Counting by 12′s

  • Posted on January 1, 2013 at 10:29 pm

Happy New Year 2013!!! This gypsy mom’s life has gotten entirely more interesting, more fun, more safe, more stable, more secure, more more more more more amazing than ever before. When I compare my life today to that of exactly one year ago, I am nothing short of flabbergasted. My life is everything I have ever wanted and more. Two years ago, I was crying out “I need help” and today, I have all the help I need. In the past, I struggled to make ends meet and take care of the kids and the house. There are only 24 hours in a day and when I want to spend all of my waking hours hanging out with my kids, there isn’t much left for the house, the income-production and little old me. I felt like I was trapped in an endless cycle of needing to be cloned in order to make life work.

Today, I have created a circle of support that allows me to make sure that everything is taken care of without feeling like it’s my personal responsibility to be hands-on in every aspect of life. Our home is a haven of happiness and bliss and love love love. I couldn’t be happier. Except for that little devil on my shoulder that reminds me that I might one day want to remarry and share life with a man again. I’m totally not ready for that any time soon!

But I am ready for more awesomeness. And here’s the deal. My sister came up with this revolutionary answer to the lame “New Year Resolution” that we’ve made fun of for so long. It’s called Counting By Twelves and it’s a systematic way of adding 12 bits of awesome into every month, so that by the time the year ends you’ve got 144 new and awesome experiences to look back on. How can that NOT help, right?

I would like to invite you over to the Counting By 12′s website to check out what we’ve got going on over there. There are 12 of us, all working on the same challenge. So in the end we will have blogged about a collective 1700+ experiences. Each of us makes our own list and here’s an early version of mine:

My Counting By 12's Project

This is my original Counting By 12's project board.

Life is so freaking amazing

  • Posted on August 9, 2012 at 10:28 pm

I know I’ve always felt this way but for the past few years it’s been followed by an inner “so what’s wrong with me that I can’t just snap out of it?”  I’m not the type to confide in friends, I’m usually the listener. I’m the cheerleader, the advice giver, the pep-talker.  Whatever was crushing my spirit needed to just go away.  I was determined to continue trudging through life forcing myself to believe that something was wrong with me for being unhappy. I can change ME, it’s the ONLY thing I can change. So dammit, why are none of my changes working?

Only it wasn’t me. The more I shared my experiences with friends and counselors, the more I realized that I was in an unhealthy situation. I was stubborn.  It took a lot of convincing for me to believe that I couldn’t “fix this” with a positive attitude. What I needed to change about myself was the company I was keeping.

So this week I am celebrating 6 months of running my own life.

I have never been so happy and free and joyous in my entire life.  Every time I turn around we’re being blessed in so many ways.  The bills are all paid and we have plenty of food. And shoes. You have no idea how many shoes it takes to have six daughters. The house isn’t filled with anger, stress or fear. My 18 yr old daughter has moved back in. We all play games, watch movies, we read stories, we do messy art projects, we make crazy snacks, we go away for weekend trips and we have friends over all the time. Our home is a sanctuary of happiness.  We have enough bedrooms. Life is so awesome. We have so much to look forward to.

Transitions are powerful. I’m glad my kids are witnessing different ways to deal with the stress.  I’m glad they’re able to talk openly about the changes in our life.  I’m glad they will one day be able to compare life before the change and life afterward.

I’m glad I have kept a personal journal my entire life. Even though a few years worth were destroyed in 2005, I managed to preserve enough so that I can reread them and see exactly where I’ve been. It’s amazing how much of that I had blocked out over the years. Rereading it has been therapeutic. I can’t say there’s much I regret. All the years I spent trying to make things work were necessary. I failed. It’s time to find something I’m good at.  So far, “being me” is much easier than being married.

 

I’m not sure exactly what the future holds, but I know it will have loud music, tons of books, brightly colored clothing, far too many knee high socks and long skirts, travel with friends, good fresh gluten free foods, tons of love and smiles and happiness, more hoop practice, more silliness, more art, more laughter and more laundry.

Here are pictures from our trip to the Life is Good Conference

Here’s pictures from our hiking trip to Boulder Cave:

Here are a few shots from Seattle, I had some time off of work and spent the day on a photowalk

Here are some pictures from my sister’s visit:

Here are some random pictures from our summer, enjoying life and freedom <3

And finally, the important thing to remember in life is this:

I learned so much from life by watching my mother. When she and my father divorced, she was very considerate about not saying nasty things about him. I might never have noticed her behavior, except that he didn’t reciprocate and I lost a lot of respect for him as a kid. There was something mean and nasty about the names he called her and the way he spat out the words “your fucking mother” that never sat well with me. We only saw him once or twice a month and it seemed, for a while, that he was angry every time. She wasn’t perfect, no one is. But I always felt like she was on my side and I hope my daughters feel the same. They might not understand the depth of what’s gone on in their lives right now. So much of what we went through was “just the way things are” for so long. Hopefully they will see a more peaceful and loving way of living and relating as time goes on.

Life is awesome. It always has been. Now, I choose to participate in the awesomeness instead of watching from the sidelines, waiting for permission.

Covered in paint…

  • Posted on June 27, 2012 at 9:09 pm

In my definition of Gypsy, there’s a lot of art.  I enjoy painting. 15 Years ago when my soon-to-be-ex-husband and I were living in Lynnwood, Washington (curiously it’s an 8 mile drive that takes almost an hour sometimes) we had an apartment in a corporate housing area. Many of our neighbors were in Lynnwood on a 6 month contract and they sometimes had a habit of throwing away furniture when they moved out.  Our home was located just above the dumpsters and I could casually scan throughout the day and pick up desks, dressers, tables, chairs, even a bicycle once.

