Whenever I'm stressed, sad, bored, or lonely, I think of my happy place. We all have one. That special place in the world - real or imaginary - where everything is right.
My happy place is southeast Utah. I spent many months living in SE Utah, at both Capitol Reef & Canyonlands national parks. This isn't my happy place because I was happiest there. No, in fact sometimes I was downright miserable & making the best of a poor situation. However, SE Utah was always there to soothe me, refresh me, & rejuvenate my soul.
When I think of SE Utah, I remember the following:
- the redness of the Wingate sandstone against the white Navajo sandstone & impossibly blue skies
- breath-taking vistas as far as the eye can see of mostly unpopulated areas
- the smell of pinion pine ( my soul aches every time I smell a pinion tree)
- the sound wind makes as it soars across, through, beneath, & between the fantastic rock formations of the region
- the feel of the sun soaking into my sink, just as it soaks it the rocks I walk upon
- the indescribable feeling of being alone & completely at home in the Utah wilderness
- canyon wrens
- the ability to 4-wheel drive & camp across most of the area & rarely see another vehicle
- 8 national park areas within a days drive. Yes- EIGHT!
- The ever- constant feeling of walking in an ancient civilizations' footsteps
- the tingly spidey- sense I get when petroglyphs & pictographs are near
I cannot wait to share my happy place with M. I know he'll love it as much as I do.
Where is your happy place? If you don't have one, feel free to share mine.
Showing posts with label Capitol Reef. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Capitol Reef. Show all posts
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Stalking the Wildest Asparagus
This'll be a really short post. Just wanted to tell you internet folk about the time that C and I went in search of wild asparagus.
I guess it started my first year of working at Capitol Reef, when we got so very used to picking our own fruit off the freaking amazing orchards. This park likes to keep it a bit quiet but growing among the canyon walls are acres of apples, peaches, pears, quinces, mulberries, cherries, and apricots.
We had so much fruit we had potlucks with all-fruit themes. So much fruit the deer were fat and happy. So much fruit that the orchard furrows literally run with apricot brandy (fermented apricot juice). So much fruit that the campground raccoons spent their nights rolling around the grounds, drunk on apricot brandy, drunkenly running into traffic!
So, the second season we were there, I guess we got a little cocky and went in search of the non-NPS sanctioned wild asparagus. A co-worker told us what area to look in, and with the advice "you'll know asparagus when you see asparagus", off we went.
Stalking the Wild Asparagus!
We walked a mile or so to the alleged asparagus location. It was an impromptu walk so I was in flip flops with no water, in the desert, in May. (Read: hot, uncomfortable, and a bit buggy). C and I wandered into an orchard that we'd never explored and split up, stalking for stalks.
Bolstered by our desire for amazing fresh (free) asparagus for dinner, we combed every inch of the weedy furrowed landscape. After 30 minutes or so, C found what she thought was the asparagus and called me over to consult. Since we should have known it when we saw it, I thought we should keep looking since we didn't know what this was and only the wildest guessing was taking place. However, an hour later, seeing no other asparagus-esque foliage, we headed back to the original suspect and began the harvest.
We probably should have guessed that since it was 3 feet tall and brushy, it was a few years old. But, cocky and hungry, we tugged the thing out of the ground and walked home.
After rinsing sand and grit off our crop, C "prepared" the stalks, which included sawing, yes sawing, the things down so they'd fit into the stock pot. Another clue that things weren't right in asparagus-hunting world. Some of the asparagus was simply too tough to saw so we resorted to chewing it, and to general shenanigans. (Famous for our shenanigans, see our 70s party, or stay tuned for our international adventures)
We managed to get a few measily stalks into our pot, steam them, and sit down for a lovely toddler-tall asparagus dinner. Perfect... yeah right. What really happened was we steamed the crap outta them hoping they'd soften up and after an hour, we were so invested in making this work that we vowed to eat them any damn way we could.
Here's the mental image I want you to create: C and I sitting at the kitchen table, gnawing on brushy tough steamed asparagus lightly seared with garlic and olive oil. We sucked as much asparagus-ness out of each stem before spitting the husks (they can only be described as "husks") into the trash can. We spent the meal laughing at how ridiculous we, and the situation, were.
It was not a very filling meal, but it was free and we did it all by ourselves.
The next day we learned that our asparagus was possibly several years old, nobody could believe that we'd messed it up that bad, and the good week-old asparagus was in the DITCH next to the orchard. Thank you, coworkers, for leaving out that tidbit....
Where was YouTube when we needed it!
I guess it started my first year of working at Capitol Reef, when we got so very used to picking our own fruit off the freaking amazing orchards. This park likes to keep it a bit quiet but growing among the canyon walls are acres of apples, peaches, pears, quinces, mulberries, cherries, and apricots.
 |
| How easy the ranger makes it look! |
We had so much fruit we had potlucks with all-fruit themes. So much fruit the deer were fat and happy. So much fruit that the orchard furrows literally run with apricot brandy (fermented apricot juice). So much fruit that the campground raccoons spent their nights rolling around the grounds, drunk on apricot brandy, drunkenly running into traffic!
