Certainly NOT Mr. Rogers ...

Spring in MT comes with at least one bout of teasing warm weather during which I dream of warm summer nights, flip flops, brown skin and backpacking. And that bout is followed shortly thereafter by cold weather and snow, snapping the nervous system back to the reality of at least 6 more weeks of winter no matter what Mr. GH says. Yesterday was the snap back to reality.

The tempurature wasn't unbearable but the snow came down for what seemed like days and days. But in reality, there were only hours and many inches to count: 7 inches where I live. It was the kind of dump only skibums and grooming machines dream of! It stuck to the road, to the trees, to the top of my car, even to the top of my Boss' head as he walked across the street from the Capital. I would have loved every minute of it had I not experienced a panic attack about making the drive up to my house after hours of record-breaking falling snow.

I went home for lunch yesterday and had to attempt 2 times to make it home. And then I stupidly turned back around and went back to work. As I got closer and closerto work and my wipers couldn't keep up with the accumulation, I got more and more panicked about the drive back to my house after the days end, in another 4 hours and another 4 inches. I walked into my office, gathered up some work and walked right back out to my car to head home.

On the drive back to my house, I had to attempt 4 times to make it up the hill. Each time I made it a little further and then spun my tires and ended up back down the hill sliding backwards the whole way. The third and almost final time I got stuck in the middle of the hill. As I spun and rocked and spun and rocked ON A HILL, I plead with my little car to go just a liiiiiiiiiittle farther. It didn't. And while I plead and urged my little car, my neighbor walked out of his house and looked right at me in that compromising predicament. I felt a sense of relief because all I really needed was a little push to make it over that last little hump. My neighbor walked to his big fat gas-sucking ugly asstruck, backed it up, turned around and MANEUVERED AROUND MY STUCK CAR to pass and go down the hill. Didn't even pause.

I ended up back down the hill and tried one more time swearing the whole way. I think the sheer weight of my anger and frustration put more traction on the tires and I finally made it; 35 swear words later, I was at home. And two hours later, the snow stopped and the sun came out.

And it was beautiful. No thanks to my neighbor.

Year In Review Addendum

In my last post, A Year In Reivew, I did a rundown of those things that affected my life in a significant way in the past year. And I forgot one major item; potentially in the Top Two of the list: the much awaited and anticipated Baby Adrienne's Birth. She has become the highlight of a week when I get to see her. Her belly laughs could brighten the Scrooge's mood and has become my favorite sound on Earth. Unless she didn't look so much like her Papa, I would fully expect not to recognize her when I return after being gone for only a week because of the rate at which she grows. She chases people around in her walker and throws bottles of food out of the fridge because she hears the sound of the fridge door and knows that it should be the central gathering location in any room. I am working on her first word: Becky, but she seems to like to mutter Mama mamamamaaa most prevalently. The sweetest thing about Adrienne Mabel is the delight apparent in her eyes when her Mama walks in the room. I understand and share that delight so I think Adrienne Mabel is a pretty smart little one already.

A Year In Review

The One Year Update post prompted me to reflect on all the things that have happened to me in the past year; some good, some terrible. Reflection and memories have been my comfort for much of the past month and this post is no exception.

The first thing on the list of significance in my past year was surgery in early '08. I've written enough about that experience to kill a few trees if on paper, so I'll just say that the surgery and the three months of recovery marked the beginning of what would be a remarkable 2008 for me and Hubs.

In April, '08, we traveled to D.C. where Hubs was born and raised. I hadn't been back to visit Hubs' Homies. I got to see the house that holds so many memories for the Jakes'. I got to see where he went to school and the neighborhood that he terrorized. We got to see many of the good people we love; both family and friends. And I also got to visit the gravesite where Hubs' Papa is buried in Arlington. It's a beautiful regal place that has become a personal special place for me and my family.

