Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Fly


My husband has a severe case of cabin fever partially brought to a breaking point by watching the current Olympic games. As a former ski racer, he actually knows people there. As a man of adventure and a hang glider pilot, he won second in a national competition less than two years ago. An avid outdoor enthusiast, he has rock climbed, become a dive master, is a world traveler, and he can do anything.

Lately, this man has been increasingly aware that we ski little; dive twice a year, travel sometimes and we are older.

This ‘older’ definition means that we have a house, a dog, a cat, two car payments, new taxes coming in every month from our wasteful government and holy crow! We are adults.

This is an unnerving moment and everyone handles this realization differently. The first time I did I moved to Utah. The second time I dyed my hair brown and pierced my belly button. The third time I enrolled in college… again… Recently I decided to make sure I have a beer once a week and to give up smoking. It’s an individual moment.

My man has decided that a sport or activity is needed. I whole heartedly agree. I married a person who is adventurous and thirsty for discovery.

Rock climbing was proposed originally and to be frank -my fingers hurt when I think about the idea of participating in that venture; OOOooo… stretch little hands, get the tingle out.

Yesterday he proposed Paragliding. After a blizzard of pamphlets, websites and animated conversation, I am curious. My first reaction though, was a mixture of bewilderment (who does he think he married?? Aren’t I the one he is afraid to let carve the pumpkin) and wonder. Me fly? Huh.

I cannot say no because I have no idea. I might like it and I am more than willing to find out. Reader, do me a favor, the next time you meet someone, anyone, a friend, co-worker, future lover- realize that meeting that person will forever change how you see your abilities and possibilities.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Apples



Crush, crunch, crisp flesh breaks and the juices shoot everywhere.

I always feel violent when eating an apple. The sweetness (ooo pink lady apples... mmm....). I make a mess of it. Fingers sticky and in need of floss I survey the picked apart remaining core. I feel that I am six again. Eating is awesome when you are six and skinny and sun burnt. I wore mosquito bites on my knees and scratches from climbing trees marked me up to my elbows.

I grin.