Lena Travels Up a Cliff

You know how you start getting into something, like running, or morris dancing, or something, and you start seeing it as being this incredible metaphor for life? You know, you start relating EVERYTHING to running. To the point of being kinda irritating. Sometimes beyond that point. And you can FEEL yourself doing it – you hear yourself saying “scripture study is like running – you always know you’ll feel better after you do it, but sometimes you just eat another brownie instead,” for about the fiftieth time, and you can feel your friends being patient with you, and yet you keep going?

I have a new hobby. And I think it could be a fabulous source of metaphors.

I went climbing again the other night. I’ve only been twice outside, so it’s a little early to be over-metaphoring yet, but I shan’t let that stop me. One of our co-workers took us. Even though she’s several years younger than me, I pretty much want to be her when I grow up. She can do everything.

So, climbing is a great way to enjoy the mountains, and a lot of fun, and not even as scary as I’d imagined, but there was this one patch that almost beat me. It was maddening. I was about two-thirds of the way up, and to my unpracticed self, this bit of rock seemed as smooth as a parking lot. My feet kept slipping out of every tiny foothold I found, I kept ending up dangling at the end of the rope being grateful for my belayer, and I broke a nail. That’s when I seriously considered giving up. My legs were wobbly, my arms were crampy, and I was getting tired.

But I knew that it was clime-able. I knew that A. wouldn’t have sent me up the cliff if she hadn’t been pretty sure that I could do it. I knew that I was physically strong enough, and I knew that the equipment was there to help me if I took a little risk.

In the end I made it past the smooth bit, and after that it was beautiful. There was a lovely crack in which I took a breather, and then a nice foothold-rich climb to the top, followed by a leisurely rappel down.

Do you see where I’m going with this?

I was talking to another friend at the end of the evening, and we agreed that it’s like life. You get the slippery patches—sometimes longer than others—but there’s always a way through them, and usually a rewarding view or breathing space soon after. And you have faith, and people, and tools to get you through.

Of course, knowing this isn’t going to make my nail grow back any faster.

Don’t need to say please to no man for a happy tune

I was late for TKD today. I took too long to change, and by the time I got over there, everyone had bowed in, which meant I’d have to wait for a break to join, and wouldn’t be able to warm up, etc. Not in the mood for hanging around the stuffy do jong doing nothing, and it was a glorious day anyway, so I went to the park and ran. First time I’d run three miles in quite some time (goal 52 in my 101 list is now checked off), and it felt good. It was that rare running day when, instead of just wanting it to be over, and trying to distract myself from the run, my legs felt powerful, and I could enjoy the lake and ducks and beautiful weather as I pounded the track. I had some fun random music on the mp3 player – Cracklin Rosie was hitting my rhythm today. It was on the edge of being a stormy evening, and the air had that great, clean, just-washed feeling; the sun kept breaking through the clouds, and there were a few intermittent showers to cool me down. The spring-fed water fountains seemed to be in spate, so I got a little shower there too, and then stretched in front of the lake. I never regret exercising, but it’s especially gratifying when I enjoy the process.

September

On Saturday, M. and I went to the tomato festival and Avenues street fest.

A perfectly ripe tomato is almost a perfect pleasure. We had tomato sandwiches with salt and pepper and pesto and crusty local bread, and I dripped tomato seeds on myself. We tasted tomatoes with names like zebra and black cherry and sunshine, and discovered we had favourites. We listened to the mellow band music, and sat on benches and enjoyed the weather and view of old houses around us.

M said it felt like we were in some city like Portland. I agreed, but I also love that we were right here in SLC. Someone once told Germaine Greer that she didn’t look 40. She responded “this is what 40 looks like”. I think sometimes my favourite SL moments are the ones where I might be inclined to say, “this doesn’t feel like SL”. But this is what SL is like.

SL is also the Avenues Street Fair. Jewelry and crafts, and art. Some fun pieces; eyepopping abstract acrylics, sandstone and metal trays, fabulous glasswork with broken pieces of glass fused and melted together. M. wanted to go home and make everything herself, and probably could. I wanted to shop. I bought a pretty, pearly, shiny choker from a jewellery maker from Hong Kong. We both had chocolate-dipped frozen bananas (M. and I, not the jewellery maker. As far as I know). The mayoral candidates were there, presumably looking for babies to kiss. People with causes wanted us to adopt greyhounds or save water or use huge solar power panels. M intimated that I could fit a solar panel on my balcony. “How often do you use your balcony, anyway?”
“I’m not putting one up there. You can’t make me.”

This is a wonderful time of year in SL.