Idaho Natives

Recently, I was coming into the parking lot, with a woman around my age at the same time. For purposes of anonymity, I won’t spell out her license plates, but I have been wondering forever, “To what do they translate?” I had been thinking “I donate….,” so I asked her, “What do you donate to? I am having a hard time deciphering your tags; they’ve been a curiosity of mine for a while.”

She mentioned, “It means Idaho native.”

“Oh,” I said, “I was trying to figure out what you donate to! Ha. Ha….” I was amused as I drove off, largely because I didn’t get it from the start. Beyond that, however, apparently not being someone didn’t damage my ego. It made me giggle at the fact that this woman was proud enough of something to put it on her tags, but that it is probably not deciphered by most.

Whatever the case, I suspect that this speaks to something more substantial, a fear I have coming to Idaho from Chicago. From my perspective, at least it’s not California, which is more typically derided by the locals here in Boise, the same way it assuredly is in Colorado. For me, though, it always begs the question, about xenophobia. I suppose xenophobia is predicated from the classic human condition of fearing an altering of the status quo. At the same time, however, I recall always being quite excited about something new and different, from childhood through adulthood. I guess, from my perspective, that’s when things are the most fun and the least mundane.

I suspect, at the same time, however, there are those, myself included, that come somewhere with sensibilities contrary to what people have known and loved for years. Examples I was just speaking about last night: Here in Idaho, water that is too cheap to encourage conservation; the need to make speaking on a mobile while driving a violation, something for which someone could receive a ticket. I think if one were to poll Idahoans, they would probably find those opinions quite contrary to their ideas of what is right, etc…

I suppose it’s something to consider.

The Grand Teton and Yellowstone - Part I

There I was this weekend, off to visit with the Rice’s, Jon, Lizzie, John, and Margaret. My close friends’ last vacation in the States, before they return to the UK, with my friend Jon’s mum and dad, and they were nice enough to invite me to join them.

I left work on Friday morning, and drove to West Yellowstone. The drive is somewhat uneventful, but provided I’d not yet been to some of those parts of Idaho, I was excited to see things I had not. Southeastern Idaho isn’t necessarily the most interesting part of such a gorgeous state, but one could hear the same thing said about Wyoming, Colorado, Montana, Arizona and New Mexico. Were it not for the prairies and plains, our settlers would have had nothing to eat, prior to the advent of refrigerated trucking and rail, etc…

I digress. Friday, I drove to West Yellowstone, which is a tiny town with a massive number of hotels and restaurants, most of which are doing their business this time of year. One could tell by the disproportionate number of young women and men from places like Eastern Europe. For some reason, I doubt that a beautiful young maiden from Russia, Ukraine, or Croatia comes to the tiny berg of West Yellowstone for a university education; no, this place is that of lifestyle employment.

I saw the Rice’s that Friday night, but had planned to stay in a hotel, so I could get up early for my fourteen mile run. This weekend was a cutback week, so it was “just” fourteen miles. I know. It’s obnoxious to talk like that, but this Saturday is twenty, and when faced with the difference, one begins to think that fourteen just isn’t that bad.

I woke up at 4:45 a.m. for my run, and stretched grabbing my cup of coffee on the front-end of the morning. I was off at 5:50 a.m., and running to the Rendezvous Nordic ski trails right inside of West Yellowstone. I was referred to them by the hotel staff. Running into those, it was still quite dark, I found myself on a back-road. I kept running the back-road, and was watching my Garmin.

I have to admit, at a time or two I pondered the stray grizzly or wolf pack roaming freely nearby West Yellowstone. I kept running along, however, thinking that those predators were likely closer to where the buffalo roam. It’s amazing how running distance can sometimes work, one can find her or himself running along, thinking about reasons to turn back and try something else. That’s a trick one’s mind plays with them, when doing something voluntary but stressful. Nevertheless, I kept on running. That said, however, the hill never seemed to end. I was running up the foothill range surrounding West Yellowstone, and was not due to stop, even by mile seven, which was when I’d turn around to make it an even fourteen.

There I was, I ran seven miles up the hill, and then, I turned around to head downhill for the remainder of my fourteen mile run. I have the Garmin report, and my elevation started at about 6500’. The summit of my run was 7734’.

