A while ago I wrote about my friend Valisa who has been volunteering in New Orleans. She's back now and is living in Boulder. Read about her continuing adventure in another beautiful article she wrote for the Vail Daily.
I think I've mentioned that since living in Vail I haven't had a TV. I do, however, wait for my favorite series to come out on Netflix - "Deadwood" and the "L-word" - along with catching up on Cassavetes' movies and any others I've wanted to see. It just means that I see things a little late and on a laptop, which is in step with the significant slowing down of my media life since I moved to the mountains a year ago. And I don't mind a bit. It's sort of why I dropped out in the first place. After the re-election of Bush I had to limit my intake of talking heads and pop-culture in order to keep my anxiety at bay. It's been real good. (Hasn't been great for the grammar, though).
But, it also means that I'm not getting much news of current events besides NPR on my ten minute drive to work. So you can imagine my delight when I came home from Ultimate practice last night to the Sunday New York Times on my table. Witnessing me hyperventilate at the sections stacked, already read, waiting for me to devour, my roommate Vicky smiled with understanding and explained that it's her only connection to the outside world. Bless her. And bless her for caring. It is a homey, comforting feeling to see newspapers (especially the New York Times) lying exhausted on a kitchen table.
On the front page of Arts & Leisure was a write-up on "Deadwood." Not going to movie premiers or seeing films the night they come out is surely not something I miss. But hearing, after the fact, that "Deadwood" was on the brink of disappearing and it was only the fans that made HBO agree to a 4th season made me feel pretty removed from everything but discussing what mountain bike trail has dried out yet and where we'll be having Ultimate practice.
"HBO was going to forgo a fourth season, after it had promised Mr. Milch only six episodes (the usual is 12) and Mr. Milch passed." I sort of worship Mr. Milch for his vision, imagination, and writing. Knowing the show has been almost universally critically acclaimed, I was shocked at this news.
Fans set up anti-HBO web sites: http://www.hbonomo.com/ and http://www.savedeadwood.net/ stating they'll cancel their subscriptions should HBO forgo a 4th season. And it worked! A compromise was made, Mr. Milch will finish off the series in Season 4 with two 2-hour episodes. We still have the full 3rd season to look forward to, which started last Sunday. I love that it's out, but I'm in no rush.
I'm not the type to get into series or TV programs. I never got hooked on the "Sopranos" and I don't think I've ever seen "Desperate Housewives." If I came across "Friends" or "Seinfeld" I might watch. The following excerpt from the New York Times article hits at the core of why I love "Deadwood:"
"Based on real events that surrounded a gold rush in Deadwood, S.D. in 1876, 'Deadwood' combined down-and-dirty realism and the twisted dreamscape of Mr. Milch. A former heroin user, alcoholic and compulsive gambler, he imbued the show with all his past vices: early episodes of Season 3 feature a drunken street fight and an ill-advised interlude between two characters with a taste for narcotics.
More than anything, however, characters in 'Deadwood' are addicted to words: big, looping passages of quasi-Elizabethan prose that immediately set the show apart from the usual western repertory of variations on the word 'pardner.' 'He created a language,' said Ian McShane, the English actor who won a Golden Globe for his performance as Al Swearengen, the coarse, brutal and often hilarious owner of the Gem, a brothel and bar. 'Shakespeare might invert a sentence once or twice. David inverts it three or four times.' "
I recommend checking out "Deadwood" any way you can. If you can handle the consistently raw language, that is.
But, it also means that I'm not getting much news of current events besides NPR on my ten minute drive to work. So you can imagine my delight when I came home from Ultimate practice last night to the Sunday New York Times on my table. Witnessing me hyperventilate at the sections stacked, already read, waiting for me to devour, my roommate Vicky smiled with understanding and explained that it's her only connection to the outside world. Bless her. And bless her for caring. It is a homey, comforting feeling to see newspapers (especially the New York Times) lying exhausted on a kitchen table.
On the front page of Arts & Leisure was a write-up on "Deadwood." Not going to movie premiers or seeing films the night they come out is surely not something I miss. But hearing, after the fact, that "Deadwood" was on the brink of disappearing and it was only the fans that made HBO agree to a 4th season made me feel pretty removed from everything but discussing what mountain bike trail has dried out yet and where we'll be having Ultimate practice.
"HBO was going to forgo a fourth season, after it had promised Mr. Milch only six episodes (the usual is 12) and Mr. Milch passed." I sort of worship Mr. Milch for his vision, imagination, and writing. Knowing the show has been almost universally critically acclaimed, I was shocked at this news.
Fans set up anti-HBO web sites: http://www.hbonomo.com/ and http://www.savedeadwood.net/ stating they'll cancel their subscriptions should HBO forgo a 4th season. And it worked! A compromise was made, Mr. Milch will finish off the series in Season 4 with two 2-hour episodes. We still have the full 3rd season to look forward to, which started last Sunday. I love that it's out, but I'm in no rush.
I'm not the type to get into series or TV programs. I never got hooked on the "Sopranos" and I don't think I've ever seen "Desperate Housewives." If I came across "Friends" or "Seinfeld" I might watch. The following excerpt from the New York Times article hits at the core of why I love "Deadwood:"
"Based on real events that surrounded a gold rush in Deadwood, S.D. in 1876, 'Deadwood' combined down-and-dirty realism and the twisted dreamscape of Mr. Milch. A former heroin user, alcoholic and compulsive gambler, he imbued the show with all his past vices: early episodes of Season 3 feature a drunken street fight and an ill-advised interlude between two characters with a taste for narcotics.
More than anything, however, characters in 'Deadwood' are addicted to words: big, looping passages of quasi-Elizabethan prose that immediately set the show apart from the usual western repertory of variations on the word 'pardner.' 'He created a language,' said Ian McShane, the English actor who won a Golden Globe for his performance as Al Swearengen, the coarse, brutal and often hilarious owner of the Gem, a brothel and bar. 'Shakespeare might invert a sentence once or twice. David inverts it three or four times.' "
I recommend checking out "Deadwood" any way you can. If you can handle the consistently raw language, that is.
