If...

If I could live one day over again, it would be my last day with you.  I wouldn't be too busy packing boxes for college, I wouldn't be distracted by barking dogs and I wouldn't let you walk out that door without memorizing every little detail of your face, voice and laugh.  I am a better person because of you and I'm so, so grateful for our time together.  I find you now in the warmth of sunkissed cheeks after a day on the mountain, in the breeze of a star-filled night, in the laugh of a child that yearns to defy gravity the way you once did; I find you in the cherubic cheeks of your newborn niece's photo.  I find you in every place pure and innocent and beautiful and good.  I'll see you on the flip side, my faraway friend.  Know you are greatly loved and greatly missed.

2014

Less wine, more tea.
Less sugar, more water.
Less sitting, more doing.

Hunting Season

I grew up with one foot in the ocean, one foot in the mountains, my head in the clouds and both hands holding a book.  I know how to use four wheel drive (I'm just glad we don't have to physically put hubs in anymore), I can clean my own fish, and we all know that August through November is a time of year known to most of us simply as "Hunting Season" and that a coveted invitation to Elk Camp is a rite of passage.  I'd say that this is my favorite time of year, but in truth, it's the changing of the season that is my favorite.  I love this. The smell of campfires, the comradery, the end of warm nights in exchange for wild winds and promises of snow.  This is what I grew up knowing.  This is how I enjoy living.  

Elk are amazing animals.  I marvel in their strength, size and ability to elude the mighty hunter. Their beauty is majestic.  A part of me gets a little sad each time one of these animals goes down with a hunter's bullet but it's a fleeting moment that is soon replaced with excitement.  I know in the next several days, the opportunity will come to take the animal apart, piece by piece, and the anatomy lesson is better than any classroom lab or lecture that I've ever been a part of.  I answer most of my own questions by tangibly searching them out.  Is that a vessel or nerve bundle?  Let me get a closer look.  Let me pull it, bend it, trace it with my finger to the origin and let me learn.  It's hard to get enough of it.  


Anatomy lessons lead right into butchering lessons.  Muscles, tendons, bones and ligaments soon shape into steaks, roasts, burger and jerky as the body becomes a carcass.  No pieces are wasted. It's as close to a religious experience as I've been a part of.  Knives are sharpened, jokes are told, meat is cut, wrapped, labeled, shared and frozen.  This is how it's been done for decades.  It brings a continuity to life that our disposable world easily eludes.  It's like coming home after a long trip.  It's an odd form of security. It's a recentering ritual that brings us back to our hunting and gathering roots born hundreds of thousands of years ago.  It's innate and instinctive.  


I was invited back to my roots this year.  It reminded me where I came from and who I am.  In the struggle between life and death, I will always fight for life, it's the nurse in me, but I also appreciate a good steak.  Hunter versus gatherer.  Sometimes it's important to have a foot planted in both worlds to understand the best parts of each.  I know it's something I can't imagine a life without and that make this time of year a little special.  


Besides, what else is there to do while we wait for enough snow for the mountains to open?  Life is good, friends.  

Finding the Right Ratio

I was overtaken by an amazing revelation when I woke today.  This is what happy is suppose to feel like.

Sometimes I get too caught up in the "doing" part of life.   I get too busy to feed the parts of my brain that need to be fed something other than mandatory continuing education credits.  I put off opportunities to fill my spirit and soul because I am simply too tired to fit it into an already overlapping schedule of work, sleep, meetings, errands and household tasks.  I forget to invest in myself so that I have what it takes to give to others.   I find myself defined by roles, responsibilities and expectations. I become a slave to an unfulfilling schedule that eventually begins to reshape the person I am - until something snaps and suddenly, I am reminded, hey, this isn't me.  I know better than this.  

That moment came to me about a year ago while sitting next to the glacial lake at the top of Broken Top.  It was reinforced in San Francisco after a dinner of amazing sushi and just enough saki.  I felt it reverberate through my soul when my skis touched snow last winter but it wasn't until a road trip to Tahoe to watch a friend run the Western States 100 mile trail race that I knew what to do. 

Like the mathematical laws that drive everything from physics to philosophy, my happiness has always been based on a simple formula that balances the ratio of fun to cruddy stuff.  It's so simple, in fact, that I forget it.  I needed less cruddy stuff and more fun.  I needed to make more time to enjoy the things that make me whole.  I needed to surround myself with people who bring an amazing energy into the life they live.  I needed to demand more time for myself and walk away from others demanding time from me.  So, in a giant leap of faith, I quit my job.

