetBoil backpacking stove.



• Edward Norton and his movies.




• Stovetop Stuffing.



• Water in the desert.



• The smell of creosote and wet earth when it rains in the desert.



• The sign in my mom's house that reads: 'May those who love us, love us. Those that don't, may God turn their hearts. If He cannot turn their hearts, let him turn their ankles, so we'll know them by their limping.'



• Pine trees.



• Small cottages.



• Boxer puppies.

• The following fabulous locations that I am thankful I have had a chance to visit and/or live: Jerome, Arizona; San Francisco; Portland, Oregon and the entire Oregon coast; Misery Island, Massachusetts; Anchorage/Wasilla/Portage Glacier/Girdwood, Alaska; Gatlinburg, Tennessee; Victoria, British Columbia, Canada; Stone Mountain, Georgia. I feel fortunate to have been able to travel and have many more spots in mind for future trips.
• Spider Solitaire.
• Kettle Korn.
• Kindness.
• Excellent, engrossing books. Try Twilight, New Moon, and Eclipse, a trilogy by Stephenie Meyer.
• Being perfectly comfortable, and the perfect temperature, in that drowsy half sleep, knowing you don't have to get up anytime soon.
• My crock pot.
• Homemade bread.
• You.

Happy Thanksgiving.

FLAT

What gets you all riled up?

If you're me, the answer is not much of anything.

My mother rants about George Bush until she's about purple. For other friends global warming is their cause. What about political correctness run amok? I just read another blog that had a reprinting of a letter from the Seattle school district stating that Thanksgiving should not be mentioned in the classroom, because it offends Native American students, reminds them that their friendship to the pilgrims was rewarded with 500 years of death and dislocation. Sigh.

My main feeling is THERE IS NOTHING I CAN DO OR WANT TO DO ABOUT IT. Most days it feels like all I can do is hold myself and this family together for another 24 hours.

I recently rented a movie called Year of the Dog about a woman who loses her beloved pet and it inspires her to get involved in the animal rights movement, and it made me think about all people who get wound up in various causes. Good for them. But do they really change anything? Is my flat lack of passion a sign of disregard for others and the world around me, or of chronic apathy in myself? Is it wrong to wish people would JUST GET OVER IT?

Happy Veteran's Day!

This goes out to my friend Davy (who's still in the Navy, and probably will be for life . . . thank you Billy Joel).

When you joined the Navy straight out of Mingus Union High School, we all thought you were NUTS! If there was anyone not suited to a regimented life, it was your stoner-rocker-long haired self. But here you are, twenty two years later, a Navy Chief, with a nice wife and a kid in COLLEGE for God's sake! While the rest of us look at still many years until retirement, you already have that retirement in the bag. Guess you were the smart one after all. You done good.

So thanks for your service, for your e-mails from all the far-flung corners of the globe, and your tales of the sea (and the port). Happy Veteran's Day!

THE NEXT BIG ADVENTURE

Since surviving the Havasupai hike, there has been discussion of making an annual backpacking trip. Becca and I have been tossing around ideas for a while now, which have included Yosemite, Yellowstone or Glacier National Park, and Alaska. Alaska was leading the pack for a time, but then we checked airfares . . . too far, too expensive, and in my opinion too many grizzly bears to be out bushwacking for three or four days.

We agreed closer to home might work out better. Becca wanted to do Havasupai again, but my toenails are just now after six months beginning to resemble toenails again. Plus I have a little bit of that "been there, done that" feeling about Havasupai. It is beautiful and well worth the trip, but . . .

So ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that the 2nd Annual Backpack Trip will be . . . the ZION NARROWS . . . in southern Utah, most likely the first weekend in June. Something to look forward to.

Joel Osteen vs. The Golden Rule

Sometimes things just come to a head. Coincidence? Divine Intervention? Joel Osteen?

Who knows?