I met Valisa last spring when she showed up to Ultimate frisbee practice in the Vanogan she was living out of. After practice we looked at the artwork she was carrying around hoping to sell so she could get her van fixed. We bought 3 pieces of her work which is a mixture of paper cutouts and painting that are imaginative, beautiful, and a touch Egyptian. Exotic. (When I get a digital camera - I was using Dave's - I'll take a picture of my favorite piece). Valisa then invited us on the first annual memorial hike in the Gore Range that weekend to remember her husband. A year prior she was a newlywed hiking with her husband when a tragic accident took his life. It was a freak accident as he was an avid outdoorsman - he fell off a narrow trail and over the edge of a cliff. Her present and future were snapped away from her just like that. I could tell that she was regrouping and dealing with her devestating loss by following her heart. She mentioned that once her van was fixed she'd be heading to New Orleans to volunteer, helping those who lost everything in Hurricane Katrina. Then I open the Vail Daily today and read a moving report from Valisa in New Orleans. It's her voice - heartfelt, soulful, loving, inspiring.
(Apparently you need to login to VailDaily before seeing the article. It's just a login, no money or anything. It's worth it. )
Here I give you a snippet:
". . . Sometimes it’s not even worth going out. You want to escape for a moment, but instead you come face to face with the reality of Katrina’s wrath.
We take pictures to show the world. We send them out, like cries for help, but the only answers we get is our president in the French Quarter saying it looks just fine.
“Go east, Mr. President,” we plead, but he strolls down Bourbon Street smiling. “Go east,” we repeat, and the papers say this story is over. We are only five miles from the Quarter, only five miles, and no one cares — as long as the world can drink their hand grenades and hurricanes, they would rather forget about our hurricane.
It's clear when you ride through the mess of twisted homes, that this is so much bigger than we had ever planned for. This is almost nine months after, and still you dodge debris on dark and lonely streets.
Katrina’s magnitude magnified America’s need for a more diverse disaster response. The feeling that diversity is still needed has kept me down here. Frankly, I don’t feel that disaster relief should be a business, or a campaign issue.
I have been lucky enough to fall in with a group of people with the motivation and the know-how to create a new kind of disaster relief.
When you come into our camp you see what’s been missing. You see survivors and volunteers mingling in the dining area. You see fresh carrots, organic milk, and smoked chicken. You see sunflowers planted around the port-a-potties, and hearts painted on the signs.
People feed as much off the ambiance as they do the food. A woman looked at me one day and said, “You know what you guys are doing here? You’re preventing suicide.”
They come here for some reprieve from their struggles. Our kitchen has become a bright oasis in this bleak and torn landscape. And it isn’t just the flowers and the pretty signs, it’s the volunteers. Everyone feels free to express themselves.
I find myself smiling while I work, and that kind of light-heartedness spreads. Serving lunch a few days ago, an elderly resident offered me his plate and grinned. He said, “I don’t get to smile much these days, but I get here and I just can’t stop.” . . . please read more and see her photos
(Apparently you need to login to VailDaily before seeing the article. It's just a login, no money or anything. It's worth it. )
Here I give you a snippet:
". . . Sometimes it’s not even worth going out. You want to escape for a moment, but instead you come face to face with the reality of Katrina’s wrath.
We take pictures to show the world. We send them out, like cries for help, but the only answers we get is our president in the French Quarter saying it looks just fine.
“Go east, Mr. President,” we plead, but he strolls down Bourbon Street smiling. “Go east,” we repeat, and the papers say this story is over. We are only five miles from the Quarter, only five miles, and no one cares — as long as the world can drink their hand grenades and hurricanes, they would rather forget about our hurricane.
It's clear when you ride through the mess of twisted homes, that this is so much bigger than we had ever planned for. This is almost nine months after, and still you dodge debris on dark and lonely streets.
Katrina’s magnitude magnified America’s need for a more diverse disaster response. The feeling that diversity is still needed has kept me down here. Frankly, I don’t feel that disaster relief should be a business, or a campaign issue.
I have been lucky enough to fall in with a group of people with the motivation and the know-how to create a new kind of disaster relief.
When you come into our camp you see what’s been missing. You see survivors and volunteers mingling in the dining area. You see fresh carrots, organic milk, and smoked chicken. You see sunflowers planted around the port-a-potties, and hearts painted on the signs.
People feed as much off the ambiance as they do the food. A woman looked at me one day and said, “You know what you guys are doing here? You’re preventing suicide.”
They come here for some reprieve from their struggles. Our kitchen has become a bright oasis in this bleak and torn landscape. And it isn’t just the flowers and the pretty signs, it’s the volunteers. Everyone feels free to express themselves.
I find myself smiling while I work, and that kind of light-heartedness spreads. Serving lunch a few days ago, an elderly resident offered me his plate and grinned. He said, “I don’t get to smile much these days, but I get here and I just can’t stop.” . . . please read more and see her photos
My friend Julie has a beautiful post today. The poem, you should read it.
I saw the most fascinating exhibition yesterday. It's been around the world and in several cities in the U.S. so many of you may have seen it but I've only heard of it this year. It's called Bodyworlds: the Anatomical Exhibition of Real Human Bodies. The creator, Dr. Gunther von Hagens, invented Plastination - "the pioneering technology that makes contemporary anatomical exhibits possible." Drawing inspiration from the anatomical drawings of the Renaissance he "replaces bodily fluids and fat in donor specimens with reactive fluid plastics" and then "fixes the specimens into dynamic, lifelike poses." You can see the Plastinates here. WARNING: NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. You can also download a video.
Luckily I went at a time when it wasn't crowded so I was able to inspect everything closely for as long as I wanted. It was a spiritual experience to be in the presence of these previously living beings. And it was clear to me that our bodies are intricate pieces of matter and meat and when they cease to pump blood the lifeforce leaves and we are nothing more but humps of flesh and bone. Feelings, ambitions, thoughts, dreams, hopes, desires, pain, love all go away with that lifeforce. It was just so clear. So clear what an incredible mystery we are. What absorbs all of that? Where does it leave to?
Years ago my maternal grandmother, Elsa Cuba, died in my arms after a long battle with alzheimers and old age. I held her while whispering in her ear through muffled sobs that she could go, that we all loved her, and that it would be OK to leave us. She took her last breaths with me as I held her and then, suddenly, she slipped away. From one second to the next her lifeforce was out of her body and I could feel it not necessarily rising but expanding - it took up the entire room. Intuitively I felt that she was everywhere and that she was free from the confines of her broken, old body. It was such an immeasurable gift that she gave me, to allow me to be in her presence as she moved beyond her body and this world that we knew together. I felt her presence for a time in the room and knew that she wouldn't stay. Where did she go? A parallel universe maybe? Absorbed somewhere or did she hold together all of her experiences?