(After a few meetings and negotiations, an agreement was reached that I'd still work a few shifts a month, but quitting outright might have been the scariest and bravest thing I've ever done so I don't want the moment to be lost in the story.)

I've been off for 3 weeks now, (wait a minute, it's only been 3 weeks?!) and today, I feel like a new person.  

Cutting Back

We are given one life that we can live anyway that we see fit.  We balance responsibility with desire, obligation with what makes us happy.  At the end of the day, we ask for fulfillment so we may fall asleep satisfied with all that we are and all that we've done.  It's a tricky balancing act and I feel lucky to achieve it even a few times a week.  I'm sure I'm not alone.  Late nights with a glass of wine staring into the stars dampens the sting of a bad day, but it doesn't erase it. The goal is to have more good days than bad, to surround myself with people I genuinely believe in, who can bring out a great belly laugh, and to love whole-heartily, all of it - my past, my present and the people who have touched either one of them.  Those are my simple priorities.  That's how I believe in living my life. Open, honest, true and with purpose while doing the best I can to do "the right" thing.  Lofty goals in today's dog eat dog world.

I don't need an obnoxious amount of money, I only need enough to maintain a simple life. I don't need applause or recognition or even to stand out in a crowd.  What I do need is to feel proud, confident and like part of a team of people or group of friends that command respect by the examples they set.  Listening to "me,me,me and I,I,I" people tell me how great they are, is more painful than taking two handfuls of sand and rubbing my own eyes out.  Having these same people demand that I respect them for telling me how great they are, is tortuous.  To give up the life I want to live; time with friends, family, dogs or any other beautiful creature and be held hostage in such an atmosphere is simply a deal breaker.  I feel like parts of my life have hit the "deal breaking" level and it's time to make some adjustments.

I'm an ER nurse.  Talk is cheap, most people lie, actions and behaviors speak louder than words.  I can gauge most situations quickly with a fair amount of accuracy.  It's part of my job.  I need to be able to read between the lines to give the patient the best care.  It's a quality that flows over into real life for me.  I'm surrounded by amazing people and they are out there proving it everyday.  These people don't make a list of accomplishments and publish it in newsletters because: #1 they believe they will figure out an even better way to do it the next time, #2 they are too busy performing amazing feats to sit down and put that much thought into themselves, #3 they don't think it was really that big of a deal in the first place and, #4 they redirect all that attention back into positive energy to support the team or project.  They are humble, genuine, open, honest, hardworking, generous and I'm proud to call them my friends and coworkers.

I'm cutting my hours way back in the ER right now to go in search of that ever elusive balance between work, home, family, friends and the almighty belly-laugh.  My goals are to get a tan, teach the dogs to sit and finish a scrapbook.  For the past 2 years, Jeff and my work schedules have averaged 2 days off a month together - which shouldn't imply we've had the chance to spend them together because there are other things that sometimes have to take priority - like grocery shopping or (something I have less understanding of) the weekly poker game.  I'm not joking when I say that I know more about the lives of my coworker's pets and kids than I know about my own husband's. He's asleep, I'm awake.  He's home, I'm at work.  I'm home, he's at work.  It's a never ending juggling act.  I'm afraid that the majority of our conversations have taken place sitting in separate rigs, going opposite directions, in the middle of the road or driveway, through an open window and within sixty second increments for the past 2-3 years. It's time to fix that.  

I will still be picking up some shifts to satisfy that insane need I have for ER nursing but I am also going to take some time to enjoy this crazy thing we call life.  I'm going to see more of my niece and nephews.  I am going to drive to an orchard to pick fruit and then can it.  I'm going to catch up on wall painting and clutter purging.  I'm going to get a fishing line wet.  (Don't steelhead run one more time this fall? I'm going to find out.) I'm going to get some old bulbs in the ground and the scrapbook room cleaned up.  And I'm thinking, hmmm...  Maybe we need a few more pheasants around this farm and *giant smile* a little pig named Snort.

The Ugly Truth About Chickens

 

They stink, they eat their own eggs, they peck each other bald and consume more feed than what it costs to buy the organic, range-free eggs. All of these truths were tolerable until we inherited my Dad's dog, Max. Max doesn't care for chickens. In fact, the only chicken Max has any affinity for is a dead chicken. He can kill a chicken quicker than a .22 bullet to the heart. When the chickens went into 24 hour confinement, so did their excrement. They no longer free ranged and that quadrupled their feed amount at about the same time corn based animal feed nearly doubled in cost. Raising chickens was no longer fun, relaxing or rewarding. It became tedious, expensive and frankly, quite smelly. I had a friend in need of some chickens, so I boxed them up, loaded them into the back of her SUV and said farewell to my chicken raising days.