What we didn’t get via dumpster diving, we purchased at Goodwill and my favorite thing to do was to paint them.  I don’t know if any of it matched, ever. Each piece was unique. When it came time to move away from that apartment, we had a giant yard sale.

Imagine how pleased I was when my hand-painted furniture sold out quickly.  Actually, part of me was pleased because we needed the money but another part of me was sad because I had poured my heart into that stuff.  No one haggled down the price and if I recall correctly, there was even a scuffle between two shoppers and a toybox/trunk.

Painting furniture brings me joy and I have spent the past few days painting a vintage china cabinet.  Or maybe it’s a buffet.  I really have no idea.  It was a gift from my mother and it didn’t even need painting.  I stressed out about it for a little while, dying to make it my canvas and equally concerned that she would get mad about it.  I gave her several opportunities to reclaim the piece and she didn’t want it.

Now here’s the thing… We recently moved from a nasty little single-wide trailer with 2 bedrooms and 1 bathroom into a 3500 square foot McMansion with 7 bedrooms (except one’s an office) and 4 bathrooms. Our old furniture was dreadful and filled with bad vibes and unhappy memories. I didn’t want to bring it into the new house, so basically we’re largely unfurnished.  So I kinda needed that cabinet (or is it a buffet?)  Only I’m not a big fan of plain brown wood. When I see furniture with visible wood grain, it mostly says “paint me” so this piece sat in the garage for at least a month, untouched.

I picked up a set of curtains at Value Village. A friend gave me a set of Ikea chairs. The formal dining room began to take shape and all these pieces that didn’t really match when they were naked (you know, with their wood showing) suddenly became family.

Of course I”ll post pictures, when it’s done.  Mostly, I just wanted to say that it feels really nice to be painting again.

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Entitled to give, entitled to receive. What do YOU need?

  • Posted on June 26, 2012 at 3:02 pm

I want my kids to have a sense of entitlement.  They are entitled, simply by virtue of existence:

* to be listened to by people who strive to understand and appreciate them on their level 

* to be most greatly influenced by people who take the time to express differing perspectives in a way that can help them learn empathy and compassion as well as whatever else the person has to offer
* to speak out loud, and say whatever they feel is necessary without fearing that they’re “not worthy” or that their opinion isn’t valid or worse, that their truth will somehow bring harm to someone they love

* to trust that the people who care for them really have their best interests in mind

* to benefit from the material and nonmaterial wealth of the people whose lives they enrich, without being condemned or subject to constant judgment of whether or not it is “worth it” to have their needs met

* to see resourcefulness in action and learn by experience that the world is not filled with “paths to contention” but “paths of contention” meaning that you’re not really going anywhere if you haven’t learned the lessons of where you are.

——————————————————————————————–

Have you seen Mazlow’s heirarchy of needs?  This is something I was exposed to in my first psychology class at Antelope Valley College in 1993 when I was going for a degree to be a teacher. I never finished that course of study, but the lessons have lasted a lifetime. Except for Mazlow’s heirarchy.  In order to get myself into one of the biggest life lessons of my existence, I had to kind of forget a few things that are very basic human psychology.

Here’s a quick rundown of Mazlow’s heirarchy of needs. You will need to know this in order to follow the rest of my diatribe.

OK, first I’m going to start with a screenshot of the images that come up when you search for Maslow’s heirarchy:

It’s always represented with a pyramid or triangle shape and the idea is that at the top of this triangle is self-actualization. In English, it means “living up to your highest potential”

So your highest potential is at the top and at the bottom are your basic needs as a human (food, water, excretion, sex and sleep)

The heirarchy is worked like this:

If your lower level (Physiological) needs aren’t being met, then you CAN NOT move up to the next level. What’s on this mysterious next level?

The next level up is safety.  The idea is that when your physiological needs are being met, you can experience the feeling of safety that comes from NOT being afraid your basic needs won’t be met. At this second level, a human is secure in the knowledge that they don’t have to worry about where their next meal will come from, whether or not they will be beaten or yelled at, whether or not their belongings are secure.  It’s at this stage that people can generally live by their own basic morals. For example… none of us would steal food from the grocery store, right? But what if your kids were starving? What if you were starving? Hopefully a strong family and community connection would mean that all you REALLY need to do is call someone and say “Hey, can I have a hand with dinner tonight?”  Having received that call plenty of times, I can tell you without a doubt that the world is full of abundance and when you’re EMPOWERED with a sense of ENTITLEMENT to ask for help meeting your own human needs, you generally get it.  Remember the story of Stone Soup?  Pooling resources is a good thing, sharing with others is a good thing and when you love someone, you NEVER allow their physiological needs to be overlooked. Including yourself.

Asking for help does not reflect an unhealthy sense of entitlement. Asking for help does not reflect failure. But it feels like failure when you’re raised to value independence and self-sufficiency without a corresponding value of the joy of giving, or worse, a sense of guilt that says “You are receiving because I AM SACRIFICING, and not because I love you enough and want to share with you.”

In a happy place, when you are giving to someone you love, it feels good. Spoon-feeding little bits of avocado to a three month old feels sweet. Handing a turkey dinner to the woman in the soup line FEELS GOOD.

But in the opposing paradigm, the one where entitlement is a BAD thing, there’s a feeling of failure that comes along with asking for help. Where’s the balance in that? Where is compassion and empathy modeled in that paradigm? When it’s easier to ask total strangers for help than it is to ask your family, then you’re in a load of trouble, right?  Or so I thought. I guess it depends on what sort of community you’ve created for yourself.