Seeing the Plastinates was like looking into a 3D x-ray. I look at myself with a new respect and perspective that I will never forget. A new perspective that reminds me of what my Grandma Cuba gave me. May she be thriving somewhere new.
Luckily I went at a time when it wasn't crowded so I was able to inspect everything closely for as long as I wanted. It was a spiritual experience to be in the presence of these previously living beings. And it was clear to me that our bodies are intricate pieces of matter and meat and when they cease to pump blood the lifeforce leaves and we are nothing more but humps of flesh and bone. Feelings, ambitions, thoughts, dreams, hopes, desires, pain, love all go away with that lifeforce. It was just so clear. So clear what an incredible mystery we are. What absorbs all of that? Where does it leave to?
Years ago my maternal grandmother, Elsa Cuba, died in my arms after a long battle with alzheimers and old age. I held her while whispering in her ear through muffled sobs that she could go, that we all loved her, and that it would be OK to leave us. She took her last breaths with me as I held her and then, suddenly, she slipped away. From one second to the next her lifeforce was out of her body and I could feel it not necessarily rising but expanding - it took up the entire room. Intuitively I felt that she was everywhere and that she was free from the confines of her broken, old body. It was such an immeasurable gift that she gave me, to allow me to be in her presence as she moved beyond her body and this world that we knew together. I felt her presence for a time in the room and knew that she wouldn't stay. Where did she go? A parallel universe maybe? Absorbed somewhere or did she hold together all of her experiences?
Seeing the Plastinates was like looking into a 3D x-ray. I look at myself with a new respect and perspective that I will never forget. A new perspective that reminds me of what my Grandma Cuba gave me. May she be thriving somewhere new.
Have you seen any of John Cassavetes' films? He's the legendary independent director who wrote and directed movies for 30 years from 1959 to the late 80s. Years ago while living in L.A. I went to a tribute of his work where I saw four of his movies in a week and was deeply moved by them. A program from that tribute with Cassavetes quotes and notes by Ray Carney, Professor of Film at Boston University and author of The Films of John Cassavetes, is something I've read over and over again when I need to feel understood and that there are others I can relate to when it comes to the complexities of love and our humanity. At a time when many things that I encounter everyday seem pointless and stupid (pop culture, sales, advertising, politics) I relish in the work and non-judgmental perspective of John Cassavetes. Some of his films: Shadows, Faces, A Woman Under the Influence, She's So Lovely. Some of his words (it's long but worth it. The film he's referring to is She's So Lovely):
"What I think everybody needs is a way to say, 'Where and how can I be in love so that I can live? So that I can live with some degree of peace.' I guess every picture we've ever done has been, in a way, to try to find some kind of philosophy for the characters in the film. And so, that's why I have a need for the characters to really analyze love, discuss it, kill it, destroy it, hurt each other, do all the stuff in that war, in that word-polemic and film-polemic of what life is. And the rest of the stuff doesn't really interest me. It may interest other people, but I have a one-track mind. That's all I'm interested in - love. And the lack of it. When it stops. And the pain that's caused by loss of things that are taken away from us that we really need.
Everything that affects our lives is determined by the influence that one sex has upon the other. Sure we're in the midst of political decay and turmoil - but that's not nearly as interesting. That's more mental, based on how much information you have. The relationships between men and women are permanently fixed in our instincts, not our minds.
Family life is so different from what has been fed into us through the tube and through the radio and through the casual, inadvertent greed that surrounds us. . . Films today show only a dream world and have lost touch with the way people really are. . . .Marriage, like any partnership, is a rather difficult thing. And it has been taken rather lightly in the movies. . . This film deals with the serious problems of a man and woman who are ignorant of their problems, yet totally in love.
I don't know anybody who has an easy pattern of behavior. I know people who are just sensational one minute, and absolute bastards the next. And these moods come from specific things that I can't put my finger on because I don't know their whole life. . . I say, Jesus, I like this person even though I know he is an s.o.b., you know, I love him, and I can't help it. It's his personality and his style that I like.
As people we know that we are petty, vicious, violent and horrible, but my films make an effort to contain the depression within us and to limit the depression to those areas that we can actually solve. The comic resolution of my films, if one could call it that, is the assertion of a human spirit.
I like to deal with characters who have a bit more feeling than the stereotype. . . People prefer distance. In movies today there is a reluctance to show really deep feelings. They don't like vulnerability.
[People kill themselves because of] society's inability to educate, in terms of love, any further than a given point. Nobody in this world seems to be able to love beyond a certain point; they all go up to a certain point then they become emotionally tired of it, or bored or hurt. They change, and their love doesn't transcend certain obstacles. For somebody who is very sensitive and idealistic, as we all start out to be, it becomes a dramatic experience. You can either make that bridge or not, and we are going to make this picture for people who are possibly lost, and try to point out the reasons for it.
My films are expressive of a culture that has had the possibility of attaining material fulfillment while at the same time finding itself unable to accomplish the simple business of conducting human lives. We have been sold a bill of goods as a substitute for life. What is needed is reassurance in human emotions; a re-evaluation of our emotional capacities.
I won't call my work entertainment. It's exploring. It's asking questions of people, constantly. How much do you feel? How much do you know? Are you aware of this? Can you cope with this? A good movie will ask you questions you don't already know the answers to. Film is an investigation of our lives. What we are. What our responsibilities in life are - if any. What we are looking for. Why would I want to make a film about something I already understand?. . .People have said that my films are very difficult to watch, that they're experiences you are put through rather than ones you enjoy, and it's true.
I refrain from leading people by their noses by imposing a stereotyped moral vision in my work. I believe in the validity of a person's inner desires. Whether they are ugly or beautiful, they are pertinent to each of us, and are probably the only things worth a damn. I want to put those inner desires on the screen so we can all look and think and feel and marvel at them.
I'm a revolutionary - but not in the political sense. . .In my opinion these people and these small emotions are the greatest political force there is. These small emotions, these character disagreements are of vital necessity.
[My films] really are all love stories and not just a chance meeting and a two second love affair. They're optimistic. . .Here's a situation with a couple who have nothing in common except love."
And Ray Carney says:
"As in classic Greek drama, each of Cassavetes' films ends with a moment of insight or self-recognition. Characters discover something about themselves - not by thinking but by listening to their feelings. One day they finally hear a little voice of discontent that may have been nagging away for years, and, if they are lucky, wake up. Cassavetes is a very spiritual artist. All of his work is about learning to hear that still, small voice. What is wonderful is that he never gives up on even his most doomed characters. He is an artist of hope - a poet of the miraculous, transforming power of love and grace."