There is now an eerie calm and hushed silence out on the farm. I no longer have every bird within a 5 mile radius stopping by for a bite to eat or quick drink from the chicken pen. There is no 4 AM rooster crow to remind us that the sun will be rising in the next 3 hours or angry cackle from a mad hen warning that the dogs are too close to the pen. No frozen water to break or tote by 5 gallon bucket in the sub freezing temperatures. Do I miss my chickens? Hmmm.... Ask me in a few more months.  I'm now thinking bunnies are the wave of the future on the Jordan farm - or maybe a little pig - or a couple goats - or a new calf...

 



Climbing Mountains

Broken Top

 

Life has a way of molding us.  Every event, every transition, every change has a way of carving us into the person we have become.  I think back 25 years and I can't help but smile.  Sure there are some things that I wish I had done differently but I even surprise myself with how little I regret. 

 

I'm glad I went skiing instead of pursuing my original goal of med school.  I'm proud for being able to leave all I've ever known to venture off to Alaska on my own.  I had some great summers working for the white water rafting company in the summer and skiing my brains out during the winter.  I didn't make money.  I didn't get a lot of fancy initials behind my name but I did get clocked coming down Mt. B going 56 mph on skis - and back in those days we didn't wear helmets.

 

I met incredible people.  Real people.  I learned about horses, ranches, rodeos and almost about hockey.  I discovered that my worst pair of boots will always be more comfortable than my best pair of shoes and that I've got a bit of a knack for this way of life.  I may learn everything the hard way but I learn it and the next time around things tend to go a bit easier.  I learned that some of the biggest lessons come from the most unlikely sources and to pay attention because if you don't, the moment passes and the lesson is lost.  I learned that I absolutely would survive losing someone I thought I couldn't live without and that it's okay to change because of that loss. 

 

I've grown and stretched and forgiven.  I'm not as self-absorbed or as arrogant as I once was.  I've learned to live without regrets and I try very hard not to let pride get in the way.  I knew I was where I was always meant to be when I started working for the lab at St. Charles.  That experience opened a new world.  When I finished my RN, it took a few months before I could grasp that I was a real nurse, with real patients.  I still have moments when my job feels surreal and gives me goosebumps.  Saving lives is a pretty cool way to spend a shift, isn't it?

 

The people that meet me now don't know these parts of me.  They look at me and think, "Crap, Amy's going to give me hell for not having my kid in a helmet!"  They don't know that I hung by my knees from the railroad bridge across the Crooked River Gorge or bungee jumped off of the Blue River Dam in the middle of a pitch black night.  I know what an Alaskan Brown Bear smells and sounds like - and there's only one way to know those things for sure.  I've been down class III rapids in a life jacket - no helmet.  I've chased a giant sea creature that easily out-sized our little skiff.  I know what it feels like to launch off of the cornice at the tip top of Mt Bachelor and not even skim snow with my skis until I was already halfway down the bowl.  I have what it takes to stand in a pile of mud and afterbirth to perform CPR on a stillborn calf and I certainly have what it takes to shoot a coyote circling its body.  And yes, I can drink an entire bottle of Jagermeister but it will take me all night and the result is not pretty.

 

I suppose I am a bit of a cliche.  I got married.  I settled down.  My name changed to "Hey Wifey" and then to "Auntie A" - and with each change came greater responsibility and the bigger realization of just how lucky I was to have survived some of those stories.  Every bone I broke and joint I've strained reminds me now of where I've been and what I've done.  Every scar comes with a story of it's own.  I've spent enough time tempting fate, now I calculate my risks.

 

A friend and I recently hiked up Broken Top.  So many years had passed since I felt the freedom I felt.  I love those mountains.  I love winding, rocky dirt roads that turn into nothing more than a trail on the map.  I love being outside and feeling the wind in my hair and the dirt in my socks.  Being up there reminded me of so many things that I had forgotten about.  It was like coming home.  I still don't like bears or cougars so I will always be prepared when I'm on those less traveled paths, but I do plan on reminding myself a little more often of who I really am and fully intend to climb more mountains - maybe even on skis.