So, the second season we were there, I guess we got a little cocky and went in search of the non-NPS sanctioned wild asparagus. A co-worker told us what area to look in, and with the advice "you'll know asparagus when you see asparagus", off we went.
Stalking the Wild Asparagus!
We walked a mile or so to the alleged asparagus location. It was an impromptu walk so I was in flip flops with no water, in the desert, in May. (Read: hot, uncomfortable, and a bit buggy). C and I wandered into an orchard that we'd never explored and split up, stalking for stalks.
Bolstered by our desire for amazing fresh (free) asparagus for dinner, we combed every inch of the weedy furrowed landscape. After 30 minutes or so, C found what she thought was the asparagus and called me over to consult. Since we should have known it when we saw it, I thought we should keep looking since we didn't know what this was and only the wildest guessing was taking place. However, an hour later, seeing no other asparagus-esque foliage, we headed back to the original suspect and began the harvest.
We probably should have guessed that since it was 3 feet tall and brushy, it was a few years old. But, cocky and hungry, we tugged the thing out of the ground and walked home.
 |
| yummmmy, just like store-bought asparagus |
 |
| All good asparagus needs to be gnawed on, right? |
Here's the mental image I want you to create: C and I sitting at the kitchen table, gnawing on brushy tough steamed asparagus lightly seared with garlic and olive oil. We sucked as much asparagus-ness out of each stem before spitting the husks (they can only be described as "husks") into the trash can. We spent the meal laughing at how ridiculous we, and the situation, were.
It was not a very filling meal, but it was free and we did it all by ourselves.
The next day we learned that our asparagus was possibly several years old, nobody could believe that we'd messed it up that bad, and the good week-old asparagus was in the DITCH next to the orchard. Thank you, coworkers, for leaving out that tidbit....
Where was YouTube when we needed it!
Monday, July 9, 2012
How to Execute a "Controlled-Slick Rock Slide"
*Disclaimer - any bitching or complaining that may occur below is real, however I wouldn't trade this experience for the world!
As all good stories should start, this one begins with an invitation to a secret waterfall location. Now I'm a pretty competent hiker and I knew that going hiking with H would most likely test my abilities.... I had no idea.
This secret waterfall location was so super-secret that the waterfall itself was secret, and our quest (the TOP of said secret waterfall) was a secret upon a secret. (How many times can I use secret in one sentence... has it lost its meaning for you too?)
Of course I jumped at the chance to go on a super-secret location hike! H said that it'd be a few miles, maybe 6 or 7, and we'd be walking in water all the way there so I'd need river shoes. I actually had to BORROW Chaco sandals. (I can't believe there was a time when I didn't own a pair of Chacos.) Thanks to D, I had a pair of river sandals for the day that were super-comfy and would begin my lifelong love affair with Chacos.
Early in the morning, H and I packed up the car and headed over the mountain to a turn-off marked only by a "weirdly-shaped white splotched rock" which we actually drove by a few times before H saw it.
Super. Super. Secret.
From there we hiked a mile or so up the winding highway before leaving the blacktop and heading down, down, down into a canyon.
We pretty quickly reached the river that would be our guide for the next few hours. It was cool and inviting in the desert summer heat. Even with my walking stick, I slipped a few times on mossy rocks and uneven river bottoms. One time, I slipped on a moss-covered rock, fell on my ass and then slid down the long rock slide to a pool below... not on purpose. My yelp as I fell, and the accompanying scream of glee as I slid, startled H and he came rushing back to help me. I burst out laughing as I hit the pool, which seemed to calm H down.
The next few miles (hours) were serene. Cool breezes raced through the red-rocked canyon, carrying wildflower scents and bird trills along the river corridor. The cool ever-present water kept me refreshed as we walked beneath large cottonwoods. At some point, the water and a sandal strap conspired against me and rubbed my big toe raw. Digging through my daypack for a makeshift bandage (band-aids won't work in the water!) I found an emergency tampon with a plastic wrapper. I figured that would work! The next few miles were hiked with a yellow and white tampon wrapper knotted around my big toe, foiling the sandal's attempt at ruining my hike.
H and I engaged in that halting, stream-of-consciousness style conversation that is common amongst hiking companions. I learned a lot about him, and he about me. All in all, this was shaping up to be a fantastically lovely day.
As we were hiking, the rock strata around us was changing. We began to enter into the white Navajo layer (my favorite geological layer) that would later be the key to the Controlled Slick Rock Slide. The canyon walls began to fall away, widening out as the river grew narrower, deeper, and faster. We were nearing the top of the most awesome secret waterfall. Luckily the top of this tall fall was surrounded by rocks and there was little worry about being washed over the edge. There was however a great chance of getting stuck in large human-sized potholes. How do I know this?....