Those of you who know me know my long-term and on-going struggle with organized religion. It began at about 5 years old when my atheist father and agnostic mother decided they had better send me for some religion. I'm not really sure why they felt the need, given their own lack of faith, but I was turned over to the Baptists for my spiritual education. Upon reporting to my parents that we had gone to old town Cottonwood to the Rialto theater and seen a movie in which a woman died in a snow-skiing accident and went to Hell, that was the end of the Baptist era. When next I attended, in fourth grade, I went to Methodist vacation Bible school with our babysitter, Margaret Hallman. She was an older lady who volunteered at the Methodist church in Clarkdale and my parents must have feared that if she had to choose between working for the Lord at vacation Bible school or working for us, the Lord might win, so off we went with her to church. I actually enjoyed that summer. The Methodists seemed to believe less in Hellfire and Brimstone and more in good works for the betterment of mankind. We saved pennies to buy chickens to send to starving families in Africa. I liked it. But summer ended and so did the churching. Throughout high school I attended Catholic church with the Ziemkowski family, they were worried about my soul and invited me every chance they got. I remember thinking that the Catholic faith wasn't doing much for their daughter's soul, but kept the thought to myself.

The Jehovah's Witness years were a trial. Not only for me, but for them I'm sure. I wanted to believe. I loved Daniel, oh, how I loved Daniel. I loved Ruby and Marilyn my home study teachers, I loved feeling like I belonged. But I couldn't believe. Hard as I tried, and Lord knows I tried. I could not see buying into a religion that has to publish other books to explain their interpretation of the Bible to you. Why not just study the Bible? Of course there were other more complex issues and disagreements, but what it boiled down to was that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many book studies/home studies/watchtower studies/theocratic ministry schools I attended, it never touched my heart. Ruby, Marilyn, and Daniel touched my heart, but never the Watchtower Society.

Upon my departure from the Witnesses, and in a serious funk, I allowed my coworkers to drag me to a little storefront church with a minister fresh out of a Tennessee seminary. Man, could he preach. Man, oh man, could he preach. He spoke about modern day problems, many of the same ones I felt like I was having, and how having a little faith could help you through. Looking back, it had less to do with Jesus and more to do with my personal crisis and the force of Pastor Tim's personality. And forceful his personality must have been, and devastating my crisis certainly was, because in six short months with the storefront church, I was baptised. Two short months after that I took a job and moved to Tempe. I joined the same denomination of church I had been baptised by. The first time I attended, the pastor was a drone with no passion for what he was doing, and as I was leaving the service I picked up a copy of the articles of faith and realized that I agreed with absolutely none of them. Not a good sign. To say I lapsed would be the understatement of the century. I found other ways to cope with my personal hell, and none had anything to do with religion.

So now I am a middle-aged mom with two kids and no religion. My husband is an atheist. I don't have a huge problem with the IDEA of God, but I have serious problems with organized religion. And some organized religions have had a problem with me as of late. My son has joined Cub Scouts and must complete a faith component for his Arrow of Light. Where do we go for that? What pastor is there to consult? Where can we go and say, please help my child with this, because he loves to participate in Scouts, even though we will never return to your church? And why must we be looked down upon for raising the child to believe simply in the Golden Rule rather than the fear of damnation?

And then there's Joel Osteen.

I swear the man is stalking me. He's on the television when I wake up. He's on the bookshelf at the supermarket checkout. Heck, I was just flipping through channels looking for something to watch while cooking dinner, and there he was on 60 Minutes for goodness sake. And he scares me. There is a song by the country band Restless Heart that says, "I'm in an old familiar place, with an old familiar pain." And as Pastor Tim used to say, "I've got pain in places that aspirin won't touch." I have that weird feeling when I watch Joel Osteen, and much to my dismay I do watch him. Every Sunday morning. My spouse is horrified, and I have to laugh when he says he would prefer me to compulsively gamble than to turn religious. But Joel . . . the logical side of me understands perfectly that I have he touches on universal themes that all want to hear, the positive message that things will be better, that God has better in store for you, I understand that he is Gospel Lite, the Doctor Phil life coach/motivational speaker, rather than the ranting evangelist who stresses that yes, God is good, but also that we are all SINNERS. But Joel Osteen has done what none, and I do mean none, in the last fifteen years has been able to do. Make me feel half positive about religion, that there is some point to it. Make me feel that in spite of all the horrible mistakes I have made, and regrets I have (and they are legion), that if I could just summon up a mustard seed's worth of faith that maybe there is a bigger, better plan for my life. Maybe there are some blessings that could come my way. That some of what I pray for could come to pass. I can't decide whether Joel Osteen and his irrepressible hope is a blessing or a curse, or just another cult of personality. I'm waiting for a sign.