Asking for help is HARD and one reason I struggled with it for so many years is because I was taught to “speak when spoken to” and that my needs, as a child, were secondary to the needs of the adults in my life.  Here are words I strive to NOT repeat to my children:

“I’m the adult, that’s why”

“Because you’re a child”

“When you get older you can do that”

“When you get older you will understand”

“Because I said so”

Soooooooo much to say on this topic, but let’s just move up that triangle, to see that after physiological needs and after safety there comes love/intimacy.  This includes sex and friendship, both emotional intimacy and physical. According to the heirarchy, you won’t feel loved if your basic needs aren’t being met.  Let’s Byron Katie that statement and say that you can’t participate honestly in an emotionally intimate relationship if you’re in an environment where there’s no sense of safety and physiological needs aren’t being met. Your underlying survival instinct will ALWAYS find a way to keep you alive.

Let’s move up that triangle one more level.  After emotional and physical intimacy, there’s the level of self-esteem, where you are confident in your own abilities, you’re responsible and you have respect for others (and therefore they respect you)

Finally, at the top of the triangle is self-actualization which is the highest of morality, creativity, spontaneity, problem-solving, acceptance of facts and lack of prejudice.

My version is SO simplified and if it’s something you’re interested in, PLEASE read up because it’s really a neat way to look at things and also a very basic way of understanding why some people excel under less-than-desirable circumstances while others “fail” under perfect conditions.

Anyway-  So the basic rundown of Maslow’s heirarchy, you CAN NOT be your best self if you don’t feel you have a place in your community, you can’t feel “at home” without intimate relationships, you can’t experience true intimacy when you’re not feeling safe. You can not feel safe when your basic needs aren’t being met.

Like any overarching theory or principle, there are voices out there that disagree with it, but as long as we’re using it as a tool instead of as a rule, then there’s no harm in it. Commit to the investigation, not the hypothesis.  Especially when unraveling the mass of psychosis that managed to take hold in my family over the years.

Let’s get back to that sense of entitlement I want to instill in my kids:

You are entitled to run your own life. Your decisions are your own. Your mind is your own. You are entitled to believe every awesome thing about yourself that you discover. Even if you can’t prove it. Please don’t try to prove it, really.  We believe it, too. You are entitled to dislike anyone who you choose. You are entitled to choose your surroundings and to learn from the world those lessons that further your cause on a daily basis.

It’s not WRONG for children to feel like they’re entitled to dignity and self-respect.  Indeed, imagine the flipside.  A world of kids who have no dignity or self-respect.

Every day I see echoes of this in discussions where people say “Kids today…” as if there’s some magical generational reason why kids would behave a certain way.  As if the souls of these kids conspired before birth to treat their grown-ups rudely. As if every baby who passes another sends a secret signal “Let’s be rude”  That makes no sense at all.  Is it really so far fetched to see that perhaps the collective parenting consciousness is a little more responsible than the children themselves.  I don’t know many children (or adults for that matter) who are conscious about their behavior because they’re just BEing. Is it possible that these kids, with their short answers, “snotty” statements, eye-rolling and “jaded” personalities could be <gasp> reflecting of the adults in their life, instead of existing in opposition.

I have a friend whose kids are angels except when she’s around. She blames it on me because “Whenever we come to your house they’re animals” but after discussing it with my kids and sharing our observations with one another, it’s become quite clear that whenever she comes here she’s a nervous wreck. So her kids buzz with the same frenetic energy that she’s putting out there. It’s sad to watch because she doesn’t see it. But I trust that she will. I’m not judging her journey any more than she’s judging mine because friends (and family) violate those basic security needs when they condemn one another like that.

There’s an excellent book that I bought a few years ago called “Respectful Parents, Respectful Kids” and if you haven’t read it, you really should.

Imagine a world where kids have no idea what “respect” looks like because the adults in their life haven’t SHOWN them.  Imagine – a world where kids don’t TRUST their own inner voices

“I think I’m hungry”  or “I’m scared”

because the adults in their life are so loud that they drown out that voice

“clean your plate” or “don’t be scared”

Kids aren’t born with any kind of inner sense that says “Your parents might have it all wrong”  That develops later in the teen years and in our culture, it’s commonly known as “rebellion”  but in a home where the parents are GIVING kids the respect it takes to navigate complicated social situations, it just looks like midnight conversations at the foot of the bed. Or late-night smoothies. Or a mom’s night out where you end up texting your daughter for 2 hours because she’s sharing something funny with you.

The point is, there’s nothing to “prove wrong” when you’re all respectful of each other.   A person could drive themselves insane trying to “prove themselves” to people who accuse them of lies.  Or… just continue living.

The righteous have nothing to fear.

As parents, it’s our job to make sure our kids’ needs are being met.  We SHOULD be able to depend on our community, our family and the people close to us to help out with this.  That’s what community is all about. There’s always room at the table for a few more.

But you can’t force someone to sit there.

No one is entitled to feel the joy of helping another when they go about it with a condemning sort of approach that denies the other of dignity and self-respect. That is NOT helpful.  As independent Americans, we tend to agree that one way the US “works” is that we “allow” for different viewpoints. We don’t talk politics or religion in certain circles.

 

Anyone who thinks that their opinion is a universal truth will surely be made a fool of. There are no universal truths, except that actions speak louder than words.

Say what you want.

My kids, and I, are entitled to live our lives in peace. So are you. Please do so.

 

I will not be silenced: A writer’s manifesto

  • Posted on June 12, 2012 at 3:35 am

(cross-published at LisaRussell.org as my “back-to-blogging” celebration begins)

I write

I have written
I will write

I am a writer

I choose my words carefully, they reflect my most pressing truth, so far as I can tell, at the moment they are written.

I am not responsible for your interpretation.