In order to see over the edge of the fall and get this shot, I had to cross some very large and deep potholes. Going down to get to this shot was easy, coming back I got stuck. Picture me boob-deep in a water-filled pothole that's lined with slick moss that ensures I'll never climb out.
H held on to my camera and daypack as I spent a half hour or so trying in vain to get the hell outta the hole. I tried climbing; I tried chimneying; I tried climbing onto H as he held onto some rocks for support. Nothing. Finally, using a combination of chimneying, jumping, grasping for H, and general anxiety-ridden strength, I got out. I was tired and ready for a serene walk back up the water to the car.
But no! H said the quickest way back was to climb straight up the side of the sloping Navajo sandstone. The car was straight above us "only 1,500 feet up or so". (true story) As I gazed straight up the side of this sandstone wall, calculating the slope versus my borrowed sandals ability to cling to slickrock, I began to rationalize a 6 mile walk back in the river in the dark. Most of the slope was slick and straight up. We'd have to literally run up it to maintain enough speed and traction. All in all, this was not looking good. Luckily, there were some ridges that were a few inches wide to rest on higher up. If only I could reach them...
H took off running up the side of the canyon, leaving me to follow along. A few hundred feet up, I slowed down just enough to lose my footing and start sliding back. My first instinct was to lay flat out against the rock, like a lizard. This only worked to slow down the slide, not stop it.
So there I am, laying flat against hot white sandstone, solid ground a few hundred feet below, sliding (falling) uncontrollably. I looked up the wall, screaming for H as my fingers frantically scrambled for anything to grab. Even a quarter inch of protruding rock would have been welcomed. Nothing...
H comes running (falling) down the rock wall to me, grabbing my hands to stop me from gaining speed. As he grabs my hands, I realize all of this sliding down super-rough sandstone has pulled the front of my rapidly disappearing t-shirt up, up, up around my neck. I stopped sliding just as my bra began to go with the shirt! Once I quit moving and caught my breath, I began laughing at the absurdity of my situation.... abrasions on my stomach, bra and t-shirt dangerously up around my neck, my supervisor holding my arms in an attempt to keep me from plummeting into a canyon. This shit could only happen in Utah, and possibly only to me.
After I decided to sidestep my way to a less-steep section, clinging desperately to the wall, I was on my way up again. Some running, some climbing, sweating constantly. 1,000 feet in elevation later, I met up with H and stopped for a snack, surveying the trek below. H took a photo of me to commemorate my first lesson in "controlled slickrock sliding".
Only a few more feet to go and we'd be on the highway. This part was also extremely steep and had us literally clinging to plants to pull ourselves up. Of course, H was ahead of me. I watched as he reached his hand up to the lip of the highway to grab ahold and hoist himself out of this canyon. Just as his hand hit the tarmac, right on the yellow line, a car flew by. I'm surprised they didn't wreck! Imagine driving on a road cut at the top of a ridge, thousands of feet drop away just inches from your tire, and seeing a dirty hand come up out of nowhere! Zombies!!
We did manage to get out of the canyon and onto the road, after looking both ways. The rest of our hike was back along the highway a half mile to the car. I decided if H could teach me a new trick, I'd teach him one too. He learned to finger-twirl my hiking stick like a baton as we walked back to the car. That night I surveyed the damage... abrasions on my stomach, knees, ankles, toes, elbows, face, forearms and fingers, and a sunburn. I washed the blood off the borrowed sandals and threw away my shirt due to the holes rubbed into it. Spoils of a great adventure.
It was a fantastic and terrifying adventure, but we set out to get to the top of the waterfall and we did (without loss of life or limb), so it was a success!
As all good stories should start, this one begins with an invitation to a secret waterfall location. Now I'm a pretty competent hiker and I knew that going hiking with H would most likely test my abilities.... I had no idea.
This secret waterfall location was so super-secret that the waterfall itself was secret, and our quest (the TOP of said secret waterfall) was a secret upon a secret. (How many times can I use secret in one sentence... has it lost its meaning for you too?)
 |
| Most awesome secret waterfall spot... If Backpacker mag hasn't found it yet, I'm sure it'll happen soon. Our mission was to get to the top! |
Early in the morning, H and I packed up the car and headed over the mountain to a turn-off marked only by a "weirdly-shaped white splotched rock" which we actually drove by a few times before H saw it.
Super. Super. Secret.
From there we hiked a mile or so up the winding highway before leaving the blacktop and heading down, down, down into a canyon.