"What I think everybody needs is a way to say, 'Where and how can I be in love so that I can live? So that I can live with some degree of peace.' I guess every picture we've ever done has been, in a way, to try to find some kind of philosophy for the characters in the film. And so, that's why I have a need for the characters to really analyze love, discuss it, kill it, destroy it, hurt each other, do all the stuff in that war, in that word-polemic and film-polemic of what life is. And the rest of the stuff doesn't really interest me. It may interest other people, but I have a one-track mind. That's all I'm interested in - love. And the lack of it. When it stops. And the pain that's caused by loss of things that are taken away from us that we really need.
Everything that affects our lives is determined by the influence that one sex has upon the other. Sure we're in the midst of political decay and turmoil - but that's not nearly as interesting. That's more mental, based on how much information you have. The relationships between men and women are permanently fixed in our instincts, not our minds.
Family life is so different from what has been fed into us through the tube and through the radio and through the casual, inadvertent greed that surrounds us. . . Films today show only a dream world and have lost touch with the way people really are. . . .Marriage, like any partnership, is a rather difficult thing. And it has been taken rather lightly in the movies. . . This film deals with the serious problems of a man and woman who are ignorant of their problems, yet totally in love.
I don't know anybody who has an easy pattern of behavior. I know people who are just sensational one minute, and absolute bastards the next. And these moods come from specific things that I can't put my finger on because I don't know their whole life. . . I say, Jesus, I like this person even though I know he is an s.o.b., you know, I love him, and I can't help it. It's his personality and his style that I like.
As people we know that we are petty, vicious, violent and horrible, but my films make an effort to contain the depression within us and to limit the depression to those areas that we can actually solve. The comic resolution of my films, if one could call it that, is the assertion of a human spirit.
I like to deal with characters who have a bit more feeling than the stereotype. . . People prefer distance. In movies today there is a reluctance to show really deep feelings. They don't like vulnerability.
[People kill themselves because of] society's inability to educate, in terms of love, any further than a given point. Nobody in this world seems to be able to love beyond a certain point; they all go up to a certain point then they become emotionally tired of it, or bored or hurt. They change, and their love doesn't transcend certain obstacles. For somebody who is very sensitive and idealistic, as we all start out to be, it becomes a dramatic experience. You can either make that bridge or not, and we are going to make this picture for people who are possibly lost, and try to point out the reasons for it.
My films are expressive of a culture that has had the possibility of attaining material fulfillment while at the same time finding itself unable to accomplish the simple business of conducting human lives. We have been sold a bill of goods as a substitute for life. What is needed is reassurance in human emotions; a re-evaluation of our emotional capacities.
I won't call my work entertainment. It's exploring. It's asking questions of people, constantly. How much do you feel? How much do you know? Are you aware of this? Can you cope with this? A good movie will ask you questions you don't already know the answers to. Film is an investigation of our lives. What we are. What our responsibilities in life are - if any. What we are looking for. Why would I want to make a film about something I already understand?. . .People have said that my films are very difficult to watch, that they're experiences you are put through rather than ones you enjoy, and it's true.
I refrain from leading people by their noses by imposing a stereotyped moral vision in my work. I believe in the validity of a person's inner desires. Whether they are ugly or beautiful, they are pertinent to each of us, and are probably the only things worth a damn. I want to put those inner desires on the screen so we can all look and think and feel and marvel at them.
I'm a revolutionary - but not in the political sense. . .In my opinion these people and these small emotions are the greatest political force there is. These small emotions, these character disagreements are of vital necessity.
[My films] really are all love stories and not just a chance meeting and a two second love affair. They're optimistic. . .Here's a situation with a couple who have nothing in common except love."
And Ray Carney says:
"As in classic Greek drama, each of Cassavetes' films ends with a moment of insight or self-recognition. Characters discover something about themselves - not by thinking but by listening to their feelings. One day they finally hear a little voice of discontent that may have been nagging away for years, and, if they are lucky, wake up. Cassavetes is a very spiritual artist. All of his work is about learning to hear that still, small voice. What is wonderful is that he never gives up on even his most doomed characters. He is an artist of hope - a poet of the miraculous, transforming power of love and grace."
I am being respectful of his choice.
I am being respectful of myself.
I long to do what I will not regret.
But at times I silently explode, energy shooting out like arrows
from my hip, my jaw, the lower curve of my back, my strong
shoulders, and my feet want to run, run, run. They spin in midair
gasping for traction. Wanting to escape from inside yourself is like
being stabbed and having no defense. You have no choice but to sit
and take it. I’m sick of momentary peace, momentary distraction,
momentary forgetting.
I thought it was unbreakable.
I am being respectful of myself.
I long to do what I will not regret.
But at times I silently explode, energy shooting out like arrows
from my hip, my jaw, the lower curve of my back, my strong
shoulders, and my feet want to run, run, run. They spin in midair
gasping for traction. Wanting to escape from inside yourself is like
being stabbed and having no defense. You have no choice but to sit
and take it. I’m sick of momentary peace, momentary distraction,
momentary forgetting.
I thought it was unbreakable.
I'm sorry it's been so long.
I want to be the cheerful wise woman that runs deep with water and understanding and yet all I come out with is this:
At midnight, when lights are out
the essence of stars
shining only when summoned,
he was the brightest.
When every one of them
called me. He stood out. Me to him
me to him
we were made for it.
What ever happened?
To believe in this ending has got to be the
sourest blood of all.
I want to be the cheerful wise woman that runs deep with water and understanding and yet all I come out with is this:
At midnight, when lights are out
the essence of stars
shining only when summoned,
he was the brightest.
When every one of them
called me. He stood out. Me to him
me to him
we were made for it.
What ever happened?
To believe in this ending has got to be the
sourest blood of all.
I am having an out of body experience due to what I must accept as another's choice. I somersault through disbelief, anger, pity, love, sadness, loss, and back to disbelief again. This excerpt from Leap by Terry Tempest Williams tells the story. What would you choose?
----------------------------------------
There are two ways of escaping the pain
and despair of life, and of the rarest, most
subtle dangerous and ensnaring gift that life
can bring us, relationship with another
person - love.
One way is to kill that love in one's heart.
To kill love - to kill life.
The other way is to accept that love, to
accept the snare, to accept the pricks, the thistle.
To accept life - but that is dangerous.
It is also dangerous not to accept life. . .
