eclectic

Once upon a time, a boy turned 10. To celebrate, his family went skydiving indoors. He had fun! The end.

You know how headlights disappear on asphalt in the rain at night? It's like that. Disorienting. Overwhelming. Just this side of frightening. Nothing to be done but ride it out, like traveling 70mph on a rainy mountain pass, hoping the car won't careen out of control. It starts with a look. You know the one I mean, the one so subtle its meaning depends entirely on the predilection of the recipient. I wait for clarification that never comes. There you are, hunched against the weather; here am I, swallowed up like headlights in the rain. The songwriters say you never know what you've got till it's gone, but I disagree. You can only know what you've got while you have it, for when it's gone, what it might have been disappears in the reflection of what it wasn't. But the air is always so fresh after the rain, I forget to wonder where the light goes.

We interrupt our normal posting schedule to announce that today has made me the parent of an adult for the first time in my life. Happy 18th birthday, daughter of mine! Now, get a job. ;)

"We've gone to the hospital to pick up your new baby sister!" read the card on the kitchen table, in a year long before ultrasound machines. My brother Dennis, the oldest at 12, saw it first and read it aloud to Bobby, 9 and David, almost 7. Grandma Eysail clasped her hands together in reverent anticipation as she marshaled the boys together for breakfast. My parents couldn't know what gender I'd be, but the note was boldly confident, leaving me to deliver on their promise. Indeed, I did.

Perhaps if I'd been another brother right from the start the bar would've been set differently; as it happened, being female I'd already met the first goal. To pile on, I was healthy, good-natured, engaging, bright, and cute as a button. I teethed right on schedule, sat up, crawled and even walked a bit early, spoke precociously, carried a tune by age 2 and could sing simple harmonies by 3. Oh, I was everything they ever wanted; so much potential!

By age 5, I'd deduced that Mom could be handled when I played the right cards. Human nature being what it is, without full awareness of the course I was laying in, nonetheless I set about learning the game, and mastered it by age 7. She remained unaware of my manipulating until my teen years, because of course, I was a "delightful child, not a moment's trouble" until then. School was ridiculously simple, leaving me with ample time to perfect my "delightful" image with excellent grades, outstanding musical accomplishments, cooperative attitude and humble faith, though that latter was externally applied. Expectations, expectations... check. Oh, I was a delight, I was; so much potential!

Teen years brought more extraordinary accomplishments, additional responsibilities, a new crop of teachers to impress. Impress them, I did. Why, I was a national treasure to hear them talk. So bright and quick to understand, so kind and humble, so diligent and trustworthy! Ahead of my peers so far as to be nearly peerless! Which socially was more true than I liked, for whether or not you wish it, the one perceived to lead the pack is often subtly ostracized in tacit retaliation. Thus, my teen years were fraught with self-doubt, loneliness, and of course relentless pressure to live up to the grand speculation surrounding: so much potential!

College, then. "No, you can't choose for yourself where to go; college is where you'll meet your mate and we must be certain he's of the right faith."

"Harvard -- though you applied (without our permission) and were accepted -- is DEFINITELY out."

"No, you can't go into physical therapy; no future in it, it's a passing medical fad."

"No, you can't major in music performance, think of the Sabbath problems!"

"Music education would be fine, though. Or elementary education. Or nursing. Perhaps office administration, something suitable for a nice girl."

"Nursing then? Good girl."

Only I hated it. Changed my major to English communication midway sophomore year... parents didn't find out until grades came out at the end of term. That was a fun conversation. Oh, what to do, what to do; so much potential! Given the restrictions, I honestly didn't know what to do. None of my 'options' appealed to me, and though I enjoyed my course of study, it didn't exactly prepare me for an obvious career in anything but teaching.

Enter the career guidance office: "Let's take tests! All sorts! Aptitude, personality, skills... they'll accurately tell us everything you need to know to capitalize on your potential!"