We pretty quickly reached the river that would be our guide for the next few hours. It was cool and inviting in the desert summer heat. Even with my walking stick, I slipped a few times on mossy rocks and uneven river bottoms. One time, I slipped on a moss-covered rock, fell on my ass and then slid down the long rock slide to a pool below... not on purpose. My yelp as I fell, and the accompanying scream of glee as I slid, startled H and he came rushing back to help me. I burst out laughing as I hit the pool, which seemed to calm H down.
The next few miles (hours) were serene. Cool breezes raced through the red-rocked canyon, carrying wildflower scents and bird trills along the river corridor. The cool ever-present water kept me refreshed as we walked beneath large cottonwoods. At some point, the water and a sandal strap conspired against me and rubbed my big toe raw. Digging through my daypack for a makeshift bandage (band-aids won't work in the water!) I found an emergency tampon with a plastic wrapper. I figured that would work! The next few miles were hiked with a yellow and white tampon wrapper knotted around my big toe, foiling the sandal's attempt at ruining my hike.
H and I engaged in that halting, stream-of-consciousness style conversation that is common amongst hiking companions. I learned a lot about him, and he about me. All in all, this was shaping up to be a fantastically lovely day.
As we were hiking, the rock strata around us was changing. We began to enter into the white Navajo layer (my favorite geological layer) that would later be the key to the Controlled Slick Rock Slide. The canyon walls began to fall away, widening out as the river grew narrower, deeper, and faster. We were nearing the top of the most awesome secret waterfall. Luckily the top of this tall fall was surrounded by rocks and there was little worry about being washed over the edge. There was however a great chance of getting stuck in large human-sized potholes. How do I know this?....
 |
| Look below! Seems like some hikers found the secret waterfall... |
In order to see over the edge of the fall and get this shot, I had to cross some very large and deep potholes. Going down to get to this shot was easy, coming back I got stuck. Picture me boob-deep in a water-filled pothole that's lined with slick moss that ensures I'll never climb out.
H held on to my camera and daypack as I spent a half hour or so trying in vain to get the hell outta the hole. I tried climbing; I tried chimneying; I tried climbing onto H as he held onto some rocks for support. Nothing. Finally, using a combination of chimneying, jumping, grasping for H, and general anxiety-ridden strength, I got out. I was tired and ready for a serene walk back up the water to the car.
But no! H said the quickest way back was to climb straight up the side of the sloping Navajo sandstone. The car was straight above us "only 1,500 feet up or so". (true story) As I gazed straight up the side of this sandstone wall, calculating the slope versus my borrowed sandals ability to cling to slickrock, I began to rationalize a 6 mile walk back in the river in the dark. Most of the slope was slick and straight up. We'd have to literally run up it to maintain enough speed and traction. All in all, this was not looking good. Luckily, there were some ridges that were a few inches wide to rest on higher up. If only I could reach them...
H took off running up the side of the canyon, leaving me to follow along. A few hundred feet up, I slowed down just enough to lose my footing and start sliding back. My first instinct was to lay flat out against the rock, like a lizard. This only worked to slow down the slide, not stop it.
So there I am, laying flat against hot white sandstone, solid ground a few hundred feet below, sliding (falling) uncontrollably. I looked up the wall, screaming for H as my fingers frantically scrambled for anything to grab. Even a quarter inch of protruding rock would have been welcomed. Nothing...
H comes running (falling) down the rock wall to me, grabbing my hands to stop me from gaining speed. As he grabs my hands, I realize all of this sliding down super-rough sandstone has pulled the front of my rapidly disappearing t-shirt up, up, up around my neck. I stopped sliding just as my bra began to go with the shirt! Once I quit moving and caught my breath, I began laughing at the absurdity of my situation.... abrasions on my stomach, bra and t-shirt dangerously up around my neck, my supervisor holding my arms in an attempt to keep me from plummeting into a canyon. This shit could only happen in Utah, and possibly only to me.
After I decided to sidestep my way to a less-steep section, clinging desperately to the wall, I was on my way up again. Some running, some climbing, sweating constantly. 1,000 feet in elevation later, I met up with H and stopped for a snack, surveying the trek below. H took a photo of me to commemorate my first lesson in "controlled slickrock sliding".
 |
| You can't see the abrasions on the right side of my face but trust me, they're there! Check out the green trees down in the canyon. Only a few hours earlier they were offering us shade. |
We did manage to get out of the canyon and onto the road, after looking both ways. The rest of our hike was back along the highway a half mile to the car. I decided if H could teach me a new trick, I'd teach him one too. He learned to finger-twirl my hiking stick like a baton as we walked back to the car. That night I surveyed the damage... abrasions on my stomach, knees, ankles, toes, elbows, face, forearms and fingers, and a sunburn. I washed the blood off the borrowed sandals and threw away my shirt due to the holes rubbed into it. Spoils of a great adventure.
