Class V Whitewater and Pictures to Prove It

Welcome to our West Virginia, whitewater rafting, camping vacation! Hold the banjo jokes, please.

First of all, (I should just get this out of the way), the whole thing was amazing. A.MA.ZING. We went to the Gauley River. Google it. Well, here, I did it for you. It's big. Like, Class V, people die here, big.

I think it's time the blogging buddies met the BETTER HALF! This is Jamie. Fuzzy-Jamie, in this picture. Cute, ain't he?

This is our friend, Stephen. "He is our guide and friend." Sorry, couldn't resist. But, really, he is our guide. And, um, friend.

This is my, "I might die soon, but I will still smile for your camera," smile. In front of me is Other Stephen, AKA Bach, sounds like, "batch." Jamie is the red helmet. Behind Jamie is Dawn, Guide Stephen's girlfriend.

This is Pillow Rock. See that kayak on the right? There is another kayak beside him. (UPRIGHT! UNDER WATER!) It's big.

We are scouting the rapid before we run it. Hey! Can you guess who fell out of the raft?

Finally, at river's end...Whew! Still alive.

Then the five of us did normal weekend things, like... picked up a hitchhiker, went for a drive with three Italian Greyhounds, and had a little party with Sol Driven Train.

(This vacation was brought to you by the local family babysitters, who can never be thanked enough.)

Dear Wal-Mart,

Dear Wal-Mart,

Thank you for the "locally-grown produce." If ever an organization could jump on a bandwagon three years too late, you are it.

I am enjoying the apples. They are delicious.

Also, these "locally-grown" apples are from a farm in Michigan. Wal-Mart: I do not live in Michigan. I do not live CLOSE to Michigan.

So... locally... once? When the apples were in Michigan, they were local produce? Does "local" now mean, "Western Hemisphere?"

Perhaps "local" means, "not grown in outer space."

Wal-Mart, thank you for the locally-grown produce from Planet Earth.

Mumus Happen

So, I was getting ready for WORK (have I mentioned that I ENJOY WORK?! I ENJOY WORK!!), and I yet to choose the shoes.


"Pointy-toed-Stacy-Loundon-approved-patent-leather or the comfortable?" I asked the fashionista of the family.


"Definitely comfortable. Because, really? Who you trying to impress?"


Are you sensing where this is going?

I admit it. I was shamed into comfort.


Thaaaaaat's how it starts, Internet. Next year, I will be wearing these.
Mumus happen, people. Mumus happen.

Our Own Smallness

"Suddenly summoned to witness something great and horrendous, we keep fighting not to reduce it to our own smallness." - John Updike

On September 11, we ask, "Where were you?" We want to know how you heard the news, spent the day, how it changed you. We want to know if you were on a plane, or almost on a plane, or in a mid-American city, dreading the western expansion of terror.

We make it about ourselves, because that's all we have. We didn't know anyone, not really. All we can answer for is ourselves.

Want to know what it changed for me? It surprised me who I wanted to talk to. No, I was surprised at who I needed to know was still well, still alive.

I called my family; my friends; my uncle, the pilot; my aunt, retired from the Pentagon.

But all I could think about was the missing friends. I thought of those I couldn't call... the lost numbers, the missing letters... I thought of how careless I had been to lose those people.

It clarified all my life.

For one brief hour, in my heart of hearts, I was sure of who I loved.

Brave-Ity

The big kid: "I'm really good at bullfighting. But... I can't REALLY do it 'till I'm bigger. I practice with Lamby, but he doesn't move.

I need to practice with something that moves."