Trains, Trips, Vibrations and Zen

My visitor center desk offers a unique view among national parks.  Sitting at the desk, I can look out and watch people picnicking, playing and relaxing on the park grounds, while in the distance the ginormous Mexican flag blows in the breeze over Ciudad Juarez.  I can watch the hundreds of people crossing back and forth over the Bridge of the Americas and through the park.  On beautiful sunny cool days, like today, we like to open up the doors, air the place out and let the breeze come in.  Other things come in as well; some flying insects, visitors, and the sound of the border-rail train.  Today I was listening to the train’s whistle and it conjured up tons of traveling images/memories in my mind.

floating the Comal with my brother and mom – I may look calm and relaxed but I was always a bundle of nerves on the water.  Just waiting for something to bite me on the butt, or brush by my leg – anything that might kill me or shock me to death.

Whenever I hear a train whistle, I always get a little melancholy, a little nostalgic and a little antsy to plan my next road trip.  Why?  I think it has something to do with a memory of the train that runs around New Braunfels, TX.  Every evening, my middle school best friend and I would hang at the playground of the resort we vacationed at each summer.  We would swing in the breeze, listening to the sounds of the river that ran all around us and, occasionally, the train would whistle as it made its way through town.  Those evenings were so carefree.  Two young girls on vacation, skin still sun-warmed from floating on the river all day.  (Ugh, does anyone else miss summer?  Not summer the season, Summer the time of no school and no responsibilities.  I think we’d be better as a society if adults had some Summer.)

ah summer… Jen and I floating the river

teenage girls do NOT want to hang with their dad.  However, mine is cool, so we let him in the photo.  -)

Anyway, back to my melancholic ramblings…  I believe there is some science behind feeling pensive or melancholy when hearing a train whistle.  See, most freight trains whistle in minor chords.  (Have I mentioned that I was a band nerd?  No, well get ready!)  Minor chords are responsible for the creepy, the sad, the moodier feelings we humans can experience.  The motion picture industry knows this and uses it to their advantage.  The Orphanage wouldn’t have made me cry scared-tears without the kick-ass mood music it used.  We are surrounded constantly by music that is specifically designed to make us do something, to feel something.  Ever wonder why you sometimes buy something that you later realize you don’t like?  Chances are you, or the subconscious you, liked the music playing in the store.  So, you see, we are naturally tuned to feel certain things when we hear minor chords.  But why do we feel what we feel?

I think it has something to do with sound vibrations and what they do to us internally.  Certain sound vibrations will match our nerve vibrations and we interpret them as pleasing and happy.  Others do not match our own vibrations, causing a discord, and we interpret these as sad, creepy or unhappy, etc.

(This same idea can be applied to colors and I fully believe this is why I love red-rock Utah so much!  My body is in tune with the reds and makes me feel at home.)  We are under constant barrage of vibration information from sounds, light waves, electromagnetic fields, etc.  So basically go find a place where you feel happy and stay there, or try to recreate it at home.

Me, loving my red rocks, hanging on top of a 3,000 ft drop.

I’m sure there are tons of articles on the internet regarding sound waves and their effects on moods but I’m not going to search for them all! I need to start brainstorming my next trip.

Sometimes the City Has the Best Wilderness!

Sometimes the city has the best wilderness, but you can still rely on cell signal…

Today C and I went canoeing, or canoing… however you spell that!  Whatever.  After living in the desert for a solid year (no more seasonal moving!), I really needed some water time.  My visit to Houston just wouldn’t be complete without some serious water time.  So C came to my rescue with dragon boating at Clear Lake and paddling in Armand Bayou.  (Like how I sidestepped the whole canoe-as-verb landmine?)  After the dragon boat workout, I wasn’t sure if my spaghetti arms would take a good long canoe morning, but hey, its adventurous to be stranded in a canoe, right?

So I pulled myself out of bed at an extremely early time when on vacation and headed, coffee in hand, up to C’s place to prepare the jeep.  We loaded everything up (thank you mom for hosting our Freezer Bag needs) and we were off!

This was my view for the hour ride out to the bayou

Got out to Armand Bayou, home of many birds, turtles, and alligators….

Seriously, you know you’re in bayou country when they have to remind you not to try and catch an alligator! Also, what’s with the “free-ranging” alligator?  So its okay to feed captives but the free-range guys are like free-range chickens…?

We got lucky and had some help getting into the water.  Thank you to Stranger Steve!  It was a bit windy but that’s ok with me; keeps you from being too sweaty.  C took the back so he could steer, leaving me with the better view and the position of captain.  I’ve learned that every good trip starts with the woman being the look-out captain and the man can steer, making them feel like they are in control, (we know better though, right ladies?)  My trick to canoeing was to be in the front and just paddle when C told me to.  It allowed me to watch for things like alligators so I could yell and point, and then demand that he steer away from them.  The reply to that was always that I needed to paddle faster.  Fine.

