The Momentary Sweet Spot
We recently took a trip to Big Sky Montana for a work conference for the Hubby. The kids find it funny that Dad still has to have “school,” but that is the nature of the beast with Medicine, good ol’ CMEs. On the upside, many class offerings are given to appeal to families, like the one offered at Big Sky. The Hubs had been there skiing 3 times prior to this trip, but not for about 20 years. I had never been there, and honestly was most dreading the 11+ hour drive to get there, with three kids, and boredom kicking in after 45 minutes.
We left a little before 7am ( a little less than an hour behind schedule, which for us was record-breaking) and despite one 30 minute yelling about our unwillingness to start a movie as her brothers slept, and a few too many “Are we there yets” just to be funny, the trip was entirely not too painful.
As the terrain of Montana morphed into foothills and then into mountains, the beauty was breathtaking. There had been quite a bit of snowfall, and dark masses of reaching pines stood flocked in heavy white snow. Thick falling flakes landed on a tumbling river adjacent to the road we traveled up the mountain. Abrupt rock walls ominously rose out of the earth exuding the sheer strength and ruggedness of this area. The village of Big Sky Resort finally appeared, nestled at foot of the mountains. A spaghetti pile of roads and chalets all built to admire the beauty of the mountains.
The sheer magnitude of the mountains, the beauty of snow-covered trees and the continuous sounds of Jack Johnson and Dave Matthews echoing throughout the resort area was intoxicating. Big Sky is so large I could find myself on a run, completely by myself, surrounded only by silence and nature, overcome with awe at the view.
In the base area, it was strangely refreshing to be at a place where it honestly seemed most everyone loved their job. How could you not like your job if you got paid to ski, or teach others to ski, or help people get on ski lifts or take them on tours and meet people from all over the world? They seemed happy and it permeated the atmosphere there.
One day we got to the base area and my daughter needed to go to the bathroom, but she wasn’t sure where it was and needed me. I told my oldest to go with my youngest to the ski valet and get their skis. Someone without kids would never realize the liberation of this moment. Here, in a crowded, skier-filled area, my 11 year old marched off with confidence, the 5 year old in tow to grab their skis and get ready to ski. There was no need for me to juggle trying to be in 2 places with three kids at one time. It was just such a small moment, but it hit me. “We are there. The sweet spot.” We are past diapers, and sippee cups and almost everyone can wipe their own butts. Yet we have not been afflicted by the tween years yet. Our oldest, more than once, said “This is the best vacation ever! Thank you SO much Mom and Dad.” At 11 years old, he wanted to give us hugs and BE with us. At meals they were not face down in a phone. Yet were competing with each other drawing their own version of the mountain and skiers with their 4 pack of restaurant issued crayons.
The kids, for the most part like each other. The major fights were usually over who got to push the elevator button and the sharing of the single iPad. They are growing and morphing. They still need me, but not in that all-engrossing way. They are no longer 100% crying, defenseless consumers of everything around them, but short humans full of observations and not-yet-jaded, often humorous truths.
On the ski-lift, we watched snowboarders and skiers freestyle below us, and my daughter announces “They have skills that can pay the bills!” and I just look at her and laugh at her witty declarations. After the 5 year old got done with ski-school, I asked “Did you listen well?” “Yeah… well, I didn’t listen ONE time.” he answered. I chuckle at his honestly. As I skied with my oldest, I said, “I am SO proud of you! You have learned so quickly!” And he replied, “Thanks. You should be proud of Leah too.” As much as they fight, they do really look out for each other, and I am warmed by his defense of his little sister.
Around the second day we were there, we swam in the heated outdoor pool with the kids, the steam billowing around us as we relaxed in warm water surrounded by cold white snowbanks. The kids have grown enough that my need to be on high alert at all times around water has waned. I sat with my husband watching them play and I realized we, us, our family, is in the chapter of life of a sweet spot.
And just as the steam from the pool rises and disappears into the blue cold sky, I know that this time will also dissipate sometime soon, as the kids continue to age and are replaced by hormonal, unpredictable, door-slamming, eye-rolling troglodytes. Until then, I am really going to try to soak up the moments between the fights and tears and relish in this momentary sweetness.