It was a fantastic and terrifying adventure, but we set out to get to the top of the waterfall and we did (without loss of life or limb), so it was a success!
 |
| A year later I was driving along the road with my parents, who had heard the saga, and thought they'd like to see where this all took place. Right where my finger is lies the slope we came up... |
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
3 Wild and Crazy Girls Decide to Throw a Party....
When you live in the middle of nowhere, you have to make your own fun, and oh hell yes, we have made our own fun! I have never partied quite as much as when I lived in a certain desert park. We threw parties for EVERYTHING! Hey, my neighbor bought a coconut bra! Jimmy Buffet Party! or Hey, its Thursday and we have extra beer. Karaoke! but my personal favorite was Hey, I lost a bet and now have to throw a kick ass party as payback. Why not make it my 29th birthday party and the theme will be 1978?!
Yes, I had a 70s basement party, complete with Tab, PBR, Disco, (fake) illegal party favors, and Hunter S. Thompson. One thing I'll say about rangers... they know how to party.
So three wild and crazy girls set out to make this the best party of the season, or my payback on the bet wouldn't work. D, C and I each had a role to play. D was in charge of decorations and awards. You can't have a 70s party without a costume competition. She made Loser buttons for people who didn't dress up. These buttons were modeled after official campaign buttons by the politicians who lost the presidential races in the 70s. (Um, sorry to those politician guys but none of you looked familiar. Losers)
C and I were in charge of food, music and learning 70s dance routines. Basically, we watched that episode of That 70s show where they all dance at a disco, over and over again until we had it down!
As I Googled 70s party food, much to my delight I discovered that all the hors dourves that my mother and grandmother had been serving for years was 70s food! I knew exactly how to make this stuff. Now if only the liquor procurement had gone as easily. Being as we lived in Utah, we would have to look far and wide for a liquor selection. Luckily one of our neighbors was heading to Colorado and after some sweet talking, he brought back the makings for White Russians. (I love them, they are 70s, and I'll probably never be able to drink them again. More on that later.)
Someone actually found Tab at a local store.... not that surprising in our neck of the woods. Some of the food on the grocery shelves was older than me!
Now I must confess that the idea behind this party came a few months before when, at a thrift shop, C found an outfit that she couldn't pass up, but couldn't wear anywhere else.... I had a bridesmaid dress that would fit in and D decided she would come as Mrs. Robinson.
The entire park pitched in to help decorate. We had Christmas lights, a disco ball, extra basement furniture, lava lamp, even a mirror to keep in the bathroom for the powdered sugar lines... There was easy cheese, pigs-n-blankets, Tab, White Russians, and more.
Once the sun went down, the disco ball was lit up and as the music blared, the strangest costumes began walking into my house.
We danced all night. The YMCA, the Hustle, and yes, C and I did our 70s Show routine. Awards were handed out for most authentic costume (Hunter ST), most original (Mrs. Robinson) and of course, the Loser buttons. Someone even got a Pet Rock for an award. C made me an awesome cake and there were birthday candles and singing. There was also lots of drinking. Everyone lives within walking distance so as long as people could walk up the stairs, they were free to go. For those of us living in my house, we drank a bit too much. I do remember perilously making my way up the stairs to mix 2 more jugs of White Russians... 1 for me, and 1 for C. I even found straws to make drinking from the jugs possible. This was NOT a good idea. This was the one and only time that I've ever blacked out from drinking. (It won't be happening again. A few days later, someone told me that I'd run out of cream so the 2nd jug was just milky vodka.... ew.)
While I was blacked out, and God-knows where, the party took a turn. Hunter S Thompson started playing Broomtar (broomstick as guitar) to Sister Christian with Disco Diva clawing at his feet. Smarmy Chuck might have snorted some powdered sugar in the bathroom. Eventually Wonder Woman apprehended Hunter ST for trying to kill too many imaginary bats. Smarmy Chuck lost his Jeri Curl wig, and his chest hair. Some time later, Hunter would be seen wearing the wig and giving his best come hither looks for the camera. Yes, my neighbors were cool enough to capture all of this on camera for me so I wouldn't miss a thing. I'm not posting those because I'm pretty sure everyone was pretty wasted.
In the morning, I awoke with a pretty bad hangover. Luckily, my friends had stayed after everyone else left and we danced (sweated) out most of our liquor. I made my way down the hall, I realized our house was now the scene of the Apocalypse. Blue sequins were everywhere, trash and cups littered the basement, dirty dishes were piled in the sink, and we still had a 12-pack of Tab to drink. But, I had paid back my lost wager, had a fantastic birthday party, and haven't drank a White Russian since!
PS.... I've moved 7 times since this party and I STILL find those damned turquoise sequins around my house. I lovingly refer to them as Corree-sequins.
Yes, I had a 70s basement party, complete with Tab, PBR, Disco, (fake) illegal party favors, and Hunter S. Thompson. One thing I'll say about rangers... they know how to party.