The run was what it was. I enjoyed it, and then I spent the rest of the weekend with the Rice’s. I could spend hours writing about what a great time it was with such wonderful people, in such a lovely place. As it is Monday morning, I have to get on about work. Nevertheless, more to come with pictures, but probably not until the Rice’s get back to the Internet, at that point, I’ll have to meander on about what a pleasurable time it was to see such wonderful friends, of whom, in the very near term, I’ll not see a lot. Godspeed to you Rice’s and a happy and safe trip back to Great Britain. “Why do they call it ‘Great Britain?’ Because it’s Great!” – Jon Rice

Blog Updates – Am I Horrible, or What?

Apologies if you’ve been tuning in for regularly scheduled updates, as recently, I’ve been quite horrible about writing in this. Let’s see if I cannot itemize some recent occurrences, and perhaps that will get the juices flowing on this accord.

Running on Wednesday evening, I was up in the Foothills for a nine-miler. I love running the foothills of Boise, which are just a mile North of my place. In short, I run down my hill, then up 8th Street. That brings me to Hull’s Gulch, which is this terrific Gulch running many miles further than I take it. Nevertheless, there is a nice footpath along the stream that rolls down the Gulch.

Running this time was a buzzing noise I heard, this being a few nights ago. I stopped running, hitting “Stop” on my Garmin. As I did so, I looked down at the left side of the path, and there it was, a rattler. The rattler was coiled up, and there it was, quite scared of me. I knew better than to run past it closely. As the snake was in close proximity to the path, I stood there for a moment contemplating what to do. I looked for a rock, and found one partially immersed in the dirt. I kicked at it, until it came free. I picked it up, and lobbed it over, and hit the snake. It paused for a moment; then it recoiled. I waited a moment, and then I watched it slither down across the path, into the bottom of the gulch. I then ran onward to finish my nine miles.

I am heading to Yellowstone today, to see Jon, Lizzie, and Mr. and Mrs. Rice! I am quite excited for it, and will be heading out of the office in the near term. For that I am excited! I am going to run my 14 miles tomorrow morning, but beyond that, the whole weekend is devoted to the Rice’s! I cannot wait to see such dear and lovely friends, all of whom will be returning to the UK within the next month. Of course, for Jon’s parents, they’ll go back sooner, but it’s Jon and Lizzie’s departure that will affect me the most.

It’s quite funny how this move to Boise has been much different than that to Memphis. Because Memphis was in driving distance to Champaign, Chicago, and the Quad Cities, I saw friends a lot more often than I do out here in the West. I’ve not seen Jon or Lizzie since around Christmas, and our communication has fallen off, like it does when one moves ~1500 miles from where they once lived. Seeing them this weekend is of great importance, as they were there and true friends during such a horrible time. The next time I’ll see them after this weekend will probably not be until I make a trip to the UK. I am starting to fantasize about the London Marathon. I don’t know. It’s quite funny thinking about running 42.2 rather than “26.2”. Of course, that is solely the conversion from miles to kilometers, but you already knew that, didn’t you?

Other than that, things are humming along here in Boise. No new updates in the love life. I have the same steady stream of limited prospects. They are there, to an extent, but not in great numbers. Of course, Boise is not a big place, which means one has to change their expectations. Any time I find myself missing the plethora of young single women or ethnic restaurants, I simply remind myself that it takes me no longer to get to work than ten minutes. Oh yeah, and I can ski in the mountains and the climate rocks… These are things we take in strides!

Those of Whom We Fear

This was too cute to not share. When I say "cute," it's meant not out of disrespect for faith, just at how absurd and horrifying that people would misuse their faith in such a way. I liken it to fascism... Biblically, it's reminiscent of the Pharisees.... Hmmm...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztO8wZz029Y

How about taking the production and ad-buy space for the following:
Please pray for the sick
Pray for the impoverished
Pray for the safe return of soldiers fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan
Pray for Peace...
etc...
Obviously, each of us could spend a great deal of time writing more on this, but for the sake of brevity, I'll leave it at that. If you get bored, give it a look.

How Hiring Government Employees Solely Committed to the President's Agenda Hurts Us—For Shame on Bush

http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/us/2008/08/01/todd.defining.abortion.cnn

This report is among the most frightening things I have ever seen come from this government. While I am averse to setting forth on a slippery slope constructed argument, these definitions come dangerously close to affecting women’s rights concerning healthcare and health insurance. Methinks the drafts of something along these lines are largely constructed to help insurance companies getting around paying for birth control. Of course, there are dimensions above and beyond this, but this seems as though it is crafted to compromise reproductive rights.