If something I’ve written upsets you, I welcome a rational discussion on the matter.

If I’m writing about my opinion, my emotions, my plans and goals for the future; know that they may change at any given moment and I may or may not write about it. This doesn’t make me inconsistent, it doesn’t make me a liar. It might make you confused, but your thoughts and opinions don’t change who I am. Indeed, they simply represent YOUR perceptions.

I don’t write simply to report my thoughts to anyone, so no single piece of my writing, published or unpublished, including this one, can be used to represent me outside of the entire body of my work.

I don’t fool myself into thinking that my truth is the ONLY truth. The decisions I make in my life are based on my core beliefs and yours are, too. I suggest you try not to fool yourself into believing that your truth is more important or valid than mine. Diversity is important.

If you don’t like it, don’t read it.

Better yet, if you don’t like it, you should probably examine why you’re having an emotional response and get to the bottom of your own dilemma rather than shooting the messenger.

Either way,

I will not be silenced

 

The Love Playground in El Paso, Texas

  • Posted on September 7, 2011 at 4:51 am

We were stopped in El Paso overnight. It was 107 degrees and my pansy ass wasn’t the slightest bit bothered by the heat because the previous day we’d been in Mesa, Arizona roasting (OK… lounging by the pool with friends) at 112 degrees, so 107 was nothing.

El Paso… big city with lots of resources and things-to-do, but the Internet on my phone wasn’t working and I couldn’t look anything up.

Sometimes I feel like that guy in Quantum Leap who follows the main character around, looking things up on his handheld device. I love that I can answer some of this kids crazy questions instantly “When was this town built?” and “Where is the Alamo?” but when I can’t use it I’m worthless. Maybe “worthless” is an exaggeration, but I feel like my brain is missing when I can’t access Google. It is what it is :) We ended up asking the GPS system for advice and it sent us to a city park.

We were in luck because the park had a mister system, so we could cool off, not that I was bothered by the heat mind you, I had built new neuron pathways in my brain the day before and learned to associate the heat with pleasure thanks to friends like Brianna and Vicki in Mesa Arizona and I wasn’t suffering in El Paso at all.

But still, the misters were nice.

The nicer thing was the park itself. Love Park, it was called. It appeared to be built entirely by volunteers and donations. First of all, the playground was HUGE. There was a musical play section, two different swing areas and plenty of ladders, stairs, bridges, things to climb, things to hang from and places to explore.

Outside the park, there was a Girl Scout building AND a Boy Scout building. We felt safe and secure there, at the corner of Love & Shorty.

My favorite part of the day was the conversation I had with Gabriella and Madelyn about the construction of the park. Donors bought in at certain levels to fund the construction of the park. Some people donated enough to have a fence post carved in their name. Others were able to paint a tile that went on the wall by the entry. Also in the entry, some donors were able to have a walk-of-fame style sidewalk square with their hand prints.

We hadn’t been in town for 3 hours and we learned that there was a Jewish community because we saw names like Silverstein and Kaplan and Stein and Rabbi something. We learned that each piece of equipment was sponsored by a local – usually a business, whereas the tiles, fence posts and sidewalk squares were sponsored by individuals or families. We talked about the economics of collecting donations, about how wise it was for the planners to have different levels of donation, and how cool it was that everyone was acknowledged for their contributions. Before we saw that, it was easy to look at the entire park and see a great place to play but having the sponsorship list visible made it easier for the kids to look and see that the castle slide is separate from the baby swings, separate from the musical toys, separate from the mister system… We could see the whole and appreciate all of its parts. More importantly, it was magical to see how complicated and amazing the entire park was and to witness what beautiful things can happen when people work together to bring their dream to life.

I liked being able to expose the girls to such a great example of community action. Someone (the children of the community, it appears…) envisioned this park. Someone rallied up a LOT of people to make it happen and here it is, Love park… it was beautiful. The park, the time we spent with the kids and the energy that created such a magical space.

I can’t imagine teaching an 8 yr old about different business models in a classroom. At 8, I would have been able to memorize vocabulary words, but I wouldn’t have felt the deep spirit of cooperation or understood exactly how awesome it was that they pulled this off. This is living, this is life and this is just conversation. No lesson plans are needed, no vocabulary words, just plenty of time in the real world and conversations that answer pressing questions. How much simpler can it be?

Technical Edit: Apparently the name of the park is White Spur Park and it’s just the Love Playground that I’m writing about.

Our Summer House in Malibu

  • Posted on September 5, 2011 at 10:02 am

Can you believe we boondocked in Malibu for a month? I can’t believe it’s even possible.. Just outside of Zuma Beach on  PCH, they allow overnight parking. We also enjoyed spending time at the tidepools and caves at Leo Carrillo State Beach

This was the longest we’d stayed in any one area during this trip and even then we drove into the San Fernando Valley to visit with family while we were there, so it wasn’t a continuous stay in Malibu. But still.. close enough.

It was close enough that I got used to hearing the waves lapping at the shore while I slept. In fact, after just a few days, I was missing the sound when we left.

Have you heard of Binaural beats? They’re sound waves that you play with headphones. Different frequencies are played in each ear and when they get inside your head, they can target specific parts of the brain for relaxation, energy, mental focus, even sexual stimulation. Listening to the waves must have had an effect on my brain because the way it felt to allow the rhythm of the waves to sink into my being was a huge experience. Being there just.felt.right.

One thing I felt strongly about when I first envisioned life on the road was that I wanted to really lay down a couple roots in every place we went. The time we spent in Malibu was really special.
We got to know the rhythm of the coast.