So three wild and crazy girls set out to make this the best party of the season, or my payback on the bet wouldn't work. D, C and I each had a role to play. D was in charge of decorations and awards. You can't have a 70s party without a costume competition. She made Loser buttons for people who didn't dress up. These buttons were modeled after official campaign buttons by the politicians who lost the presidential races in the 70s. (Um, sorry to those politician guys but none of you looked familiar. Losers)
C and I were in charge of food, music and learning 70s dance routines. Basically, we watched that episode of That 70s show where they all dance at a disco, over and over again until we had it down!
As I Googled 70s party food, much to my delight I discovered that all the hors dourves that my mother and grandmother had been serving for years was 70s food! I knew exactly how to make this stuff. Now if only the liquor procurement had gone as easily. Being as we lived in Utah, we would have to look far and wide for a liquor selection. Luckily one of our neighbors was heading to Colorado and after some sweet talking, he brought back the makings for White Russians. (I love them, they are 70s, and I'll probably never be able to drink them again. More on that later.)
Someone actually found Tab at a local store.... not that surprising in our neck of the woods. Some of the food on the grocery shelves was older than me!
 |
| Yeah, we were all stoked about the Tab. That stuff is horrible! |
Now I must confess that the idea behind this party came a few months before when, at a thrift shop, C found an outfit that she couldn't pass up, but couldn't wear anywhere else.... I had a bridesmaid dress that would fit in and D decided she would come as Mrs. Robinson.
 |
| 70s Bridesmaid, Mrs Robinson, and Disco Queen - the masterminds behind the party |
Once the sun went down, the disco ball was lit up and as the music blared, the strangest costumes began walking into my house.
 |
| C's man showed up. Digging the chains and the shoes! |
 |
| Smarmy Chuck brought Wonder Woman |
 |
| Hunter S Thompson, Best Costume Award He stayed in character all night, shouting at bats, staring into the disco ball, spending way too much time with the lines in the bathroom.... |
 |
| The hippies did the Time Warp. |
 |
| Disco Diva |
We danced all night. The YMCA, the Hustle, and yes, C and I did our 70s Show routine. Awards were handed out for most authentic costume (Hunter ST), most original (Mrs. Robinson) and of course, the Loser buttons. Someone even got a Pet Rock for an award. C made me an awesome cake and there were birthday candles and singing. There was also lots of drinking. Everyone lives within walking distance so as long as people could walk up the stairs, they were free to go. For those of us living in my house, we drank a bit too much. I do remember perilously making my way up the stairs to mix 2 more jugs of White Russians... 1 for me, and 1 for C. I even found straws to make drinking from the jugs possible. This was NOT a good idea. This was the one and only time that I've ever blacked out from drinking. (It won't be happening again. A few days later, someone told me that I'd run out of cream so the 2nd jug was just milky vodka.... ew.)
While I was blacked out, and God-knows where, the party took a turn. Hunter S Thompson started playing Broomtar (broomstick as guitar) to Sister Christian with Disco Diva clawing at his feet. Smarmy Chuck might have snorted some powdered sugar in the bathroom. Eventually Wonder Woman apprehended Hunter ST for trying to kill too many imaginary bats. Smarmy Chuck lost his Jeri Curl wig, and his chest hair. Some time later, Hunter would be seen wearing the wig and giving his best come hither looks for the camera. Yes, my neighbors were cool enough to capture all of this on camera for me so I wouldn't miss a thing. I'm not posting those because I'm pretty sure everyone was pretty wasted.
In the morning, I awoke with a pretty bad hangover. Luckily, my friends had stayed after everyone else left and we danced (sweated) out most of our liquor. I made my way down the hall, I realized our house was now the scene of the Apocalypse. Blue sequins were everywhere, trash and cups littered the basement, dirty dishes were piled in the sink, and we still had a 12-pack of Tab to drink. But, I had paid back my lost wager, had a fantastic birthday party, and haven't drank a White Russian since!
 |
| YiiiiMCA! |
PS.... I've moved 7 times since this party and I STILL find those damned turquoise sequins around my house. I lovingly refer to them as Corree-sequins.
Monday, April 23, 2012
The cheapest, and hardest, spa therapy I've ever had... or How I Shrunk My Leather Boots
Sometimes you wanna hike trails, with a map, trail guide, and difficulty ratings. Other times you just wanna start walking across untrodden soil, letting the landscape tell you its own story. This post is about something in between.... something the park service calls "routes". Those are my favorite.
A route is an unmaintained trail that enough people have walked and survived to pass on the information. I like these trails because I typically have it to myself, or may encounter a few people but they are cool hiker-types like myself. :-)
One such hiking adventure started on a typical gorgeous morning living in the Waterpocket Fold. A friend, J, was visiting and we decided to hook up with another friend, R, for a day of route-hiking. We had a topo map (don't worry mom, I was well-prepared) and recommendations from friends on the particular route we'd be walking. This route was a canyon that parralleled the highway. Hard to get lost, by hard to get out of. We kinda of knew where to park, and we kinda knew where we'd come out of the canyon but the 7 miles in between, not so sure.