CarTweezers and a little light
I have an awesome friend Heather who is part of a crummy little club I'm in: the "Our Moms are Dead" club. We wish we could keep the membership exclusively to ourselves, unfortunately the membership continues to grow. Heather and I share our random blows of grief, and the love of re-purposing stuff, wine, inappropriate jokes. And, our youngest children are going to get married someday. Well, that is according to my 5 year old son.
One day as we were waiting (parked, with the engines off, of course) to pick up kids from school, I get a text "Don't mind me, I'm just plucking my brows."
"That is sheer brilliance!!!" I thought.
What ensued next was a conversation (that would never in a million years enter one cell of our husbands' or most male's brains) about how we can always see about 14 stray eyebrow hairs that need plucking in our car mirrors, but we get home and look in a mirror, and nope. Nothing.
Since we both drive Fords, maybe they have a magical eyebrow-exposing mirror option? Maybe my mirrors at home are just too covered in toothpaste, hand-prints and water marks for me to see the little rascals? Or maybe its just the daylight.
CarTweezers........ in Ford blue.
Its funny how shedding a little daylight on something can change your entire perspective on it. I've gone from "Wow! Those brows looks amazing" to "I look like "Sam the Eagle" in about 20 minutes due to daylight.
Sam needs CarTweezers.
The same goes for those horrible squabbles that 1, 4 or 16 years of marriage can bring. In the dark of the night you wonder how you ever ended up, married to this person who, how dare him, continues to use those stupid little grocery bags in the tall kitchen garbage can, so when you throw in disgusting chicken packaging, it goes "Shlump!" all the way to the bottom, not containing on drop of the juicy chicken carnage.... (Not that this has happened once.. or 15 times...) But morning comes, and in the daylight it really pales to any of the real struggles you have survived together. And he made you coffee. And made you laugh. Daylight has a magical way of exposing the truth, not the dark and inky lies we let slither inside our thoughts in the night. Nighttime can be intoxicating, when creativity flows and ideas come alive, and also when thoughts get twisted and turned into half-truths and magnificent artificial stories we tell ourselves.
As my kids get older, I am hoping they can keep a promise to me. I want them to try their very hardest to not make any rash, major decision after dark.
"It's 2am! Lets get a tattoo!"
"It's 3 in the morning, let's run across the Hi-Line bridge!"
"Its midnight, and he hasn't called. I have no reason to live anymore, and I'll show him"
Just wait.
Just promise me you will wait.
Give it 8 hours.
I promise, PROMISE, it all will look different, you may feel different, and maybe you will have needed to sober up.
As a self-professed Night Owl, it pangs me to admit it, but sunrise and daylight are magical and have healing and mystical powers. With each calm sunrise, as the daylight slips over the landscape and drowns out darkness and doubt, it reveals reality and truth.... like the invaluable need for a CarTweezers.
The darkness gives way to light.......
And so it goes... The Loss of Magic
"Enjoy your stay in New Orleans" the Captain announced as the plane came to a stop and I switched on my phone. We had flown to NOLA for a long birthday weekend for my husband and were meeting some old friends there. A Facebook Message notification popped up and said: "Did you know Mrs. Berve died?"
And I couldn't breathe. All at once I was kicked in the gut and I couldn't breathe.
No.
She couldn't be.
I had a Christmas card to send her.
She was too young... and somehow immortal.
As a freshman, I had her several times as a substitute teacher. We had the same middle name and both loved The Beatles and I felt an instant connection. As a sophomore I was beyond thrilled to find out I would have her for the entire year as my English teacher. From the moment you met Leslie, there was magic. I can not imagine teaching a more annoying age group of students, but she just had a way with us. Maybe it was the way she challenged us, not from an authoritarian standpoint, but as an wise adversary, prompting us to prove or disprove why we said what we said, or thought what we thought. She magically encouraged us to dig deep into our selves and help us find ourselves, and challenged us to not be part of a herd mentality.
For me, at a very low point in my life, I felt like she was the only person that really listened to me, and genuinely cared about my thoughts. She continuously encouraged her students to be themselves... our quirky, clumsy, imperfect selves. She was an Atheist, a Hippie, a Feminist and lover of fantastic shoes. She was strong and independent and created a classroom that was one big safe-room. A "no-judgment" zone. An island of misfit kids. Even if you expressed something ludicrous, as long as you had the thoughts, reasons or passion to back it up, all was good. It was probably my first exposure to living life consciously and with purpose and reason. "I don't know" with a passive shrug didn't buy you much in her class.