Nevermind that tests are only as accurate as the data you give them; if you're playing to your audience, the data will say whatever you think they want to hear. You may even have convinced yourself by then that what they want to hear is true. After all, they've known you your whole life, haven't they?

"The tests show you may do well on the Law School Admissions Test. Let's see, shall we?"

"WHAT?? You've been recruited by 3 accredited law schools and you haven't even started senior year of undergrad? It's God's will! Of COURSE you must go." Oh, the future is bright for one with so much potential.

Truthfully, I enjoyed law school. Those 3 years were some of the happiest of my life. Free for the first time from the institutional religion which had hemmed my entire life to that point, free from anyone who knew my family, free from being dependent financially upon them, I was free to make new friends without regard to whether my parents knew and liked their parents, free to be less than academically perfect. The subjects were interesting, the students bright and articulate, the professors often quirky but competent, and none of them expected to see you at church on Sabbath. Never have I felt more at home, before or since. The only real problem with law school was graduation, when I went from a promising student to a fully fledged lawyer with a job: it was time at last to realize all that potential.

Do you know that the law firm I worked for didn't give a rat's ass when my boyfriend broke up with me? Skipping class because of a bad day doesn't exist when the billable hour minimum is 160 per month. You know what else? Until you qualify for vacation time, you don't get time off to go home for Christmas if you can't get there and back over the three-day weekend. It doesn't really matter to the firm that you're 1000 miles from family or friend, and totally alone for the holiday. "But, but..." I silently railed, "don't you understand? I'm special! Just ask anyone, I'm full of potential!"

I don't know what it is, but it's something. Drawing me toward you, heedless of circumstance, time, or difference. No pull in the reverse, though. Gravity works only in one direction. Odd, that. Unrequited was never my particular foible, preferring as I did to hold all the reins myself. In your presence I chatter incessantly, laugh too easily, adopt a persona I hardly recognize in the vain attempt to avoid you seeing me as I am; in other words, exactly like a certified school-girl crush in all respects... except I'm not in school, and you're obviously not a boy in my class -- or my league. Polished rock. So pretty, so shiny, so smooth... cold, hard, unreachable. They say water changes stone, carving it over time to angles and dimensions in harmony with water's need to reach the sea; but sometimes, stones change the watercourse instead.

The home we had to stop and photograph when we passed it on the road, because we both immediately recognized it as one built for us... if only we lived in Ireland.


No wonder tales of faeries and mythical beings of Ireland persist into the rational 21st century: Ireland is truly a place of magic. I know, I know... other people's vacations: "God, I hope there's no slideshow!" Don't worry, there's not. If you're a "friend" on Facebook, the photos are in 2 albums there you can browse if you wish, and I completely understand if you don't.

I could tell you it was a wonderful trip, for it was. I could tell you we had a wonderful time, for we did. I could show you the wonderful photos, for I have many.

But it all seems so criminally inadequate.

There are no words or pictures to truly capture the experience of being there. Two glorious, fanciful weeks immersed in history, folklore, natural wonders, charming people and pints of Guinness. How trite it sounds, but this trip affected me profoundly. We visited the village where generations ago, my grandfather's ancestors may have lived, worked, prayed, and died. We walked along coastlines where for literally thousands of years the ocean has battered the stone in its relentless rhythms, occasionally and sometimes frequently catching a boat or ship in its fury. In turns, we were wind-whipped and misted, then sun-kissed and colored by rainbows. The music and dance for which the Irish are renown is easy to understand, having been there, for the island itself fairly bursts forth in rhythmic, melodic sound. You hear it, feel it pulsing through you anytime you stand for a moment and listen.

I'm home now, and re-entering a life I love, but Ireland lingers. I can't quite articulate it yet, but something is different. Something in me, in a good way.

I've been mulling over the notion that life is simply life unless you deliberately infuse it with meaning, the doing being somewhat more difficult than the stating. It's beginning to be clear for me that 'meaning' in this context is nearly synonymous with 'memorable.' For a day to matter, it must be one I not only experience, but remember. A day spent cleaning the house or drafting a contract will evaporate in the mists of time, but a day containing an adventure will linger.