"The Golden Hour"

If you're reading this, I am quite sure you know I have no training in cinematography. That said, I am a fan of the work of Terrence Malick. Malick, a fellow Illinois native, in my opinion, is one of the greatest directors of his generation; moreover, he is quite particular about the look and feel of his films. Malick, as I understand his work, only shoots during "the Golden Hour." "The Golden Hour" is the last minutes before dusk or dawn: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golden_hour_(photography).

Like my usual writing, I am initiating this with a long preface. The reason I took so many words to write about photography and Terrence Malick was to express that the design behind it just smacked me boldly in the face. Thirty minutes ago, I was walking down to the drop slot, to pay my August rent. I was in a pair of shorts, with keys and rent in one hand, and my phone up to my ear with the other. As I strolled the fifty yards to the mail slot, I looked up the grassy hill leading up to the ridge where a neighborhood of affluent houses resides. Looking up the hill, in the midst of this Golden Hour, there she stood, a beautiful doe simply nibbling on the grass and foliage there on the hillside.

Talking to my aunt on the phone, about a trip to see her and my family, I stood there dumbfounded. Much like seeing the fox again this morning, walking into my office building; paying my rent this evening, I was again reminded that I live somewhere new and quite special. The point behind the verbose and tangential preamble was that there are few words to express how serene and beautiful life is for me, here in Boise. Growing up in the country, we saw deer, but never in such close proximity or with such graceful presence. Shhhh... don't tell anyone.

Peter and Maria, Mike and Anu

Writing is such an amazing means for communication or meditation. The latter was what had me pull out my notepad here in SEATAC. What had me thinking of that was thinking about what I had earlier written to my wedded friends Maria and Peter.

Maria and Peter were married today; this was the 20th of July. There I stood at the reception thinking about how truly joyous and special their wedding was for me. It wasn’t special due to anything exceptional concerning Peter and Maria’s circumstances or the material components around their wedding—with the exception of their location, view and weather. Rather it was special because of how joyous and expressive they were for one another and their love.

Reading that as I wrote it makes me self-conscious about how cliché that sounds. Nevertheless, it was truly between them, and abnormally expressive coming from my friend Peter; to read that, or to fully understand that, you have to know my friend Peter.

Peter, a great guy, is someone whom often times keeps emotions more to himself. In this case, Peter could not have been more proud and happy than to be marrying Maria. This was evident and expressive in the broad and white smile born across his face. Moreover, in the apparent face of the minister speaking too softly into the microphone; there Peter was, with a booming, “I do!”

There I stood at the reception thinking of all of this, along with my overwhelming enthusiasm for my friend Peter and his beautiful bride Maria. I decided I needed to go write something more substantial to the guestbook than I did earlier, at the front of the reception.

There I stood, over at the guestbook table penning this relatively lengthy note of joy. Of course, I was conscious of anyone coming late, or taking the opportunity of distraction to write something away from the earlier lines. When a woman came up behind me, I offered to set down the pen. Upon offering, she declined, and walked away from the table with a smile. It wasn’t of any consequence.

Following from that, I was finishing up my paragraph, and I found a couple behind me. I apologized immediately, but this time I promised, “I am just finishing.”

The attractive young woman said, “What you didn’t get them a card?” with a broad smile across her face. Her husband stood next to her, amicably smiling, but also ready to move forward with signing the guestbook.

I stated to explain, but didn’t go into detail, after I finished what I was writing. Instead, I went to find Peter to wish him a wonderful evening, express what I am now writing in the airport, and to say “goodbye,” as I had to be leaving for my flight. I introduced myself, and they reciprocated with good manners.
“I am Matt.”
“I am Mike,” he said. “I am Anu,” she followed. It was perfectly amicable and nice, with her grin at catching me in the act of writing a rather verbose note to Peter and Maria.

It was indeed a pleasure to see faces of so many I had not seen for a while, but the real pleasure was seeing a dear friend find his true love. After this wedding, it was the kind of good fortune and beautiful display of love and happiness you wish you could laconically articulate to others during a warm toast, wishing them the very best of life and love. “May you meet a spouse to make you as happy as my friend Peter was today, this the 20th of July.