All Rileyed Up

Because Mizzou Fish and the Mizzou Blue Birds don’t sound nearly as cool as Mizzou Tigers.

Kentucky. We were so afraid of misspelling our state name, we just opted out.

After we took this picture, we shot that bird.

Corn, glorious corn.

Dude, those AREN’T whales.

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postcards

tacky postcards

Some of you may know that I am part Filipino. My mother was born and raised in Cebu City, Philippines. Often, when people find out I am Filipino, they ask me if I have been there, what it’s like, yada, yada, yada.

All those answers and more in this informational video, brought to you by the good men of the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMnk7lh9M3o]
(Thanks to Sunny Side Up for bringing this video to my attention.)

I kind of get the feeling that the conversation that led to the making of this video went something like this:

It is Movie Night in prison. They are watching 13 Going on 30.

Prisoner Number One: This movie sucks.
Prisoner Number Two: That Thriller part was funny.
Prisoner Number One: Whateber. We could do it better.
Prisoner Number Two: Proob it.
Effeminate Prisoner: Ooh! Ooh! Can I be the girl?

It is a moonless beach night. The only lights on the water flicker down from the pier. The waves crash in succession, a rolling welcoming call to romance to those relaxing upon the darkened shore.

She: Isn’t it so nice out?

He: Yeah. Doesn’t it feel great to just lie down in the sand and look up at the palm trees?

She: They’re beautiful. It reminds me of when we went to Tahiti. (She attempts to snuggle) That was such a fun time.

He: Yeah, remember when we tried to go on that sunset sail and you were all sick and gripping the rails and turning green and I was like, “Someone get this woman a bucket! A bucket!” (Laughs) Remember that?

She: (Sighing) Yes. I remember.

Once upon a time, there lived a woman who constantly lost her glasses. On a near hourly basis.

It was decided that secret invisible gremlins lurked in the corners of her home, and aided by the woman’s children, would snatch up the glasses and move them elsewhere. To a different counter, perhaps or the inside of a Shape-O ball. Maybe even into the car (MAGICAL, these gremlins were, ooooooh).

One day, the glasses vanished from all finding spots. The woman searched in vain, only to give up after a full day of exhaustive searching that included the garbage can, the recycling bin, the freezer, and the garage, even though she hadn’t spent any time in the garage that day (them being MAGICAL gremlins and all, ooooooh).

The following morning, after dropping The Boy off to summer school, she headed to Wal-Mart, and then Costco, in search of a glasses place that could fill her prescription in one day. But alas, there was no eye center at this particular Wal-Mart and the Costco order would take two weeks to fulfill (nothing MAGICAL about that, but ooooooh nonetheless).

The woman had no choice but to drive to LensCrafters, a long drive that including braving the California freeway system and the mall with two children in tow. The woman picked up The Boy from summer school, and feeling drowsy from the decongestant she had taken, decided to nap and brave LensCrafters the following morning (a MAGICAL intervention perhaps? Ooooooh).

She awoke from her nap to a phone call reminding her that friends were coming over for dinner. The woman immediately took in the state of her house (somewhat blurred by her lack of glasses) and began to clean. She picked up the broom to sweep all the dirt from the backyard patio into the yard because it is a favorite game of Little No Limit’s to strew dirt everywhere it shouldn’t be (and she often screamed ooooooh as she did it).

And while sweeping, the woman heard a slight rasp, a scrip scrip scrip… ‘twas the scrape of metal upon concrete! She peered at the ground (she had to squint as she was not wearing her glasses). Can it be? (Gasp!) Is it true? (Oooooh!)

Indeed, her glasses lay in the middle of the patio outside FOR NO APPARENT REASON.

And the woman put on her glasses and happily wore them the rest of the night, and slept in the next morning as the trip to LensCrafters was no longer necessary.

So, the moral of the story is, sweeping, on occasion, can save you money and trips to LensCrafters.