Now I didn’t get any photos of the large gators ’cause they sink under water when you approach, causing me to yell more.  I envision the mean alligator will launch itself at our canoe and a paddle is NOT the best defensive weapon, unless you are in Cape Fear.  Or – it will come up from beneath to capsize the canoe and have a Thanksgiving-sized feast-o-humans.

I did get photos of the cute little baby alligators that will one day lose their innocence and become big fat killing machines.  (not really, alligators are pretty tame.  only my dad is terrified of them).

There were TONS of birds – I got no photos of them either.  I’m not a bird expert but I think they were: Gulls, Sandpipers, maybe Green Herons, some kind of hawk, a Crimson-colored Grosbeak, Sandhill Cranes, Turkey Vultures, and more.  I was just excited to see birds flying overhead that weren’t all vultures and bald eagles!

looking for birds… ok, honestly, looking for alligators.

We paddled like crazy against the wind for an hour or so, then U-turned and chilled on the current back.  This afforded me the opportunity to take lots of bayou paddling pictures!

Horrid shot of me but this ain’t a fashion show!

We passed tons of fishermen but fortunately C left his rod and reel at home.  Fishing is not my thing.  I had promised him an hour of fishing if I got to bring a book.  I guess I could’ve just checked Facebook since we had such excellent cell service.

After a few hours of communing with nature, C asked where the trail really headed.  That’s the international sign for “I’m ready to go when you are” so we turned back and headed for the docks.  Goodbye birds, goodbye turtles, even a goodbye to the gators.

C is happy to be back at the dock.  Don’t worry, I paddle-splashed that big grin off his face soon after this shot.

Loaded up and ready to go!

It was a great day hanging with C, a great day on the water, and a great day to work on my tan.  So very unlike another canoe trip that I took with my family.  That’s another story for another day, but it will make the blog.

And FYI ladies:  just in case you were wondering, there is no ladylike way to exit a canoe.  Don’t try to be cute, just try to stay dry! 

So what you, internet, have learned here is that you can rock out in the wilderness without leaving town!  Just find whatever local paths you can, or you can borrow ours!

Oh, and if possible, don’t forget the dogs…

Lennox doesn’t canoe but he does enjoy a roll in the water!

How Undressing Furthered My Career

I just celebrated my 33rd birthday and therefore have been taking stock of the last year of my life.  I recently started a new job and feel that you, the internet, would like to hear how I landed this job.

Drumroll……………  How Undressing Furthered My Career (dedicated to my boss, Michael)

(to set the mood)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YdMaZRVUU8

No, I’m not a stripper (although I’d love to burlesque!).
A couple of years ago, I was in Arizona for a work-related training.  After class one day, several of us students and trainers got together for dinner.  I knew some people, others I was meeting for the first time.  As we sat there drinking and getting to know each other, one of the trainers asked a question that he loves to ask when he meets new people.  “What is the funniest craziest thing that has happened to you at work?”

Several people sat there pondering the question but not me.  Without a moment’s hesitation, the craziest story I had (and had forgotten until then) popped into my head and I knew I had to tell it.  By the time I was done, everyone was laughing and this stranger was a stranger no more.  He said that my story was one of  the best ones he’d heard in all the years he’d been asking.  Two days later, he offered me a permanent position at his park.
(Sidenote: permanent jobs are EXTREMELY hard to come by in my line of work so this was awesome!)

So what was that story, you ask.  Well, here it is!

The Spider Incident

“It all began with a spider who took up residence in a quiet, cool, calm location: my hat.  This spider found my hat hanging on its peg in a loud busy office.  My hat had not moved in a week or so and therefore made a fantastic little home for this poor hapless spider, who I guess I should be thanking.

One morning, very early and alone, before my usual coffee-induced momentum had kicked in, I went to put up the flag outside of the visitor center.  Blurry-eyed and somnambulatory, I grabbed my hat off its peg, picked up the flag and headed for the door.  I put my hat on as I was walking outside (per uniform standards of course) and sleepily stumbled the 20 feet or so to the flag pole.

I guess now is a good time to mention that I’m not truly alone.  There was one other person working at that hour – the park’s superintendent.  His office window has a glorious view of the flagpole, not 30 feet away.

So I wave to the superintendent, knowing all too well that he watches us put up the flag like a hawk, looking for any little thing we may do wrong and therefore be “un-American”.  He waves back and watches as I unhook the rope from the pole.

It is at this time that the SPIDER, residing in my hat without my consent or knowledge, freaks out and decides to make a run for it.  He crawls down my face, waking me in a way that no amount of coffee can do.

 

 

 

 

 

He is not a small spider either, he’s one of those thumbs-sized squishy guys.  I shriek because something is crawling down my face and I’m just not okay with that!  I swipe at my face in an effort to knock the offending creature off, but accidentally knock him directly into my shirt.

The superintendent watches on.

It should be noted that the flag that I was previously carrying so reverently has now been tossed to the ground in my arachnid-induced hysteria.  The hat has also hit the ground, right where I threw it and began to jump on it.