Every day, around 6 am when the sun rose, the local surfers would come by. They would arrive in their wetsuits and carry their boards out to the sea. When they finished up, they’d return to their cars, sometimes stripping down naked (without knowing about the psychomom in the RV watching them) and changing their clothes for work around 8 or 9 am. It was then that the morning fitness people would arrive. These are the runners, the joggers and the dog walkers. These people were usually locals, too. Locals park on PCH and tourists park in the parking lots. They would arrive between 10am and noon, setting up their camps on the beach with umbrellas, radios, colorful towels and coolers filled with snacks. Many of them would slather on a ton of sunscreen and head into the water or bathe in the sun, depending on their preference. Around 4 or 5, the beachgoers would leave and the fitness crowd would return. As they dwindled away, the sunset-gawkers would arrive. Sometimes you could feel them counting down until the sun dropped behind the sea and more than half of them would leave when the sun was no longer visible. Don’t make that mistake. I’ve learned that some of the best colors, cloud shapes and prettiest shadows come when the last remaining fragments of light begin to fade.

I always intended to play in the ocean, but every time I felt my feet getting numb I’d change my mind. That water was COLD.  I can’t wait to take my kids to the gulf coast of Florida so we can play in that water, from what I remember it’s so warm and clear. Hopefully the BP thing hasn’t ruined it.

Anyway, we familiarized ourselves with Malibu, deeply. We shared the community’s mourning of a local grocery store. Their land was bought out by the Wal Mart family and they’re replacing it with a strip mall.

We were lucky to have stopped into the Malibu Gardens Nursery, although their business card says Trancas Canyon Nursery and the owner tells me that their land was part of the buyout. A new nursery would be built on the site, but only after everything is graded down and started from scratch.

Malibu is one of the more expensive areas to live. Celebrities live in Malibu. We saw Cher’s house (which, incidentally, is the new Hannah Montana House) and we got to stroll the beach behind The Colony, where Pink lives (I totally would have asked if she had a trapeze in her house and begged to play on it if I saw her, but alas…)

Anyway, I just can’t believe how lucky we were to be able to spend a month in Malibu. I tried to have a beach party, but very few people could all make it out the same day. We found ourselves entertaining quite often anyway. Brandon’s friend from Jr High came out for a visiit with his beautiful family. Our family friend Diane came for a visit, she was the mother of one of our high school friends, so she had a bunch of fun memories to share with us (and DAMN, she remembers everything). I was ale to visit with my friend Teresa (it had been over ten years) and Mike Hedge, a badass photographer, came out to visit, here are the pictures he took that day.

Anyway.. Summer in Malibu… Surfing, tanning, wave play, tide pools, pier fishing, restaurants, night clubs and $5 a day for public transportation into Los Angeles.

Wow. I got through that entire post and never once complained about all the sand in the motorhome. You know why? Because it wasn’t really that big of a deal. Whenever I found myself cleaning it up (and it was a daily chore), all I could think about was how lucky we are to be here. Life is Good :)

Denver… we WILL be back

  • Posted on August 9, 2011 at 8:18 am

Our stay in Denver was a quick overnighter. Brandon got word that he’s needed on location shortly and he has to get to LA for a few production meetings. He’s a cinematographer (which is a fancy way of saying that he’s the one who decides how the movie will look, choosing camera angles, lenses, filters, camera movement and designing the layout of the lights) Its all terribly glamorous, trust me ;)

Denver Bear Statue

Some of my girls posing silly with a bear statue in Denver

Here is a link to our Denver Slideshow (or watch it below in most browsers)

The kids enjoyed the stroll through downtown, posing with every statue we came across (of course).  I just love public art and it’s always been something that bothered me about Yakima, that we don’t have a lot of public art. It’s improved a lot since we’ve moved here, but they still have a long way to go. I got annoyed with myself for not climbing on the back of the Pegasus. I kinda just forgot that I wanted to.
On our walk, we stopped into this place called the Lucid Gallery. “Where Art and Music Collide” and discovered the absolute coolest art show. A guy named Tim from PancakesAndBooze.com travels around (Can you tell I’m hooked? I love traveling entrepreneurs- the freedom, the possibilities…) and he connects with local artists in every city and brings them together to display their work in one cool awesome show. Here are a few pictures of what we saw (When we were there, they were just setting up. Artists were carrying their work inside and setting up their displays. He gave us a little sneak preview). Check out the slideshow below and definitely check to see if they’re showing near you. If you’re an Artist, you might want to see about displaying your work. You don’t need several pieces, many of the artists just submitted one or two.

And that was it, actually, we missed so much. We definitely plant to return to the area; leaving hurt. Physically. We hadn’t even gotten started yet. I had lists of places I wanted to go and things I wanted to see. I could have spent WEEKS visiting the area. I had friends I wanted to get together with and I didn’t even get to visit one. So Shannon, Bridget, Sara, Sarah, Sarah, Amy, Lisa, Phil, Heather, Tiffany, Brad & Lucretia and Ingrid and everyone else in Denver, Boulder, Longmont and Colorado Springs (and nearby) … I will see you next time ;)

Glenwood Springs, CO

After Denver, we headed East on interstate 70 and found ourselves in Glenwood Springs. Here’s a small slideshow from our visit (we were only there a few hours but we managed to take a crazy-long-and-hot hike up the side of a hill to an old cemetery where Doc Holliday and Kid Curry are buried)

Mystic Hot Springs in Monroe, Utah

  • Posted on August 1, 2011 at 11:29 am

When the light from the first few rays of sun began to glow on the horizon, I could tell there was magic in the air. I wasn’t sure if it was delirium or real magic, but it was something noticeable and profound at that moment and I later decided that it was magic, without a doubt.
Betty the Beaver had been climbing uphill for hours, the San Raphael Swell on Interstate 70 is brutal. She was getting hot and Brandon pulled over to let her cool down a bit. She’s old, though, and some of her (brand new) spark plug wires actually melted while we sat. We had replacements but no flashlight, so we slept roadside for a couple hours until the sun came up.