I may not be afraid of heights, but something about hanging 800-plus feet in the air from a cable is enough to make me hold my breath.

Here’s how the Rainforest Canopy Adventure and Zipline Expedition is described in the brochure: “Envision the thrill of gliding through the top of the rich rainforest canopy along a series of cables suspended between tall spruce, hemlock and cedar trees, all bordering the magnificent Tongass National Forest.” Sounds cool, right? So I sign up, we ride out to some remote cabin-type place, get all geared out and go through the ins and outs of how to zipline. Then they put us on the ‘practice’ zipline, aka the short one.

My trusty guide notices my apprehension as I step up for my turn.

“You nervous?” he says.

I nod.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t think you’re normal if you’re not nervous on your first time.”

I nod again, knowing full well he probably repeats those words all day long. I wonder if the guides get together at the end of the day and laugh/agonize over who had the most nervous tourists (eg: one of our guides got kicked in the stomach by someone who didn’t brake in time).

My guide hooks me up to the cable, and we play what I consider to be the zipline version of Simon Says: “Stand on your tiptoes” ; “Step off the platform” ; “Sit back” ; “Lift your legs up.” At this point, I am supposed to zip; however, when I lift my legs, the feeling of my weight being transferred to the cable above me feels so weird, my legs instinctively try to go back to the ground. As a result, my feet drag on the platform when I should already be zip-zip-zipping along. I am mortified at having messed up on my first zipline (my friend happily dogs me about this the rest of the week).

Because I am now nervous about dragging my feet, for the next zipline and every one following it, I do not just lift my legs – I do a little jump. It’s my way of saying “Here I am, Mr. Cable! Take me!” The approach works. For the first two ziplines, I do not look around. I only look to the destination platform where the other guide stands, motioning to me when it is time to brake.

I finally realize there is an entire rainforest below me, and wonder how I ever ignored it. There are tree peaks. Eagles (from afar, so I do not scream). Raindrops falling into streams and brush and thicket. And though I have seen the redwoods and sequoias of northern California, these trees can hold their own, tall Ent-like creatures capable of withstanding hurricane-force winds (such winds result in the younger branches curling as they grow, giving some branches a sheen like twirled hair).

We arrive at the big “ta-da!” zipline, referred to as “Ben’s Revenge.” For the love of all my nerves, why do they include words like “Revenge” in their names? Couldn’t they have named it the Happy Sunshine Zipline That Everyone Loves? They tell us we must do the cannonball position on this zipline in order to gain enough speed to make the distance. I am getting harnessed in. My guide chats with me about my life outside of the tour, asking me questions about what I do, where I live. I answer her, but my heart is not in the conversation. My heart is beating inside of me, and I’d like to keep it that way, because I am looking down from the platform of Ben’s Revenge and watching the aforementioned pretty raindrops. They are not as picturesque now, as they fall down… down… down… and disappear from my sight before they even hit the ground. A realization settles in: I’m high.

“Okay. Time to go,” my guide says.

I do not budge.

I continue to watch the raindrops, wondering if they are making it to the ground or landing on the random tree needle or leaf. I wonder if said raindrop might then get blown off, and later land on the ground. I am intently curious about the lives of every single raindrop falling around me, and I do not want to move because, well, I’M HIGH.

I’M HIGH I’M HIGH I’M HIGH I’M HIGH I’M HIGH I’M HIGH I’M HIGH

“Are you ready?” she says.

“No.” I let go of the cables. I re-grip them. I let go again. I need to stop looking down. I need to breathe.

“Are you… okay?” she says. I wonder if she can detect the pallor beneath my sunglasses and helmet. The little voice inside of me laughingly whispers in my ear, “Dude, what are you doing? There’s nowhere else you can go anyway. How will you ever go skydiving if you can’t even handle this?” I consider meeting my voice one day and punching it, and then realize I am having fantasies about kicking my own ass. Wow. Maybe I am high. I laugh a little and realize that I am breathing again.