OCTOBER BOOK REVIEW

Lest any of you think I only sit in darkened theatres munching popcorn and swilling Diet Coke, let me recommend two books to you that I have recently finished.

The first is The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory. Just a fluke that I even picked up this book, but the book aisle at the supermarket had nothing but detective-hunting-serial-killer books, and while I do enjoy those, I've just about had my fill for a while. I'm not a fan of historical fiction, but The Other Boleyn Girl looked more interesting than the latest James Patterson or Danielle Steele. I was pleasantly surprised by this book, the political maneuvering using women as the bait, the customs and beliefs of the day, the lives these women lived. It was fascinating and each day at work while I was reading this book was torture, I wished I was home reading it. Highly recommended.

The other book that surprised me was Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry. I had checked a book of his out from the library called When The Light Goes that I enjoyed, so I decided to pick up another of his books on a recent trip to Bookman's bookstore. Again, this was another choice outside of my normal reading patterns, and it proved to be a good one as well. A great tale of a group of men on a cattle drive from Texas to Montana, it appealed to the part of me that would like to wander.
Now that I'm out of my reading rut, I'm looking for book recommendations. Any you'd list?

MOVIE REVIEWS

I've seen several movies recently, and rented a few more on DVD. Here's my take on some recent releases:

The Brave One: Did you like Death Wish? If so, then you'll love this one . . . only Charles Bronson is a girl. C+

3:10 To Yuma: Can't stand Russell Crowe, but like Westerns, like Christian Bale, like horses, and Russell Crowe wasn't too too bad. B

The Kingdom: Hadn't really planned on seeing this one. Not much on war movies, and find the middle east upsetting on the best of days. But this one was filmed here in Mesa, much of it on the former Williams Air Force Base where I began my career here in the Valley of the Sun. Turns out I enjoyed the movie much more than I thought I would, fast-paced and thought provoking . . . especially the last few lines. A

A Perfect Stranger (on DVD): What a complete waste of time. I'm sorry, but if that snore inducing internet sex chat is the best that New York's finest advertising exective can produce it's a sorry day for Madison Avenue. F

Lucky You (on DVD): Do you play internet poker? Live poker? Lie, cheat, steal? Attracted to men who lie, cheat, and steal? This is the movie for you. Everybody else should know when to make a good fold. D

MOVIES I'M STILL LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING: Across the Universe, No Country for Old Men (based on the excellent book by Cormac McCarthy), The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (although I was clearly Team Aniston, and find Brad Pitts decision making skills to be, well, the pits). And although I'm not a historical drama afficianado, I am going to add Elizabeth the Golden Age to this list after seeing the trailer, looks promising.

Today I went and saw Into the Wild, based on the book by the same name written by Jon Krakauer. I went with my friend Adam, and although we had planned on attending the earlier showing so we could have a cup of coffee or something afterward, I bolted pretty much immediately after the movie using the old "I have dinner in the crockpot" excuse. Truth be told, I needed to have a good private cry in my car, and wasn't going to be able to hold it back while sitting at Starbucks. Much the same as I did after Adam's wedding, although that was not such a private cry, as I did not make it out of the church parking lot, leading several people who had known me since childhood to wonder about my sanity and/or stability. I will review Into the Wild, but not tonight. It will be one of those bellybutton contemplating blogs, and I can't do that right now in this mood. I will say it's certainly worth seeing, and gets an A from me.

BEFORE I DIE

There are two things I'd like to do before I die. Some might think that either one of these things might contribute to my death, but life is either a daring adventure or nothing. I'd attribute that quote if I knew who said it.

One of the things I'd like to do is go into a shark cage and see a shark up close and personal. I've been fascinated/terrified by sharks since I was 9 and saw JAWS. My favorite website for daydreaming about this particular activity is www.hawaiisharkencounters.com.

The other thing I'd love to do someday is a storm chasing tour in tornado alley. Again, being a big movie fan, tornadoes have been fascinating since Dorothy was plucked out of Kansas and landed in Oz. The site to see for storm chasing is www.traddtornadochasingtours.com.