In May, '08, just after I was able to walk without crutches or a walking cast, Hubs and I took a trip to Spain/Morocco for our honeymoon (belated). It was an amazing trip full of rest, relaxation and cultural experiences that I'll never forget. Morocco, for all the new cultural experiences and diversity we felt, will hold a comfortable and warm place in our hearts indicative of the warm and welcoming people that became friends. It was A-MA-ZING.

In June '08, Hubs left on the first year of a four year excursion into higher learning. He decided to get his PhD on a project involving pronghorn and left for eastern Montana to spend the summer. He was mostly in Malta, MT in the open fields in the midst of pronghorn he'd collared for tracking their migration and movement in the heat of the summer. He came to love the open fields and it's a good thing because he'll be spending significant time there - every summer for the next three summers...

September 1, '08, literally on the very same day, Hubs packed up his truck and headed to Calgary, AB for school and my littlest sister, CDoc packed up her car and moved in with me in our little house on Strawberry Drive. Hubs will spend the first two years doing coursework for his PhD at the University of Calgary renting an apartment just like good ol' college days ... except that he's way more busy and drinks a lot less. He spends some time in the field as well and loves every minute of it ... when I remind him that despite that he's too busy to breathe, it's better than sitting at his old desk in his old cubicle working for his old boss no matter how out of breath he might be. The pics here are Hubs in the field using telemetry to find collared pronghorn, one of which is named after me (written on the collar in the picture at the right).

CDoc moved in with me after she finally decided to fulfill her dream of moving to Montana. She lived with me for September, October, November and then moved out early in December into her very first apartment by herself. Isn't it cute? It was both a time that CDoc and I got closer as friends and also got on each others' nerves as sisters - to be expected. But alas, CDoc has become one of my closest friends since her move here and she distracted me from Hubs absence most of the time. Not to mention, she became the permanent sitter for my dogs when I visit Hubs. They are more excited for her to come around than anyone else, including their Papa who is gone most the time. Thanks CDoc!

Over Memorial Day, '08, I went backpacking for the first time since my surgery. And it was just the cathartic trip I needed. I went with a group of ladies who just wanted to hike into a beautiful place, hang out, drink wine, eat huckleberries and soak in Stanley Hot Springs. It was the perfect first backpacking trip because though my foot was easily tired, I was able to make it the whole way there and back and feel good that I would be able to do more of this in the future. The season was too short for me to do anymore backpacking that summer but the trip was enough to keep me excited for Summer '09.

December '09 Hubs was home for a month over his holiday break and we hosted BOTH sides of the family in little ol' Helena, MT for only the second time in our relationship and the first was at our wedding. Our little house couldn't accommodate them all so we found places for everyone to stay, spread out across Helena in 5 houses. We drank wine, ate great food, played games and laughed until our sides hurt. Poor JDoc got sick and her fiancee DocT couldn't be there, but we carried through regardless. We finished our holiday "vacation" utterly exhausted when they all went home. Our memories will sustain us for at least another 5 years before we'll do that again.

January 17, '09, Travis Engstrom, a man who'd been in my life since I was 6 years old was killed in an avalanche near Cooke City. I've never experienced grief like I have with his passing. But it has taught me so many things already. Don't sweat the small stuff. Keep goodness in your heart for all people, no matter what they've done. Don't judge people for how they experience extreme emotion, like grief. And certainly, don't ever forget to tell the people you love how much they mean to you. Remember that the people we love may be gone, but they are with us in the beautiful cotton candy sky in the mornings, the sparkle of the ice crystals on the snow, the bright stars that are portholes for them to watch over us. And they are with us in all the things that make us marvel at how beautiful Life is. And the most important lesson: don't wait for tomorrow to start Living (with a capital L). Today might be your last - let it be beautiful.

And with that mantra to guide my days for the next year, things are looking up. I think it's going to be my Best Year Yet.

One-Year Update

Approximately one year ago, I had surgery on my right foot. This is what it looked like before the surgery.