Every man and woman is free to accept or
deny life - to accept or reject this questionable
gift - this thistle.
----------------------------------------
It is important to accept the shadow in all of us because then it cannot thrive.
----------------------------------------
There are two ways of escaping the pain
and despair of life, and of the rarest, most
subtle dangerous and ensnaring gift that life
can bring us, relationship with another
person - love.
One way is to kill that love in one's heart.
To kill love - to kill life.
The other way is to accept that love, to
accept the snare, to accept the pricks, the thistle.
To accept life - but that is dangerous.
It is also dangerous not to accept life. . .
Every man and woman is free to accept or
deny life - to accept or reject this questionable
gift - this thistle.
----------------------------------------
It is important to accept the shadow in all of us because then it cannot thrive.
Where once there were giant redwoods,
their thick, broken bark hugged by gentle green
raining spots of sun and shadow where, depending on your mood,
you'd lie down to let rays of golden peace soak your face or
you'd lie down in shadow and quiver from the cool breeze
on your hot skin like a whisper
embracing both shadow and light and knowing their value,
where once there was this
there is a parking lot. A black, expansive, empty lot.
their thick, broken bark hugged by gentle green
raining spots of sun and shadow where, depending on your mood,
you'd lie down to let rays of golden peace soak your face or
you'd lie down in shadow and quiver from the cool breeze
on your hot skin like a whisper
embracing both shadow and light and knowing their value,
where once there was this
there is a parking lot. A black, expansive, empty lot.
in Breckenridge riding with friends from out of town. We had a wonderful time playing outdoors in the sun, relaxing indoors, seeing Woody Allen's disturbing "Match Point" with a group of gals (we all sat uncomfortably for most of the film and Dave correctly said it was "like watching stupid people"), buying gear at 50% off, and spontaneously meeting up with our kickass Breck crew at the martini bar. Why can't this last forever?
Last Sunday I woke up to 5" of powder and a blue sky. Out of pure excitement I called my friend Kara early - too early (7:45am) - but I did it anyway. Turns out I didn't wake her because she hadn't gone to bed yet. What luck.
"We must ride," I pronounced.
There are plenty of cold and windy weekends when you'd have to pull me out of my coziness to go outside, but this day was a godsend - new snow and sun. I knew Dave had no business going outside to play with me no matter how epic the day. He was sick from his exhausting, rain-drenched Hawaiian vacation. Poor guy brought back a bad cough along with the 351 mosquito bites that he acquired while at an ultimate frisbee tournament with his buddies. (yes, I counted them. What good is being bitten that many times without getting an accurate accounting?) Damn thing came home needing a vacation from his time in Hawaii.
Kara rallied like a champ and, along with her fun roommate Christy, we boarded Beaver Creek. Hardly any people were there. We shared slopes with maybe 5 other people at any given time. Being my first winter here I can only guess that this is what happens after spring break. Most everyone splits and the locals own the mountain.
After such a day of boarding I came home to homemade cornbread. A big plus is that Dave loves to cook and he's good at it. We ate cornbread & honey - while watching an episode of "Deadwood," our favorite HBO series - before getting ready for a spontaneous night out to see a dance performance at the Vilar Center for the Performing Arts.
The night before we had stumbled upon a bunch of dancers hanging out at our local coffee shop. In from New York they had performed a night in Denver and were in Vail to perform on Sunday. I've mentioned how much I miss the city and one of the biggest reasons is because in the city you can entrench yourself in creativity. . . art shows, dance performances, readings. . . in San Francisco, LA, New York creativity is everywhere. I approached some of the dancers and after a stimulating discussion about Twyla Tharp, Bill T. Jones their own choreographer, how much water you need to drink up at 8,000 feet and the pros and cons of living here, I knew we had to go.
I was absolutely blown away by this piece. I cried during one particular part where Bill, founder/choreographer, sings a gospel/folk song about (among other things) a young man who lost his leg in the current war while dancers are moving, one man in uniform is marching, someone is whispering a text about the perils of 4th generation war. . . it's a multimedia theatrical dance experience without being overwhelming or preachy. The 100 or so people in the audience were mainly rich people of this valley who can afford the tickets. I couldn't believe what I was seeing - how sophistocated, how timely, how moving, what vision, power and genius. I felt so lucky to have been there. And I wanted all of my friends to be there. Why didn't we know about this? Is there an outreach program for the locals, I wondered? People need to see this and these performers deserve a larger audience.
Obviously the tickets don't really pay for anything, such performances are made possible by all of the donors. I envision them saying: Broadway must come to us. Let's not go to the city anymore, it's too tiresome.
Well, thank you donors of the Vilar Center. It brings the best part of the city to us. Wow.
"We must ride," I pronounced.
There are plenty of cold and windy weekends when you'd have to pull me out of my coziness to go outside, but this day was a godsend - new snow and sun. I knew Dave had no business going outside to play with me no matter how epic the day. He was sick from his exhausting, rain-drenched Hawaiian vacation. Poor guy brought back a bad cough along with the 351 mosquito bites that he acquired while at an ultimate frisbee tournament with his buddies. (yes, I counted them. What good is being bitten that many times without getting an accurate accounting?) Damn thing came home needing a vacation from his time in Hawaii.
Kara rallied like a champ and, along with her fun roommate Christy, we boarded Beaver Creek. Hardly any people were there. We shared slopes with maybe 5 other people at any given time. Being my first winter here I can only guess that this is what happens after spring break. Most everyone splits and the locals own the mountain.
After such a day of boarding I came home to homemade cornbread. A big plus is that Dave loves to cook and he's good at it. We ate cornbread & honey - while watching an episode of "Deadwood," our favorite HBO series - before getting ready for a spontaneous night out to see a dance performance at the Vilar Center for the Performing Arts.
The night before we had stumbled upon a bunch of dancers hanging out at our local coffee shop. In from New York they had performed a night in Denver and were in Vail to perform on Sunday. I've mentioned how much I miss the city and one of the biggest reasons is because in the city you can entrench yourself in creativity. . . art shows, dance performances, readings. . . in San Francisco, LA, New York creativity is everywhere. I approached some of the dancers and after a stimulating discussion about Twyla Tharp, Bill T. Jones their own choreographer, how much water you need to drink up at 8,000 feet and the pros and cons of living here, I knew we had to go.