We did a lot of writing in her class, and it was her encouragement and support who single-handedly gave me confidence to continue writing throughout my life.
After my sophomore year, I continued to go back to her school and classroom after school to check in and plain hang out. I shared my love-life drama and adolescent insecurities with her. I babysat for her. I loved her cat. I hated her Menthols. By today's standards, there would probably be furrowed brows and questionable glances to how she let her life intertwine with ours. But it genuine. She changed kids. She saved kids. She really gave a damn about us, and what we thought and did. Into college, when I would return home, I would try to see her at her home or school. To check in, and run my life by her. Conversations became deeper and more personal. She would be blunt about what she thought of my relationship with my boyfriend. I would choose to ignore her. (She was right.) There was always encouragement and support.
Time went on, letters came and went. She divorced. She remarried Joe, who she described as her soulmate. She started running, which I remember thinking "But she is old!" (She was in her mid 30's. I ran a marathon at 39. Funny how perspective changes...) She eventually moved from my hometown to Nevada. Communications became once a year at Christmas and a random e-mail here and there. But in my mind, my heart, she was always out there. A voice in my head encouraging, and challenging me to be myself.
I searched her name on Facebook and post after post after post commented on how she impacted lives, changed people, inspired and encouraged. Post after post commented on gratitude that lives had been touched by her. Post after post after post mourned how much she was going to be missed. She was only 62.
I was 14/15 and she was in her mid 30's when I met her. I am now 41 and her impact is still felt. Since finding out of her death, a little over a month ago, I have thought a lot of her, and a great deal wondering if any of us really realize the impact we can have on someone. Especially teachers. We are all so much more connected than we want to believe. I wonder if she knew just how many lives she touched? I know as I look back she was just who I needed in my life at that time.
As life goes full circle, and with the hyper connectivity that exists with social media, I got the following picture from a classmate that was substitute teaching in our old school, using Leslie's desk. I forwarded the picture on to her, and it was one of our last emails. She loved it and printed it.
As we disembarked the plane, my husband looked at me, confused. "What is wrong?" he asked looking at my tear filled eyes. "I... a teacher... someone... died." I struggled to find the words to explain why the death of someone I met 26 years ago, and had not seen in probably 20 would make me speechless and tearful. The reality though, is if you were fortunate to have crossed paths with and be touched by Leslie Ringen's magic, you just got it. You knew the world had lost something exceptional, magical and irreplaceable.
Winter Beauty
Winter: besides The Bison, The Bakken and misuse of woodchippers, it is what many know of my home state, North Dakota. Really, we get a bad wrap regarding winter since there are many places that get, and stay colder than we do (I'm talking about you International Falls, MN...) but maybe its is the vastness and seemingly desolate landscapes combined with the cold that make it seem so much worse to many.
We all tend to eventually cuss it, swearing we are going to move, but most of us just put on another layer (of clothing or fat) and endure it. And, on rare occasions when Old Man Winter isn't feeling so grumpy, we are blessed with being surrounded by heavenly pageantry in the form of hoar frost.
I am captivated by hoar frost. Up close, the details of the crystal formations are amazing. From a wide landscape view, the appeareance of flocked trees in glittering white is breathtaking.
Cacie, who I love and adore, and trust with my children, (and actually keeps coming back after watching them) said the other day she would love to have some winter photos done. She is a senior this year and has an amazing future in front of her. With the hoar frost hanging around for two days, we nabbed the chance to get some beautiful winter photos!
Then I wanted to play with some images that have been dancing around in my head. My friend Jamie has an amazing driving with GINORMOUS trees that line it, creating a canopy. They didn't fail to create what I was aiming for.
The following is the same image, but cropped in, and edited differently to give it a far more mysterious and foreboding feel.
Towards the Light
Finally, as scouting locations for this shoot, I came across this isolate short tree row plunked in the middle of a field. It was perfect.
Thank you Cacie for letting me capture your beauty, and being my subject to help capture the beauty of the frost.