I had a severe bunion that my fate linked me to since birth. The bone attached to my big toe was a 45 degree angle to what it was supposed to be and thus, I had bones protruding from the side of my foot since birth; my right foot worse than the left. I named my bunion Rafael and just dealt with the pain of activity for most of my life. However, in the past few years, the pain got increasingly worse and unacceptably hindered my favorite activities, running, backpacking and skiing. So, I saw a doc knowing that I'd probably end up under the knife.

Alas, on January 25, 2008, I went under the knife. They broke bones to fuse back together with screws and cut me in inexplicable places (between my toes YIKES) just to relieve the tension the skin put on my bones. I was on crutches for EIGHT WEEKS without permission to even rest my foot on the ground. Needless to say, my arms were well exercised and my left leg was STRONG. My right however, well, it was pitiful. I knew it would take months for me to get back to where I was prior to the surgery. The dimples in my upper thigh were disgusting.

I started working out slowly as I still had much pain in my right foot and leg. I could run on the treadmill but the cement was too jarring to do anything but walk. It was a long haul for me to get back on my feet again the way I had pre-surgery. But a year later and back at my usual active level, I feel better than ever. I don't know that I'd do it all over again. Maybe at some point with a little time, I'll be able to more effectively weigh the pain and frustration (for both me and Hubs) of recovery to the pain of activity before surgery. Right now the pain of recovery is most acute in my brain. But I will say that I still remember quite distinctly that I was never able to run for as long as I wanted without limping afterward. I remember (and still have) all the stained socks because of how activity would result in bloody raw skin. I remember that backpacking was a test to how much pain I could endure and for how long. And I remember how much my foot would be screaming inside those ski boots; even more so than my screaming thighs.

But that's all changed since my surgery and I'm happy to report that I am satisfied with the decision I made to go under the knife. I have many plans for these feet so I am thankful every day that they might take me places I've never gone before. They even look pretty good in strappy sandals, something I've never worn before. Thanks Dr. Hansen.

Doctor Evil

Our dog, Sasquatch (the little petite cute thing), is peeing all over the floor in mass quantities after being in the house for only 3 hours at a time. This isn't a new condition. In fact, she's been to the vet three times for the exact same thing in the past year. This time, I took her to the vet where I've taken our other dog since his name was Squishy before Hubs and I were together.

Dr. Kappas is concerned about Sasquatch's kidneys. She thinks that the original diagnosis by the evil doctor (at the other vet place) was wrong; it's not her bladder, it's her kidneys. She took blood, got an x-ray and did a urinalysis. She's sending the blood to the lab at St. Pete's hospital. She warned that it might take some time to really figure out what this is. She seemed to really want to take the time to figure it out too. Something I suspect was NOT the case with the evil doctor.

Reminds me of some of the doctors that treat women the same way ... See them, collect money, send them away with an explanation that takes a little time, only a little effort and requires expensive medication that "solves" the problem for long enough until they come back to pay more and ask more questions. We've paid for THREE of the exact same tests to tell us the exact same thing every time and four rounds of medication along with numerous bags of EXPENSIVE prescription food; ONLY to have the symptoms come back every time. Not only is this frustrating and expensive, but Sasquatch has had to live with this potentially painful condition without treatment. Needless to say, we will NEVER go back to the evil doctor.

I hope this time we'll get some real answers and Sasquatch can get some real treatment.

Sharing Memories ...

A couple weekends ago, a man that had been in my life for 22 years was killed in an avalanche; with his wife watching and his 4-month old baby waiting at home for his Papa to return. I write about this here for two reasons: 1. Writing and "talking about" this pain helps it ease in some way; and 2. To urge everyone to live life to its fullest.

I haven't been able to talk too much about this to anyone except a few close to me like my Hubs. He has been there despite his struggle to understand what I'm going through. Thank you Hubs for being there for me even if this isn't easy for you. The only other outlet for my sadness is to share memories and to write about them.