I smile at my guide, grip my cables, do my lift/jump and as anchorman Ron Burgundy once said, “Cannonball!”

The air whips by, and the raindrops – innocuous splitter splatters when I’m standing still – spray my face. I look down. It is a blur of trees, a blur of green. Like I took a paint brush, dipped it into all the hues and shades of a Crayola green-only paint set and then put it on a paper and spun it around and around. The sensations of cold air and water die away as I become lost in the many shades of green. I think of how natural and untouched the world appears (even with our suspension cables hovering over it).

I’m glad I jumped into this, I think to myself. Glad to jump into this silent green wondrous beauty, brimming with life I have only begun to see.

My guide on the destination platform starts motioning for me to brake. My hand promptly goes up to the zipline, I slow myself down, and stop.

“How was it?” he says.

“Exhilarating.”

Later that night, I go through the things I purchased in town. One of my goods is a pamphlet of poems called “The Yukon Poems of Robert W. Service.” I bought it because we will be in the Yukon the next day, touring the White Pass. I sit down and read the poems. One of them, “The Spell of the Yukon,” ends with these lines:

“It’s the forests where the silence has lease;
It’s the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
It’s the stillness that fills me with peace.”

One hundred years later, I know exactly what he means.

This post part of Scribbit’s Monthly Write Away Contest.
Edited: It won!

Taken at The Elliot Bay Book Company in Seattle

More pix here: wordless wednesday
Wordless Wednesday

Also part of the carnival of family life.

Is this the face of a killer?

Your honor, I object, and I move to strike!

We the jury, find the defendant,

Guilty.

So, why am I picking on eagles, you may ask? Call it an unnatural fear of something too large and sharp for its own good. They’re freaky, with their toddler-sized feathered legs and smirking, sharp beaks. At one of the ports of call, I dodged the line of people being forced to pose with the humans dressed as eagles. Instead, I went for the much more unassuming Puffin.

I’m back home. Alaska was fun. Seattle was fun (two words: Public Library. For real). Alaskan Brewing Company makes good beer (mmm, Amber). Skagway, Alaska has a great whole foods store that boasts chatty employees (cute, too. oh to be single). A crazy woman sat next to me at a diner in Ketchikan and ate my leftover food (oh yeah). In Tongass National Park, I hung from cable wires fourteen stories high just to get a good view of the rainforest (the things we do for fun).

The biggest part of my trip, of course, was that my best friend got married. I was the matron of honor:

A special shout out to the Norwegian Cruise Lines, whose internet charges were so outrageous, I actually did not touch a computer for the past week.

And now that I am home, it’s like I was never even gone.

I got home late Saturday night, Husband went to work Sunday morning. I got up with the kids, reorganized the kitchen (why does everything in the kitchen get misplaced when I’m out of town?), unpacked my bags, did laundry, changed diapers… it’s really like

I. Was. Never. Gone.

I don’t know what that means.

But I do know my back hurts.

Connection?

Ah, well. More trip details to come over the week as I get back into life without free food 24/7 and expensive alcohol. One thing I don’t mind is my ability to stand on two feet. Damn seasickness never wore off.

Also, I fear bears.

Scenes of America:

Sunset over Dana Point, 2005

Mount Hood, 2005

Northern California, 2004

Canyon de Chelly, 2005

Moe pix here: wordless wednesday
Wordless Wednesday

Happy Fourth, everyone!

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In honor of tomorrow, the inaugural post of my Bigger and Better in America postcards:

What can I possibly say about that man’s shirt?

Ride ‘em, goatboy!

In the post-nuclear fallout world…

The answer to the Giant Asian Carp dilemma.

Raise your hands in the air like you just don’t care and sing a hip hop, a hippie to the hippie, to the hip hip hop.

Think I had a lot Elvis recipes? Just you wait…