I was absolutely blown away by this piece. I cried during one particular part where Bill, founder/choreographer, sings a gospel/folk song about (among other things) a young man who lost his leg in the current war while dancers are moving, one man in uniform is marching, someone is whispering a text about the perils of 4th generation war. . . it's a multimedia theatrical dance experience without being overwhelming or preachy. The 100 or so people in the audience were mainly rich people of this valley who can afford the tickets. I couldn't believe what I was seeing - how sophistocated, how timely, how moving, what vision, power and genius. I felt so lucky to have been there. And I wanted all of my friends to be there. Why didn't we know about this? Is there an outreach program for the locals, I wondered? People need to see this and these performers deserve a larger audience.
Obviously the tickets don't really pay for anything, such performances are made possible by all of the donors. I envision them saying: Broadway must come to us. Let's not go to the city anymore, it's too tiresome.
Well, thank you donors of the Vilar Center. It brings the best part of the city to us. Wow.
For your viewing/listening pleasure - Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals on KCRW.org. His double album just came out and I've been starting my day with the haunting and sweet, Morning Yearning (the first song he plays on KCRW). Then I get my necessary dose of collective optimism with his anthem, Better Way. While listening I fantasize rallying with hoards of people while others are organized in the same fashion all over the states. He then rocks the political funk with Both Sides of the Gun, which is just so damn true. Inspiring!
How a discussion about personal boundaries becomes a work issue I'll never know.
How setting personal boundaries (when asked to) and saying: "Ok, don't do the following. . .in front of me" (and you don't work together) becomes a work issue I'll never know.
What I do know:
1. Don't be stupid enough to have a personal discussion with a friend about fuzzy boundaries at any workplace no matter how casual the scene - People get confused.
2. Someone saying: "You know me, I'm open, you can talk to me" means I'll be writing this up and I'll be less than accurate (I'll lie).
3. Someone saying: "I need to talk to him about this" means: He and I will have to talk once I make this a work issue.
4. A hug and "Yes, I'm glad you told me" means: Thanks, I'll be writing this up.
5. Don't underestimate a person's defensiveness or depth of confusion no matter how plainly you speak.
How setting personal boundaries (when asked to) and saying: "Ok, don't do the following. . .in front of me" (and you don't work together) becomes a work issue I'll never know.
What I do know:
1. Don't be stupid enough to have a personal discussion with a friend about fuzzy boundaries at any workplace no matter how casual the scene - People get confused.
2. Someone saying: "You know me, I'm open, you can talk to me" means I'll be writing this up and I'll be less than accurate (I'll lie).
3. Someone saying: "I need to talk to him about this" means: He and I will have to talk once I make this a work issue.
4. A hug and "Yes, I'm glad you told me" means: Thanks, I'll be writing this up.
5. Don't underestimate a person's defensiveness or depth of confusion no matter how plainly you speak.
Wow, I just did something very difficult for me and I still have the wet armpits to prove it. Let me see if I can give a general idea about this without getting too specific:
There is a female friend of ours who crosses the line. Both Dave and I have felt it and we’ve discussed it more than once. I’ve never felt genuinely threatened about it but her actions when we’re together are not conscious or respectful. The last straw was that she called him while he was on a guy’s vacation in Hawaii.
To her this is simply her personality and doesn’t constitute any crossing of lines especially since she claims to have no ulterior motives and nothing other than friendly intentions. But to me and apparently to Dave, it’s weird. Being a girlfriend it brings out my claws. So instead of hatin on her I talked to her. How hard is THAT?!
Before even beginning, my armpits were sweating and I was shaking. What an awkward discussion we were about to have and what the hell do I say?! She was surprised and defensive and I tried my best to explain what I was talking about. She asked why Dave wouldn’t have said anything to her and I told her because it is a very awkward and weird discussion to have especially since they work together daily. Anyway, I let her know a woman had had a similar discussion with me years ago and after a while I understood what she was talking about, but certainly not right away.
The thing is that she says she "acts that way with everyone" so you think, it’s just how she is, it’s ok. But in fact it’s not ok with everyone. Dave and I found ourselves having a heated discussion about it the other night. We were both asking what the other could do about it. Neither one of us liked that conversation.
This is someone we've socialized with which makes it harder to say anything. And aside from this behavior, I like her. But something needed to be said. She would "never guess" that she is crossing lines and to her she is being nothing but affectionate. However, this is where the problem lies. Anyway, she admitted to being confused and needing to know what she could change. She was asking for me to spell it out for her. Part of me wanted to say, phulease, use your best judgement I know you can do it, but I spelled it out, how about start with this: don’t call him while on vacation, don’t call him Hon or Doll in front of me, and don’t touch him. After a while when we all feel better about it maybe that will change. She seemed taken aback. Hopefully if she thinks about it and after the cat fur settles she’ll get it. But I'm not holding my breath. She's old enough to know better, mid-30s, and not play naive. I do feel better having let her know but I also feel spun out from having to say those things. Yuck. Have any of you had to do something like this?
There is a female friend of ours who crosses the line. Both Dave and I have felt it and we’ve discussed it more than once. I’ve never felt genuinely threatened about it but her actions when we’re together are not conscious or respectful. The last straw was that she called him while he was on a guy’s vacation in Hawaii.
To her this is simply her personality and doesn’t constitute any crossing of lines especially since she claims to have no ulterior motives and nothing other than friendly intentions. But to me and apparently to Dave, it’s weird. Being a girlfriend it brings out my claws. So instead of hatin on her I talked to her. How hard is THAT?!
Before even beginning, my armpits were sweating and I was shaking. What an awkward discussion we were about to have and what the hell do I say?! She was surprised and defensive and I tried my best to explain what I was talking about. She asked why Dave wouldn’t have said anything to her and I told her because it is a very awkward and weird discussion to have especially since they work together daily. Anyway, I let her know a woman had had a similar discussion with me years ago and after a while I understood what she was talking about, but certainly not right away.
The thing is that she says she "acts that way with everyone" so you think, it’s just how she is, it’s ok. But in fact it’s not ok with everyone. Dave and I found ourselves having a heated discussion about it the other night. We were both asking what the other could do about it. Neither one of us liked that conversation.
This is someone we've socialized with which makes it harder to say anything. And aside from this behavior, I like her. But something needed to be said. She would "never guess" that she is crossing lines and to her she is being nothing but affectionate. However, this is where the problem lies. Anyway, she admitted to being confused and needing to know what she could change. She was asking for me to spell it out for her. Part of me wanted to say, phulease, use your best judgement I know you can do it, but I spelled it out, how about start with this: don’t call him while on vacation, don’t call him Hon or Doll in front of me, and don’t touch him. After a while when we all feel better about it maybe that will change. She seemed taken aback. Hopefully if she thinks about it and after the cat fur settles she’ll get it. But I'm not holding my breath. She's old enough to know better, mid-30s, and not play naive. I do feel better having let her know but I also feel spun out from having to say those things. Yuck. Have any of you had to do something like this?