How about you folks? What's on your must-do, must-visit list?

. . .AND THEN A FUNNY THING HAPPENED . . .

I believe there is a force in the universe that does not want this post published. What other explanation could there be for my computer shutting down THREE TIMES IN A ROW after I type one paragraph? Oh yeah, it's a crappy computer. But the fact remains that I started typing this an hour ago and I'M STILL STUCK ON THE FIRST PARAGRAPH!

I started to write this morning about the "force in the universe" but believing it was a bit more benevolent. Bear with me, as some of this will require some time-travelesque back story. Oh, and believers in The Secret . . . try not to piss yourselves with excitement.

It started with a small coincidence. When I was growing up, the house across the street was owned by Mr. D'Ambrosi, a small, fussy, elderly Italian man, and when he passed away the house was bought by the Drake family. They had several kids, all older than me, but I was friendly with their daughter Liz and had a crush on their son Linc (and I deny that it had anything to do with his Camaro with the Rolling Stones sticker on the back window). Many years go by, the Drake family parents have passed away and the Drake kids are scattered, but I visit my father who still lives in the same old house. I wonder what's become of Liz. I look her up on Classmates.com and reconnect. We exchange pictures of the kids, where we've been, what we've done. She sends a picture or two of Linc, he's still hot, my taste in men is validated. That's been a couple of years ago, and since then Liz and I will send the occasional funny internet forwarded joke, nothing too terribly personal, and that's about the extent of it. Fast forward to last week. The old man and I are sitting on the couch in the family room and an old episode of Malcolm in the Middle is on. I'm not paying much attention, but the hubby gets all excited. Seems the episode is about the family traveling in a motorhome to the Burning Man festival in Nevada. I must admit that while I'd heard of Burning Man, it's less than blip on my radar screen. Don't understand why someone would willingly spend a week with 50,000 other sweaty, smelly people camped out in the dry, dusty, Nevada desert in the summer time to watch an arson. Just don't get it. But the hubby is wound up, talking about how much he would like to attend. I see the opportunity for a week of peace without him, tell him to look on the internet when the next one is being held, and put it on the calender.

Now I know you're thinking, geez, Karen, get to the point, this has been a whole lotta wordiness for one little coincidence . . . ok here it is . . . the very next e-mail I receive is from Liz, writing about a guy from high school who had gone to, yes, you guessed it, THE BURNING MAN FESTIVAL, and the e-mail included 30-plus pages of his photos. How weird is that?

OK, now the next coincidence is stranger, and also requires a trip to the past. Bear with me. Hey, as an aside, had you noticed how short the posts have been? Writer's block or something. Appear to be over that now, don't you think?

Rewind to summer 1999. We have a two year old. We have a two year old who is the only grandchild and is spoiled with every toy under the sun. We have a 900 square foot two bedroom home in Tempe. I am pregnant and really beginning to wonder where we will put the new kid. Is the uninsulated garage out of the question? We put our house on the market and begin to look for something bigger. The hubby and I are still friends with the person who introduced us (I will not begin to be angry with him for introducing us for a couple more years), a charming alcoholic we'll call Buddy. As a charming alcoholic, Buddy attracted more than his fair share of soft-hearted attractive women who wanted to "help" him. Buddy had a rocky marriage to the long-suffering Barbara (may still, for all I know), but in the summer of 1999 they were on the outs. Buddy was seeing a nice girl we'll call Jess, and had moved in with her and her mom and siblings. My understanding is that the mom was recently divorced and having a hard time making ends meet, and Buddy was trying to get a mortgage to buy the house from her so she could make a fresh start. My hubby, being fast friends with Buddy, wanted to buy a house in the same cul-de-sac as Buddy's future home, but that didn't work out. Soon after, Buddy announces he cannot secure a mortgage for the Jess' mom's house (as I said, he's an alcoholic, with a spotty work history at best), and the house will be going into foreclosure. We were pre-approved for a mortgage, and without consulting me my spouse makes an offer on the house. I had not even seen the inside of the house at that time. We take possession of the house about a week later. Jess is still in college and we agree to let her leave some of her things in the house. We like her a great deal, she's still seeing Buddy, and the four of us all become good friends. Not too long after, Jess leaves to be closer to her mom, a couple years after that we have a falling out with Buddy, and that's the end of that.