First rays of sunshine over Utah

Utah sunrise begins


We had no idea what the terrain would look like. In the night, whenever another vehicle would pass, I could see the twinkling eyes of a thousand hungry creatures reflecting from under the nearby bushes. I didn’t know if they were mountain lions, coyotes or rabbits, but I was sure that they were watching us.

As the sun began to rise, though, it wasn’t the ravenous beasts that caught my eye, it was the landscape. At first, of course, everything was black and then, slowly, the skyline was silhouetted and the shapes of the rocks were revealed at first, in shades of good-morning-grey that slowly transformed into the most colorful thing I’ve ever seen. The colors were straight out of woody woodpecker. The rocks were terra cotta red, bright white and deep saffron-yellow, in perfect stripes, columns and bubbly boulder shapes. Steep canyons were carved by ancient glaciers and gnarled juniper trees housed rattlesnakes and their prey.
Utah Sunrise

A little bit brighter now


I read that this land was desolate, treacherous and unfit for inhabitation. But here we were, housed safely in the Beaver, brewing coffee at sunrise.  While Brandon took advantage of the morning light to fix the wiring situation, I took my coffee outside for a stroll, braving the hungry beasts (because they’re nocturnal, right?) in order to see if there was, indeed, a downhill slope around the next bend (there wasn’t).

When I returned from my walk, Brandon was able to get the motorhome started again and we were on our way.

Again- maybe it was the delirium, but this place was so beautiful that it made me cry. Every time the road delivered us to a new view, the shapes and colors made me gasp, jump up & down with excitement and cry tears of joy. The song “America the Beautiful” was playing in my head as we rounded corners to find deep canyons, surprise spring-fed streams, Martian-like landscapes with the reddest soil you’ve ever seen. I took photos, I took videos and at every moment, I took complete gratitude for that breakdown. We would have driven straight through the area in darkness and never seen any of this, if Betty hadn’t demanded a break when she did.
Waking up in Utah

Utah Sunrise was AMAZING

 

Utah Drive Slide Show

 

 

Once we descended the mountains We arrived in Richfield and I googled RV parks. The first place I called didn’t answer their phone so we went to the second place. Only it wasn’t simply an RV park;  Mystic Hot Springs was a Gypsy’s paradise. First of all, Mike (also called Mystic Mike) was a sweetie on the phone, I felt welcome before we even arrived.
We chose a shady spot near the grass and we left Brandon alone to get a nap while we explored. I’ve never seen real hot springs before and this place was the most magical place in the world. The warm welcome made it feel like home, I’d been there 5 minutes and already knew I wanted to stay the night.  I had never seen real hot springs before and was anxious to check them out. WOW. If hot springs aren’t on your bucket list, please go add them right now.

We parked near a grassy area and when we stepped out of the RV we saw a real Gypsy Wagon, a homemade coach that was just as adorable inside as it was outside. On the grass outside were people sitting in a circle, drumming around a bonfire and singing a song (I couldn’t make out the words).
mystic (1)mystic (2)

Only here’s where I failed as a traveler. I made a mental note to stop and talk to the guy later. Except, he wasn’t there later, so these were the only pictures I got. I hope our paths cross again :) Lesson learned: don’t hesitate, tomorrow the opportunity may be gone.

 

We hiked up the hill to see the steaming ponds where the water bubbled up. That water was too hot to touch, but as it flowed down the hills and into the soaking tubs, it cooled down to a little over 100 degrees, leaving beautiful mineral deposits in a rich shade of orange-yellow. I hope the pictures are as intense as the reality was. I thought it would smell like sulfur, but it never ever did.

Mystic has two stages for live music and music just about every weekend. When we arrived, they were setting up the sound equipment for a show at the upper stage; Delta Nove was playing that evening. Because Mystic is halfway between Denver and Las Vegas, they can bring in bands who are traveling between the two destinations. I read an interview from one of the bands and they said that the environment at Mystic was so beautiful and friendly and magical that he thought it was their best performance ever. I believe it, some places just bring out the magic in you and this is certainly one of them.

Down the hill, where the hot springs flow into warm ponds there’s a grassy area with another stage. I was so excited to find hula hoops on the grass by the stage. The kids fed bread crumbs to the tropical fish in the pond while I rocked out to someone’s music and these borrowed hula hoops.

It was there that we met our tourguide.

Soleil climbed up and down the hills like a spider. She says she’s lived at Mystic for ten years or so. She showed us a hidden cave, gave us a list of rules for keeping safe in the rugged hills and showed us where the best flowers grew. We heard the legend of the dog who got caught and boiled in the hot springs, then was covered in mineral deposits before anyone knew. It was a cautionary tale and we all promised not to fall into the boiling water at the source. It was difficult to keep up with her, but her knowledge of the terrain, the plants and animals in the area was impressive. She’s 5 years old.

The kids played while I tended to housekeeping in the RV. I had a little laundry to wash, dishes to do and after a relatively sleepless night on the side of the road, I needed a nap.