What's better than a weekend at a spa with your girls? Maybe a weekend with your girls wherein you are so relaxed after getting deep tissue massages that all you can do is play cards, take walks along the santa cruz coastline, go running through a eucalyptus forest together, surprise each other with gifts (jewelry and spa treatments), eat fresh fish and healthy salads then share chocolate pudding desserts, discuss the different and profound challenges each one of you face listening intently then offering comfort and perhaps a wise new perspective. Maybe it could snow at the beach. Maybe it could be so crisp that you can feel your own 3Dness and you look one way and watch the surfers on perfect waves and look the other way and see snow on the rooftops. Really, it was just magical. Magical in the way that both the scenery and the love just break your heart, you know? Like when something is so cute you want to throw up. That kind of thing.
I wanted to share this photo of my mother in the 70s, I just love it. This is the face I remember taking care of me when I was a girl. She had 4 little girls by the age of 35. As a doctor's wife (and my father has told me as much) she did most all of the raising of us. Daily she got our tantrums, fights, hurt feelings, teenage angst along with hopefully our hugs and childish charm. This woman gave me my sisters and I'm forever grateful. I'm getting nostalgic here because I'm going to our 5th annual girl's weekend in Santa Cruz and I leave this afternoon. I extended my stay in California to a week. I'm so looking forward to it.
This made frontpage news in the VailDaily. Sunday morning a bull elk was stuck in the snow. It appears he got spooked and ran down the hill pretty fast and crashed head first, antlers deep in the snow. A wildlife wrangler took hold of his antlers and pulled him out. For a very cold day and night he couldn't stand up and we thought he was dying. Then after some sunlight and a warm day I found him like this when I went home for lunch. I felt a rush of adrenaline when I saw him standing and nibbling on some twigs. Like Bob said (the owner of our cabin) "Finally a happy ending."
This was me last week. I crashed. Something blindsided me and I went down hard. But with the support of many of you and just the listening ear of my family I got up again. It really is a simple truth that with time and sunshine you can feel better. And the love of good people, thank you.
Then March came and something happened. I really don't know what, but sincere happiness just kicked in. Since March started I've been bouncing around and acting like I just ate a pound of chocolate. Here are some reasons:
1. I'm feeling the benefits of a cleansing diet I've been on now for 17 days. I was having some abdominal pain and my naturopath doctor suggested it. I've never followed something so well in my life, I really haven't strayed for a whole 17 days. Now I'm not one to deprive myself of food. I love to eat. Particularly cheese, bread, good chocolate, french fries, and crunchy salty chips, YUM. I've been off all dairy, sugar, red meat, all grains, citrus fruit, alcohol and coffee. I've upped my intake of vegetables, chicken, pork and fish, fruits and water and I make shakes with this supplemental powder full of vitamins, minerals and ingredients to promote elimination of toxins. I know I know, sounds all new-agey but really, I feel 150%. No abdominal pain that I was having randomly for months and I've got energy to burn.
2. I saw Greyboy Allstars. Believe me when I tell you if you get a chance to see these guys you will have a blast! (Julie they're coming to NYC) They each have their own side gigs. I just discovered Karl Denson's Tiny Universe (where you can hear samples of his music) and will be exahusting his stuff on my ipod. Jazz/funk does good things for the soul, people. Music has saved me more than once. Bless PJ Harvey, Emmy Lou Harris, Kim Gordon, Maria McKee, Patti Smith, Bonnie Rait to name a few - each of whom I've seen live and as artists and women continue to blow me away.
3. Speaking of women who inspire, I read this from Heather Armstrong of Dooce. I've yet to write about Heather or even get in touch with her again, but she was a friend/acquaintance of mine when I lived in L.A. We were both working at an internet start-up and if you read Dooce you know that in describing her past life in Los Angeles before Jon she constantly refers to dating a soap star (a friend of mine whom she met at one of my parties) and trying pot (I think her first time was on a roaptrip we took) and being a trainwreck. I say friend/acquaintance because after a time I was tired and a little frightened of Heather. The things she would say about people or do with little regard to others was out of line. I've been there and done that. Totally selfish because I'm all mixed up. I knew her in what I guess was her early twenties, not long after she graduated from BYU - which is what initially bonded us. I went to BYU and also used Los Angeles as the place to go wild and find my twenty-something self. I remember a time at a mutual friend's house when we were brainstorming abouting creating a site that we could all contribute to. Long before her blog. Between the three of us Heather had the most knowledge of constructing a site and said she was always good at putting something together but not good at creating the actual content. I remember her saying, almost verbatim, "I'm not creative." This couldn't be further from the truth. She's one hell of a writer. I can't tell you how much Heather has changed. I've been reading her blog here and there since before she took it offline - 4, 5 years maybe? She's inspired so many people, women and mothers espeically, around the world. Pretty awesome. This post especiallly shows what an incredible talent she is. Anyway, she inspired me again this week with a fantasticly personal and feminist post. And she is living proof that the internet could be the vehicle I was counting on - creativity is the currency of the future.
4. I am the third of four girls in my family, there are no boys. If you're as good at math as I am that means there are 5 women in the Olsen family and 1 man, my father. Every year we have a girl's weekend somewhere in California and this year we'll be in Carmel. So I'm going to California next week to see all my girls. I'll be off my cleanse so there will be wine, cheese, and conversation that will taste like sugar.
5. I'm going to this the following weekend. And, writermama has offered to be my writing buddy since she just wrote a novel while being involved with nanowrimo, so she knows all the hangups. Thank you Julie!
These are the contributing factors to my recovery after the crash. Oh, and we got sun.
I moved to Colorado in April of last year filled with excitement, a sense of adventure, and on cloud nine in love. Although I was living in a beautiful part of Northern California I often craved high country living – to live where I didn’t need to drive anywhere to hear wind blowing through pine trees, to be surprised by a brilliant blue sky behind a mountain peak, and best of all where I could run mountain trails during lunchbreak, mountain bike in vast wilderness, and do all of the fun stuff in snow during the winter. Whenever I went to Tahoe, in summer or winter, I never wanted to leave. Being in nature makes me feel like I am squeezing every ounce of the pure pleasure of being alive just by getting up in the morning and going outside.