The superintendent watches on.

The spider that has been knocked into my shirt is now scurrying into my bra in an effort to hide.  So, with flag and hat on the ground, and the superintendent watching horrified (because he doesn’t know about the spider), I rip into my button-down shirt to rummage around in a vain attempt to get whatever is crawling on me away.  To add to my embarrassment, I do the “there’s a bug on me and I don’t’ know what it is but it must get off” dance.  This should never be witnessed, especially by your boss.  This dance is usually accompanied by expletives, and I’m expletive-ing away.  The spider makes a jump for safety onto the ground and scurries away, never to be seen again.

Spider – 1, Me – 0

Now realizing that I am insect-free, the sudden understanding that I’m also hat and flag-free with my hand in my bra standing in front of the big boss hits me like a ton of bricks.  Seriously, cue Acme Brick Company and Wile E Coyote.  I freeze, look up at him, yank my shirt closed, and sheepishly put the hat back on before very solemnly raising the flag to its lofty heights.  I slump back inside the visitor center to arrange my clothes and wait for the inevitable raging superintendent phone call that will end my career.

Guess what, the call never came.  me – 1, spider – 0

Nobody was told about the Spider Incident, at least until the aforementioned dinner.  I credit my superintendent’s very reserved and shy demeanor around women to the Spider Incident remaining a secret.  I don’t think he ever even knew there WAS a spider.  I’m pretty sure he’ll never speak to a woman again because we must all be crazy.

The End.”

And that is the story of how undressing furthered my career.

Driving into the Ocean… It Could Happen.

Ok, so my earliest memories of traveling were road trips to Louisiana with my mom to visit her bf.  What I remember, or have been told, is that there was lots of singing – Patsy Cline, Mac Davis, Mel McDaniel (who sang Louisiana Saturday Night).  Little girl me in the back, big girl mom in the front – braving the interstate with no cell service and no males! (I will revisit this scenario in a few more years… stay tuned.)  This must have instilled the need for road trips, and road trip tunage, at an early age.  It also was the start of yearly migrations across damned interstate 10!

A few years later, while heading on yet another family trip down 10 east, my father passed down a bit of travel wisdom.  He told his young, naive, impressionable daughter to ‘make sure daddy stays awake and doesn’t miss the exit or we’ll fly right into the ocean’.  YES! You read that right – playing mind games with small children and toeing that screwed-up-for-life line.

Here, I’ll illustrate it for you so you truly get the horror that was going through my mind:

With this image in my head for years, its truly remarkable that I ever drove near a body of water again.  Needless to say, I made sure that everyone in my car stayed awake and paid attention, hopefully annoying every adult in the process.  Serves them right.

A few years later, ‘daddy’ would play a similar prank on my grandfather by explaining to me that I needed to remind my poor forgetful grandpa to check his gas gauge constantly as we motorhomed it to Ohio.  I did my duty, and was anxious the entire vacation.

Now that I’ve grown up, I can see that those roadtrip antics weren’t things I needed to worry about.  Ok, maybe the gas thing.  Only god and myself know how many times I promised something in return for making a gas station appear on the dusty desolate horizon!  Behind the wheel is where I feel most comfortable (ahem, cough, cough, control freak) and this is a good thing as I’d spend the majority of my 20s crossing the US, back and forth.  Kinda like Forest Gump, same good tunes but way less hairy.

Surfing the Couch

So I’m still stuck on the couch, and since I’m bored, my brain is wondering to “anywhere but here”.  I fully believe that all adventurous trips must have been conceived while someone was sick, on a couch.

Places I’m dreaming of visiting:

Borobudur, Java, Indonesia

Taj Mahal, North India

The Subway, Zion NP

And then there is always back to El Yunque, Puerto Rico and my favorite hammock so far.

Climb Every Mountain, Shop Every Mall

Most days I feel like Maria Von Trapp standing on a mountaintop, singing at the top of her lungs.  However today I feel like a zombie underground trying to claw my way to the surface.  Today I have food poisoning.  What better way to spend a miserable day on the couch than start a blog!

So! Welcome to High Rises to Hiking Boots, or a City Girl Goes Wild.  (Not yanking-my-top-off wild, more like Jack London’s Call-of-the-Wild).

See, I grew up in the suburbs of one of the largest cities in the US.  I did typical suburban girl things: softball, dance, giggling with friends about boys, worshiping the mall like it was church, driving WAY too fast on the freeway, screaming at the sight of bugs and most slimy things; you know, the usual stuff.  I also did some atypical suburban girl stuff: shopping for banquet dresses at drag queen shops, learning why the ladies’ pictures in New Orleans’ French Quarter had black bars across them, borrowing my boyfriends’ car without a license… and wrecking it.

Some would say I’m spunky or the more tame “fun-loving”.  I refer to it as naively adventurous!

So how did I go from this:

to this?:

Welcome to my blog.