The first half of our journey was great, gorgeous and fun. We were completely entrenched in a rock canyon, with no way out but to walk east. Every now and then we'd find a game trail along the side of a ravine. It got a little sketchy but R was great at keeping me calm. (I freak out easy if the ground I'm walking on isn't solid.) I guess I should mention that it was monsoon season so those 7 miles needed to be walked by noon. Catching yourself in a canyon during a rainstorm can be deadly and tourists die every year making this mistake. So yeah, I was a bit on edge.
Anyway.... we were seeing lots of birds, some deer, even scared some quail who couldn't fly and just kept running ahead of us for a mile! After a few hours, it began to sprinkle but nothing to worry about. Just enough to make us walk faster. I guess I was moving a bit too fast because as I was about to leap over a giant mud puddle, I slipped and fell in! The falling in mud part wasn't so bad, it was the getting stuck part that got me. I had slipped into a puddle of wet betonite clay, the most slippery substance I've come across. My hiking boot and leg had been wedged down into the clay and I couldn't get out! J began to freak out a bit, yelling for R who was lagging behind. All I heard from her was "oh no! OH NO!" and then she asked if I was ok. I was, I just wasn't going anywhere. R came up behind me, grabbed the loops on my backpack and began tugging. With a great sucking sound, my leg and boot popped out. J, who had decided if I was laughing, life was ok, began taking photos... Here is my favorite...
and another....
and then this one...
The rest of the trip, my leg mud dried as we walked through the most beautiful canyon I've ever seen. (yeah, even you, Grand Canyon!) The mud flaked off my leg and my boot, leaving both tighter and firmer.... some people pay lots of money for that treatment! At the very end of the trail, in order to get back to the highway, we had to wade through a pretty nasty, agriculture run-offy river and then bushwack our way through tamarask. After reaching the highway and realizing we had no idea where the car was, J and I took off east while R took off west with the keys. Glad he found the car first and came to pick us up. Another part of route hiking are the unforeseen adventures!
After I got home and showered, I cleaned my boots and wrapped them in newspaper to dry out. A few days later, they were clean and gorgeous, and 2 sizes smaller! So I gave them to a friend and bought some new ones. At least they could live to see another trail on another day.
All in all, a great day. What I remember most when I look back on that hike is this...
A route is an unmaintained trail that enough people have walked and survived to pass on the information. I like these trails because I typically have it to myself, or may encounter a few people but they are cool hiker-types like myself. :-)
One such hiking adventure started on a typical gorgeous morning living in the Waterpocket Fold. A friend, J, was visiting and we decided to hook up with another friend, R, for a day of route-hiking. We had a topo map (don't worry mom, I was well-prepared) and recommendations from friends on the particular route we'd be walking. This route was a canyon that parralleled the highway. Hard to get lost, by hard to get out of. We kinda of knew where to park, and we kinda knew where we'd come out of the canyon but the 7 miles in between, not so sure.
 |
| Me and J hiking through the Waterpocket Fold. See, no trail here.... this is a route. |
The first half of our journey was great, gorgeous and fun. We were completely entrenched in a rock canyon, with no way out but to walk east. Every now and then we'd find a game trail along the side of a ravine. It got a little sketchy but R was great at keeping me calm. (I freak out easy if the ground I'm walking on isn't solid.) I guess I should mention that it was monsoon season so those 7 miles needed to be walked by noon. Catching yourself in a canyon during a rainstorm can be deadly and tourists die every year making this mistake. So yeah, I was a bit on edge.
Anyway.... we were seeing lots of birds, some deer, even scared some quail who couldn't fly and just kept running ahead of us for a mile! After a few hours, it began to sprinkle but nothing to worry about. Just enough to make us walk faster. I guess I was moving a bit too fast because as I was about to leap over a giant mud puddle, I slipped and fell in! The falling in mud part wasn't so bad, it was the getting stuck part that got me. I had slipped into a puddle of wet betonite clay, the most slippery substance I've come across. My hiking boot and leg had been wedged down into the clay and I couldn't get out! J began to freak out a bit, yelling for R who was lagging behind. All I heard from her was "oh no! OH NO!" and then she asked if I was ok. I was, I just wasn't going anywhere. R came up behind me, grabbed the loops on my backpack and began tugging. With a great sucking sound, my leg and boot popped out. J, who had decided if I was laughing, life was ok, began taking photos... Here is my favorite...
 |
| This mud is spa-worthy. Afterwards, my leg was smooth and my pores never smaller! |
and another....
and then this one...
 |
| I got chilly being stuck in a mud pit.... and it was raining... hence the rain poncho. Go Aggies! |
After I got home and showered, I cleaned my boots and wrapped them in newspaper to dry out. A few days later, they were clean and gorgeous, and 2 sizes smaller! So I gave them to a friend and bought some new ones. At least they could live to see another trail on another day.