After almost a year of living here this is still true. I wake up every day to beauty, it speaks to me and soothes me. But what I’ve realized over the time I’ve lived here is that the enjoyment of being alive is also surrounding yourself with those you love. What I’m missing is Saturday morning runs with my sisters, a spontaneous dinner with a girlfriend, going to San Francisco to stay with friend, a weekend with my nieces and nephews or an impromtu visit from a good neighbor. Don’t get me wrong, there are great girls here too but first it takes time to find those special people who you genuinely want to spend time with and, once you do, it takes time to cultivate strong friendships. This is what I’ve left behind.
Last week my sister Linda went through something no one should have to go through - someone broke into Matt & Linda’s house. Many things were taken but I think the worst part about it for them was the invasion of their sacred, personal space. As Linda and I were talking about our rough times I was so wishing I could give her a hug and simply be there for her to vent to while dealing with it.
Then a couple days later I received this bouquet from her. Just because. See why I love and miss her? She is a wonderful, powerful, loving woman and I’m grateful that she is my sister. It’s her birthday today. Happy Birthday Linda.
After almost a year of living here this is still true. I wake up every day to beauty, it speaks to me and soothes me. But what I’ve realized over the time I’ve lived here is that the enjoyment of being alive is also surrounding yourself with those you love. What I’m missing is Saturday morning runs with my sisters, a spontaneous dinner with a girlfriend, going to San Francisco to stay with friend, a weekend with my nieces and nephews or an impromtu visit from a good neighbor. Don’t get me wrong, there are great girls here too but first it takes time to find those special people who you genuinely want to spend time with and, once you do, it takes time to cultivate strong friendships. This is what I’ve left behind.
Last week my sister Linda went through something no one should have to go through - someone broke into Matt & Linda’s house. Many things were taken but I think the worst part about it for them was the invasion of their sacred, personal space. As Linda and I were talking about our rough times I was so wishing I could give her a hug and simply be there for her to vent to while dealing with it.
Then a couple days later I received this bouquet from her. Just because. See why I love and miss her? She is a wonderful, powerful, loving woman and I’m grateful that she is my sister. It’s her birthday today. Happy Birthday Linda.
What an adventure we had last night.
Lately every Thursday night we've been hiking up Vail Mtn. and riding down. I snowshoe up carrying my board and snowboard down. Dave skins up on his telemarks and skis down. There are usually about 8 people who join. It has become my favorite thing to do after work. You work hard to get up and then after hanging out you bundle up again for the surreal ride down. When the moon is big (like last week) we ride the snow awash in blue moonlight. At 9pm we are the only ones out there and it feels like you can touch the stars. It is nothing short of exhilarating. I can literally feel the endorphins pouring in.
Our friend Greg asked if we wanted to go up a different mountain, Sunlight near Glenwood Springs, with a group of friends that go every full moon. We didn't know what we were getting ourselves into. After almost a 2 hour drive we resigned ourselves to a later Wednesday night than expected. When we finally got to the parking lot it was too cloudy to see the full moon but the temperature was nice and the mountain looked exciting.
We started up the slope and then hit a pretty steep pitch. Not as far and high as Vail Mtn., which is about 2200 vertical ft. and 1.9 miles up, Sunlight is 1800 vertical ft. and 1.5 miles up. But believe me when I say it’s steep. With the board on my back I did my fair share of, um, heavy breathing. It's strange to get to the point where you’re working for every step (we go as fast as we can) counting 1-10 again and again (I don't know HOW people climb Everest) and at the very same time you're loving every minute of it. What is that?
We got to the warming hut and hung out for about an hour then started to head out. We knew it was snowing but upon opening the door we found at least 2" of powder and huge flakes falling along with intermittent gusts of wind. We soon realized the headlamps were not much help because skiing down a mountain with a light in wind and heavy snowfall is the equivalent of driving with your headlights on during a snowstorm - all you see are flakes darting straight at you, you can't see a thing in front of you. Basically you'll know it when you hit it. So Dave turned his headlamp around, I followed his light and turned mine off and we took 11pm powder turns with much whooping and hollering. I'd look up behind us and watch white lights (many kept theirs turned on) gently swirling down the mountain.
I felt as if I were floating while riding a board in the dark in powder. So present in the moment and living in a dream at the same time.
(Click the photo for a few more)
Lately every Thursday night we've been hiking up Vail Mtn. and riding down. I snowshoe up carrying my board and snowboard down. Dave skins up on his telemarks and skis down. There are usually about 8 people who join. It has become my favorite thing to do after work. You work hard to get up and then after hanging out you bundle up again for the surreal ride down. When the moon is big (like last week) we ride the snow awash in blue moonlight. At 9pm we are the only ones out there and it feels like you can touch the stars. It is nothing short of exhilarating. I can literally feel the endorphins pouring in.
Our friend Greg asked if we wanted to go up a different mountain, Sunlight near Glenwood Springs, with a group of friends that go every full moon. We didn't know what we were getting ourselves into. After almost a 2 hour drive we resigned ourselves to a later Wednesday night than expected. When we finally got to the parking lot it was too cloudy to see the full moon but the temperature was nice and the mountain looked exciting.
We started up the slope and then hit a pretty steep pitch. Not as far and high as Vail Mtn., which is about 2200 vertical ft. and 1.9 miles up, Sunlight is 1800 vertical ft. and 1.5 miles up. But believe me when I say it’s steep. With the board on my back I did my fair share of, um, heavy breathing. It's strange to get to the point where you’re working for every step (we go as fast as we can) counting 1-10 again and again (I don't know HOW people climb Everest) and at the very same time you're loving every minute of it. What is that?
We got to the warming hut and hung out for about an hour then started to head out. We knew it was snowing but upon opening the door we found at least 2" of powder and huge flakes falling along with intermittent gusts of wind. We soon realized the headlamps were not much help because skiing down a mountain with a light in wind and heavy snowfall is the equivalent of driving with your headlights on during a snowstorm - all you see are flakes darting straight at you, you can't see a thing in front of you. Basically you'll know it when you hit it. So Dave turned his headlamp around, I followed his light and turned mine off and we took 11pm powder turns with much whooping and hollering. I'd look up behind us and watch white lights (many kept theirs turned on) gently swirling down the mountain.
I felt as if I were floating while riding a board in the dark in powder. So present in the moment and living in a dream at the same time.
(Click the photo for a few more)