When I woke from my siesta, the heat of the day was wearing off and other campers began to come out of the woodwork. The band has a trailer with 20 or 30 drums mounted to it and I walked up the hill looking for my kids and listening to the drumming. A guy on a bicycle slowed down and said “Wow, is that the band?” and I looked over and answered him slowly “I think that’s my kids.”  Sure enough, the kids (mine and other visitors) were banging away on the drums, cymbals and tambourines. Each was playing their own rhythm but it sounded like music. The band members were smiling as they unloaded their gear and didn’t seem to be offended by the cacophony, even talking to eachother almost as if there wasn’t a thunderous riot occuring between them. The smiles on the kids’ faces were so pure and sweet. Every now and then an adult would walk past and stop working for a minute to join in. I didn’t join in, I just watched in awe as the music in their hearts filled the air.

drum-trailer

As the evening wore on, live music from the festival below was drifting up the hills. Today was Monroe’s annual summer celebration. I’m not sure what the name of the event was at the bottom of the hill, but there were vendor booths and several stages and artisans and craftsmen and families walking around with snow cones and cotton candy. I found a Youtube video of the day’s parade and apparently the event commemorates the Mormon’s settlement in the area. We intended to walk down the hill to the festival, but couldn’t bear to walk away from Mystic once we arrived. The draw was very “Hotel California,” I didn’t mind missing the festival for a minute, Mystic was home for the moment and I don’t think we missed much.

The closer it got to sunset, the more awesome it got. I looked up at one point and the sky was filled with hang gliders. Someone said there were 60 of them in the air that night, I kept losing count. If you’ve never stood under 60 hang gliders and heard their howls of delight as they skim over treetops and, incidentally, hot springs… then you’re missing out. It was amazing.

The entire valley was celebrating and fireworks were everywhere. As the band played, the sun set, the hang gliders came in for their landing and the hot springs bubbles and steamed around us, I was grateful once again for that breakdown.  We would have driven right past all of this magic. I could have gone my whole life and not realized that heaven is in Utah.

The party went on until the wee hours of the morning. There was no bar, there was no cover charge, just good people, good music and beautiful Utah.

Walking down past the drum-trailer, jumping over streams and pausing to watch fireworks periodically, I was reminded of those Southern California rave parties I used to go to with my girlfriends in the summer of 1992. The changing lights and night shadows make everything look different, but here I was, tromping through the juniper in my flip-flops, just like I was 18 again. Only this time, I was sober and a mother of six and headed back to the shelter of Betty the Beaver.

Thank you, Utah. And thank you, Mystic Mike <3

Cowgirls Up

  • Posted on July 24, 2011 at 3:09 pm

OK- I’ve never ever said “Cowgirl up” before, and I’m not sure what the term means. Is it a reference to “cowboy up” and is that a rodeo term and does that mean like “sit on that bull and show us how badass you are?” If so, then that’s the official permanent title of this blog post. But if someone sends me a note telling me it means something else, then I might just call it “Things we did in Cheyenne.” Either way, you’ll know.

It was over 100 degrees the first day we were in Cheyenne. We all felt cranky and two of the destinations we’d walked to were closed. Because it was Monday. Like that’s a reason, but I get it… if there was a good day to be closed, I’d rather they do it on Monday than on a weekend. But still. I didn’t feel much like a badass cowgirl that day.

Our 14 year old was being rather vocal about her dissatisfaction and anger just spread like a rash throughout the family. Each of us, in our own time, threw a temper tantrum and by the end of the night we were up to our ears in apologies, remorse, regret and confusion. I knew from other families on the road, that we’d go through some ups and downs as we all adjusted to traveling together 24/7, but it still wasn’t fun. I’m glad it’s over. I hope we all learned from it. I did. In the end, the thing that helped the most was the Peace Garden at Lions park. Or maybe the vegetable garden. Or the Greenhouse. Either way, as I edit this a few days later, we’ve all processed and the love is stronger, so all is well. The images below are from the Peace Garden and Labyrinth at Lions Park in Cheyenne.

After the cranky day, I had nightmares all night long but woke up feeling a hundred times better. Seriously- I’m kind of manic that way and I felt like a million bucks. I was singing and dancing while I made my coffee and it tasted like awesome sauce even though I failed to measure it right and still haven’t adjusted to food preparation in the new teeny tiny hobbit kitchen.  I’m sure my Pollyanna-sunshine attitude drove my husband a little nuts, so I took my cheerful self outside with the kids for a nature walk.

We were at the Curt Gowdy State Park and it was so lovely. The rock formations and pine trees reminded me of the Devil’s Punchbowl area in Southern California. They have the most awesome full moon hikes. Anyway, we identified a bunch of wildflowers (some without even consulting the field guide), we picked a bouquet and smelled every one of them. We saw deer poop and rabbit poop. We saw the furry bone of something dead. We climbed giant boulders, we chased jackrabbits, we threw teeny rocks into the canyon and then into a puddle, we saw Ponderosa Pine trees as tall as each one of us. The day was off to a beautiful start.

We needed oil in the engine and The GPS said there was a gas station 5 miles west. The grassy hills were beautiful, with farm houses, herds of cattle, horses, windmills and wooden fences. After 5 miles, the GPS decided we should go another 17 miles west. OK, so here’s a total of 22 miles opposite of the direction we needed to be.

We could have returned to Cheyenne by driving 25 miles East, but isn’t this the sort of adventure that road trips are made for?

Unexpected diversions often reveal some nice surprises, like a giant statue of Abraham Lincoln and a town called Buford, with a population of 1. And we met him, he’s a very nice man. Incidentally, he’d been featured on the Today Show that very morning. Here’s a picture of us with Don Sammons, owner of the Buford Trading Post.