(Dragontail Peak with Aasgard Pass to the left covered in snow, the very day a young Seattle climber perished there after falling through the snow into the watershed beneath.)


Smith & I have had epic adventures so far this summer, with still a few more up our sleeves. We've hiked so much and so far in training for Mt. Rainier and Mt. Cashmere that talking about all of them would be overkill. Suffice it to say we've put a lot of miles and vertical feet on our boots & packs since April, and each one has been worth it times a million. There is something about being in the mountains that just heals my soul and I glimpse who I am, or perhaps more accurately, who I can be out there. Memorable days... meaning.

As for the children, Brooke is having something of an epic summer in her own right. Age 17 and heading now into her senior year. She took 4 AP classes last year, and kicked ass on all 4 AP exams. The boy she had crushed on for a really long time (finally) asked her to go out. The school year ended with a trip to Girls' State, at which she and 1 other girl in all of Washington State were selected to attend Girls' Nation (an all-expenses-paid trip to D.C. the "other" Washington) from which she just returned -- exhausted & exhilarated -- yesterday afternoon. We picked her up at SeaTac, went to dinner, then drove the 3 hours to Randall, WA where we deposited her at Cispus for Leadership Camp, a required activity for all incoming ASB officers this school year. We didn't get home until after midnight and won't see her again until Friday. She also attended "Enbukai" in between Girls' State and Nation, which is a karate sparring camp. Meanwhile, one of her best buddies who spent all last school year as an exchange student in Argentina, returned home just in time for the Harry Potter final movie release, so the kids planned a party around that. I think she's experiencing a memorable, joyful whirlwind.


(Our 3 kids + 1 on a hike to Lake Colchuk)

Grayson graduated from 8th Grade; received the "Outstanding 8th Grade Boy" award; joined the H.S. jazz band and percussion pit & played his first gig with them; joined an AAU baseball team that played I'm sure at least a million tournaments through the 2nd week in July; went on his first 4-day backpacking trip without an adult; and just last night returned home from a week-long vacation to the Oregon coast with another buddy & his family. Plus he's had numerous sleep-overs, trips to the waterslides, lakeside parties with other incoming freshmen, and will start "Band Camp" (this one time, seriously!) two weeks before school starts. His sense of humor continues to develop and refine itself, which is incredibly fun to watch, and he has literally grown over 6 inches in height since the end of 7th grade. Stay tuned, this one has surprises in store for us, I've no doubt.

Carter Bug has reached the magical height of 48 inches, the significance of which is that he is now 'legal' to ride ALL the slides at all the waterparks in our area. The psychological benefit to him of this development cannot be overstated. For the past THREE summers, his two best buddies have been tall enough to ride, while he was excluded arbitrarily on height, regardless of swimming ability. It has plagued him, and now, at last, the monkey is off his back. He is free! We have done a LOT of sliding, despite unseasonably moderate temperatures and corresponding blue lips. He attended "Enbukai" along with his sister, his first 4-day trip away from home ever. What homesickness he may have felt was completely overshadowed by being cool enough to be at camp with Brooke. The highlight for him was winning the "Most Compassionate Competitor" medal for decking an opponent nearly a head taller than himself, and then being so concerned that he kept asking the kid if he was okay before scoring every point in the match. To hear the sensei tell the story was endearing and entertaining in equal parts. The moral of the story is that he'll absolutely beat you, but he'll be worried about you while he does. :) Carter is also the most enthusiastic fisherman of our tribe, on a fishing trip with his dad and brother even as I type.


(Finally! Tall enough to boogie.)

See, these are the things we'll remember. Sure, we'll recall with a vague general sense of "normal" the days when school, work, lessons, laundry, games, and dinner together made up the quilt of our lives. But these standout days are the mile-markers providing the framework on which that quilt will hang in years to come.

Tell me something memorable, friends. I want to know what matters to you.