Fast forward eight years. Last month we took apart a bed that our youngest child had in her room because it was way too big for the room and she had no floor space to play. I put the bed in our "junk room" where we pile holiday stuff, and other accumulated crap that has no other place in the house. I don't go in there much, but as I shove the bed in there, I look around at the stuff that still belongs to Jess. I begin to wonder where/how she is. We had a postcard from her from Southeast Asia somewhere, in 2004 or 2005, but it didn't indicate her last name or how to get in touch with her. She had a different last name from her mom, but thinking I might be able to locate her through mom, I googled mom and siblings without much success other than they were in Missouri maybe. I let it go.

Fast forward to this week. I have come to accept that I am a plodder. I will never be the high powered career woman. I like my set tasks, my time to accomplish them. This week at work was hell, for a number of reasons, but I had 38 hours worked by the time I left on Thursday so only had to serve 2 hours of time on Friday. I manage to catch the 11 a.m. showing of the new movie The Brave One (I'll let you know whether I'd recommend it when I decide whether I liked it) and was home folding laundry by 1:30 p.m. So I'm folding laundry, the kids come home from school. My son was practicing his trombone, my daughter was watching me fold laundry, I called my mother and was listening to her describe her recent stint as a substitute teacher. The doorbell rings. There stands . . . . drum roll please . . . Jess. 8 years almost to the day since she'd moved away. I didn't say anything, because I was still on the phone with my mom. I just hugged her and she hugged me back . . . and that in itself was odd, if you know me you know I'm not a hugger, especially not a girl hugger, but it was just natural. She stayed a while, talked, played my son's trombone, laughed. She lives in Ohio, just here visiting. But oh, how strange after eight years of no contact to think of her and have her appear.

So here's to weird coincidences. To thinking of odd things and old friends and having them appear. And now, after 14 reboots (literally) of this old clunky computer, I think I'll publish this post.

THINGS I LOVE, EPISODE 4

SICK PUPPY FRIENDS WHO SEND ME ODD CELL PHONE PHOTOS WHEN THEY TRAVEL.

THESE ARE SALT AND PEPPER SHAKERS!

THINGS I LOVE, EPISODE 3

BIG SMILES AND LAUGHTER.

INFECTIOUS LAUGHTER. UNSELFCONSCIOUS, OUT-LOUD, NO-HOLDS-BARRED, TEARS-DOWN-YOUR-CHEEKS LAUGHTER.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU LAUGHED LIKE THAT? IT'S BEEN TOO LONG, NO DOUBT.

THINGS I LOVE, EPISODE 2

TINY HOUSES.

http://www.tumbleweedhouses.com/
http://www.sherpacabins.com/

Ah, the idea of less space to clean, less clutter to collect. I like the idea of my possessions pared down to my favorite, must have items. These sites are two I visit regularly.

THINGS I LOVE, EPISODE 1

PINE TREES. IS THERE A BETTER SCENT IN ALL THE WORLD THAN PINE TREES . . . ESPECIALLY AFTER A THUNDERSTORM? IS THERE A BETTER SOUND IN ALL THE WORLD THAN A BREEZE THROUGH A STAND OF PINE TREES? FROM GIRL SCOUT CAMPS IN PRESCOTT AND PAYSON, TO COLLEGE IN FLAGSTAFF, TO HIKES ON MINGUS MOUNTAIN. LOTS OF GREAT PINE-SCENTED MEMORIES.

The Me I Wish To Be

I don't know if it's everybody, or just me . . .



Do you have an imaginary self and a reality self? My imaginary self is much like the "real" me was in my twenties, hiking/camping/outdoorsy. The real me in my forties is much more sedentary.



Occasionally, the imaginary me and the real me collide. It did in May, when despite being 70 pounds overweight, I strapped on some tennies and a 40 pound pack and hiked 11 miles to the lovely waterfalls of Havasupai. While the scenery and the friendship made for a fabulous trip, the reality of the extra years and pounds between the imaginary and real self took it's toll. My toes still look, more than three months later, like they were caught in a masher.



How big is the difference between your true self and the way you wish you were?