Welcome to Buford sign

The real live Welcome to Buford Sign

The real resident of Buford, Wy

Buford's only resident, with my kids

If you click on the one of him and the kids (who were looking at me like “why the heck are you taking our picture with this dude? This blogging thing is going too far, mom“) , you’ll see the first attempt at that photo, which was just creepy. Sometimes I wish I was elasti-girl so I could stretch my arms all long & skinny and stretch my fingers until my hands look like ET and then maybe I’ll be able to use that gigantic heavy camera to take a self-portrait. That’s Ok, though everyone has their own skills ;)  Anyway…

As we cruised down the hill, grateful for the little surprises and unexpected reminders of goodness, the power in the motorhome stopped working completely. Totally. I held my breath as my husband white-knuckled the steering wheel to keep us from careening into a rock wall and pulled us off to the shoulder for safety. Cowgirl up; stranded on the side of the freeway a thousand miles from home with 5 kids.

My husband took 3 years of auto shop in high school and he’s always been mechanically inclined. He was able to look at the messy, dusty, dirty greasy engine and see a broken starter solenoid (thank goodness spell-check knew that word) Once he pointed it out, I could see that it had a big chunk missing, but I never would have noticed if he hadn’t mentioned it. Triple A was able to send out a tow truck with a new starter but unfortunately, the problem went a little deeper than that. Wires needed to be replaced. And other stuff. Dirty stuff. And not the fun kind of dirty.

The girls and I seized the opportunity to give each other roadside manicures and pedicures in the comfort of the motorhome. We painted flowers and stars and little swirly lines on our nails in purple, green, red, white and blue. Then, we did our toes. We played Monopoly. We ate cheese sandwiches and peanut butter and Jelly. We climbed a rocky embankment and looked out at the rolling hills. We noticed the differences between the granite rocks we’d seen near Rushmore and these shale and sandstone rocks.

We ended up needing a tow into Cheyenne (Thank you, AAA) and since there aren’t enough seats in the tow truck for our big family, we also owe a big note of thanks to Barry from Enterprise car rentals in Cheyenne. The auto parts store closed at 6 so we spent the night in the motorhome in their parking lot. Carrol from Los Amigos Mexican Restaurant cooked us a delicious dinner of fish tacos, cheese enchiladas, bean tostada, beefy nachos and even sent us back with extra hot sauce.

In the morning, I took the kids for a walk downtown, we took pictures and strolled through boutiques and antique shops in historic downtown Cheyenne. The folks at CarQuest did a fantastic job of helping us with parts and advice about the neighborhood. We even made friends with one of the ladies, Robin spent 8 years on the road with her husband, taking back roads from coast to coast, and was so excited to follow our adventure. We left Brandon at the motorhome to finish the repairs while we had a “girl’s day” together, strolling historic downtown Cheyenne.

He ended up calling in Mike Grey from Onsite Auto Repair, who had specialized electrical testing tools and was able to isolate the root of the problem and have us up and running again in no time.
While the boys were busy, the girls and I found the most awesome shop. Bohemian Metals is run by artist Brian Snyder, an amazingly talented guy who makes badass metal jewelry AND digs for fossils and turns them into art. We saw a 50,000 year old fossilized fish he was currently working on. In his shop he had a nest of dinosaur eggs, an ancient alligator-looking thing, an ancient rhinoceros-type-skull from Asia and several other absolutely amazing specimens. I could have stayed there for hours listening to the stories behind each piece, the slide show below has images from our visit.

Afterward, we hit up the Cowgirls of the West Museum. Did you know there was such a thing as a Cowgirl’s Hall of Fame? The museum had a replica of an 1800′s era kitchen and dining room, plus cowgirl clothing, boots, saddles, children’s toys and clothing from that time period and interpretive displays focusing on several cowgirls from the area, highlighting their claims to fame. The girls and I were completely impressed with the stories we read, about women who built their own houses, stood up to men who thought they should be following the norm, operated ranches and kept shops and saved babies and canned their own vegetables and rode in the rodeo and smuggled medicine and caught criminals and built fences and baked everything from scratch and sewed their own clothes and made their own soap and stored all their food in pretty stoneware that they probably like baked in their own earthen ovens, right? Either way, we were inspired and proud of our sisters-in-history.

Adjacent to the Cowgirl Museum is the Cowgirl Emporium. THAT was a treasure- they had tons of vintage toys and children’s furniture, like a little potty chair from the 70′s. They also had cowgirl stuff, country kitchen stuff… it was fun, but we were done. Great place for souvenirs and to share some nostalgia with my girls. By the way, we all want cowgirl boots now, but I want like three pairs. Red, pink and purple. The girls just mostly want pink. And to be clear, I want hot pink and a lighter shade.

On our way out of Cheyenne, we visited at the Terry Bison Ranch Resort. I didn’t see any real Bison, but we did see camels, yes CAMELS, we got to pet camels and while I was hunkered down doing dishes and laundry, the kids tell me that camels make a sound similar to cows. This resort is absolutely awesome, they have pony rides, they have miniature horses and we got to pet one that was only a week old, her name was Little Star and her mom’s name was Twinkle. We saw wild rabbits, more camels, ostriches, a train ride, a petting zoo, carnival rides that looked absolutely awesome, it was like steampunk cartoon, they were made from like tractor parts or something, they had big gears and visible pulleys and the were painted bright colors… just look closely at the pictures. These were some seriously funky rides, the kids kept saying “Daddy can build that” and now Brandon has to start collecting some metal drums and big gears ASAP. In addition to carnival rides and farm animals, the Bison Ranch has live music every night, a gift store / museum with a stuffed Jackalope (the kids were totally creeped out by this) and also an antique photo studio, hay rides, a train ride and a restaurant onsite, plus three huge playgrounds. Plus, the kids learned how to throw a lasso. Awesome place, check out the slideshow below…

Anyway- we had a blast in Cheyenne. We still didn’t visit the Children’s Village Garden or the spray park, but we did make some awesome memories and met some really fun people. Betty the Beaver (which is our unofficial name for the motorhome) is showing us a really good time so far.