All in all, a great day. What I remember most when I look back on that hike is this...
 |
| Take the trail less traveled and you shall be rewarded |
Monday, October 31, 2011
Creepy Crawlies for this Halloween Night
Hello all and welcome to another creepy crawly post.... so far we've discussed my hatred of roaches (story to come later), the evil scorpions and interesting spiders that have invaded my house and even my very person. Now its time for another creepy crawly - well, two more... mice and centipedes.
If someone had told me that living in parks would allow me to be so up close and personal with the wildlife, I would have hoped they meant bears, deer and bunnies. I have seen those cuddly guys but I wasn't expecting the vermin that I shared homes with!
My roomate D and I lived in a very large house in an oasis in the Utah desert. The house was so freakin' huge! It had 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms and 2 living rooms... all for 2 roommates. The basement had been converted into living space and was always nice and cool. Apparently all the vermin on the block were also enjoying our basement!
Everything was going smoothly the first 2 months we were living there. We thought we were alone. Then one fateful evening I put out a bowl of organic dark chocolate-covered espresso beans. YUM! That night things went from calm to calamity! There were bumps in the night, boogiemen in the corners, squeaking in hall. Yes, the mice had found my stash and we discovered we had mice.
If someone had told me that living in parks would allow me to be so up close and personal with the wildlife, I would have hoped they meant bears, deer and bunnies. I have seen those cuddly guys but I wasn't expecting the vermin that I shared homes with!
My roomate D and I lived in a very large house in an oasis in the Utah desert. The house was so freakin' huge! It had 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms and 2 living rooms... all for 2 roommates. The basement had been converted into living space and was always nice and cool. Apparently all the vermin on the block were also enjoying our basement!
Everything was going smoothly the first 2 months we were living there. We thought we were alone. Then one fateful evening I put out a bowl of organic dark chocolate-covered espresso beans. YUM! That night things went from calm to calamity! There were bumps in the night, boogiemen in the corners, squeaking in hall. Yes, the mice had found my stash and we discovered we had mice.
So we had unwittingly invited all the mice over for gourmet caffeine-filled chocolate! Every day after that for the next month there were mouse sightings! God love D for tirelessly setting mouse traps, and emptying them. We kept a tally - 3 or 4 mice a day for a month met their end in our house.
During that mousy month, I spent my evenings hunting down entry points into the house. We had all entries sealed so where were they coming from!? One night while watching tv, D met a mouse on the couch. It literally crawled out of the cushions and across her chest! I've never seen her move quite as fast as she did that night, leaping to her feet and shouting. We immediately shifted into intense search mode.
Being environmentally-friendly rangers, we borrowed our neighbors cat for a few days. He was sent to us as a "great mouser" so we set him loose in the basement. I don't know how many mice he ate but he wasn't hungry for days!
Another evening while watching tv in the dark (to lure the mice out), I noticed a shadow on the carpet by my feet. I thought it looked odd and pulled my feet up onto the couch as I reached for the light. Thank god I moved because that shadow ended up being a centipede. (Like their evil scorpion cousins, these guys are minions of the devil!). I've never seen anything quite as creepy as a centipede on my carpet, crawling towards me, searching for my toes! I tried to keep my cool as I leapt onto the couch, screaming and pointing for D to kill it. (This blow to my outdoorsy-cool-girl ego was outdone a few minutes later when a mouse crawled across the room, causing me to leap yet again onto the couch, doing a very girly dance screaming "Kill it, Kill it!")!
While searching for clues in the basement I discovered a door I hadn't opened before. You know how you yell at the dumb girl in the scary movie when she goes to open the door? Yeah, you could and should have been yelling at me. I could hear the Pyscho soundtrack screeching in my head as I trepidatiously reached my hand out to the door knob. Upon opening, my flashlight illuminated a small room, or large closet, completely full of mattresses! The only way I can think of to get that many mattresses into this room would be to peel the ceiling off and dump them in! They were stacked on their sides smashed into the room. Then, as that wasn't enough, more had been stacked on top, to the ceiling! WTF?! In the dim light, I could see fluffy nests bulging out of holes in the mattresses. Apparently we were operating the best Mouse Inn in the county, complete with organic exotic breakfasts!
We eventually trapped and got rid of all the mice. After lots of bleach cleaning, we got rid of the possible threat of hanta virus. I even got rid of the f**king mouse nest in my car's AC system (after several humdred dollars of repair by the mechanic). We never did get rid of the horror that was the mattress closet... they are probably still there so many years later.
Happy Halloween!
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