I remember riding on the pegs of Travis' lime green dirt bike when I was 8 years old. I remember playing basketball in the backyard of Travis' house when I was 10 years old and he pretended I was good at it. It was the reason I played basketball in junior high until the coach told me I was better at track and choir. I remember getting my first tape Footloose because Travis and I had watched it together and I wanted to be a dancer so I thought it would be the best way to start. I remember hating to leave Mohall where he grew up because it meant I'd have to go back to school and leave my buddy behind. We were inseparable when my family was there to visit.

I remember when Travis would visit Bismarck during the summers and we would walk through the open fields and discuss life stuff. Even at at 12 we thought we knew it all. He was my first best friend, my first crush, and later turned out to be my first husband. I learned to ski, mountain bike, scuba dive and love Montana with him.

We'd lost contact in the past 4 years and I can't believe how much I'd like to take that back. Despite all the heartache, I wouldn't take back our past; I wouldn't change a thing. Except that wish I could have shared a laugh and a beer with Travis again after all was said and done. To laugh at all the stupid things that happened along our way and just gotten back to the connection we hold through history. I'll never have that.

But I will keep his spirit alive by laughing, loving and living like today is my last day. I won't wait for the next snow, the next summer, the next vacation to just enjoy life. He was an inspiration for Living like everyone should have. He even died doing exactly what he'd have wanted to be doing.

Travis' smile was infectious, his spirit alive, and he had the capacity to love Life like no other. He is in the mountains, the rivers, the snow, the sand and everywhere we look to see good things. He'll always get first tracks where he is now and he'll never have to hike too far to get to the top of the mountain. Rest in Peace Travis Engstrom.

Meet Me At The Mitchell

I haven't yet shared a major victory because it wasn't quite finalized due to the last "ditch" efforts (pardon the pun) of the hooligans who caused this charade in the first place. But it's over now. The Landowners' Petitions for Rehearing were denied yesterday and the decision in the Montana Supreme Court is final. And we won. The people of Montana won.

The Mitchell Slough is a stream; a side-channel of the Bitterroot River. And no matter what rich landowners do to "improve" an already thriving resource, doesn't change that character. In fact, MDT can dam, people can berm, developers can bulldoze and it still doesn't change a once-"natural" stream into a ditch like some landowners in the Bitterroot tried to claim.

This is important to Montana's legacy of stream access and sharing a public resource. It's important to protect the ability of our public to use, share and love the resource so that they have a reason to conserve, preserve and protect those wild places. The landowners (who included Huey Lewis, Charles Schwab and Ken Seibel) tried to claim that they were "protecting" the resource by keeping the (unwashed) public from accessing the stream. And then they threw money at it to "improve" what an old-timer who'd been fishing there since he was 10 called a "perfect fishing hole" and what they called "a mucked up mud pot." And because of the Montana Supreme Court decision, we can continue to use, share and love the resource so that we have a reason to conserve, preserve and protect it. It's as simple as that. I saw this lawsuit as an attempt to change the legacy of Montanans who grew up loving the wild places and as a result, wanting to keep them wild.

As an example of this legacy, I learned my ethic from my Papa and Mama who took us fishing and camping every single weekend. I have fond memories of catching perch, swimming from sun-up to sun-down, drinking my first beer, falling off a cliff and into a tree and sleeping in a tent like it was my bed. The thought of losing those places to landowners who would cut off access all in the name of "improving" the resource could possibly drive me to criminal actions. Because I learned to love the places where I could be outside and enjoy the natural environment, I would dedicate my life to conserving and preserving the wild places I love.

And I submit that this case allows that conservation ethic to develop in others. The legacy of Montanans is alive and well and the "pefect fishing hole" is open to all even if someone else thinks it's a "mucked up mudpot." When the ice thaws, you will find me floating the waters of the Mitchell Slough. Meet me there.