Tag Archives: blogging

Repetitious Behavior

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This could be oh, me, or it could be a stand in with my hat on...

I may, or may not have escaped for the Mountains this last weekend. I might have had a fantastic time and I could have flung a fly line here and there. I possibly felt the dance of a fish or two and I potentially kissed the air of altitudes at 9500 feet.

Those hypothetical possibilities can be left to the imagination because my continued confessions of frequent escapes is getting a bit repetitious and I am feeling reluctant to write about said moments.

So instead I will write that I am a loyal creature of habit. I find a few things I enjoy immensely and typically go at them with tenacity and focus—until I burn out or find a new shiny distraction to zero in on. In some circles my habits could mirror the description of lets say, compulsive obsessive behavior.

This sort of focus applies to the majority of things in my life. For example, I don’t just read a book, I must devour it. I have to be careful when I start a book because I must devote the entire day to it. Reading a book over the course of  two, three, four days is unheard of. My mind would revolt at such a concept. Once I start, it’s a first page to last page race of consumption. Moderation doesn’t come into play, therefore I usually only allow myself the glorious feast of one book per week.

My zero in behavior applies to food as well. Once I find something I actually crave, that’s usually my diet for a week, or two, all the way up to a month or so. Thankfully I’m past my Lucky Charms fascination and currently have moved onto apples. I do have to watch my food focus sometimes. It’s a sad day for my ass when I zoom in on say, raspberry turnovers and eat them merrily until my ass expands by the quantity I’ve chowed down. (This happened once so I switched to yogurt and reversed the expansion)

Sadly, some obsessions turn into all out addictions and for many (many) years, Diet Coke is my beverage of choice. Daily. Bi-Daily. Hourly consumption……lets put it this way, I’ve got enough formaldehyde in my system I’m practically a walking corpse. I’ve taken comfort in the fact that should I ever perish on the side of a mountain, it will take weeks for my body to decompose versus the regular rate of deterioration. By the time some random hunter found my body he would still be able to make out my smile and he will have to pry that last can of Diet Coke out of my cold, well preserved hand.

Some weeks I’m a manic writer, some weeks I’m a fanatical painter. Summers inspire the (dedicated) outdoors lady in me and Winter provokes the (stubborn) hermit in me. No matter what, I’m usually focused in on one thing and that one thing gets 100% of my attention. Repeat 30 times.

I’d like to think the good news, or the positive side to my compulsive attention is the fact I can change on the flip on of a coin and I’m off and running in a new direction, compulsively, but new. Unpredictable behavior is just as delicious to my ever wandering activities as repetitious behavior. Finding the line between obligations and responsibility is the trick and as far as I’m concerned, that is always up for interpretation.

Billy Goat Cry and A Trespassing Twitterbird

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It started innocently, as all things that border unintentional illegal usually do. Or maybe that should read, personally, I usually set out on a mission with innocent intentions, but find the boundaries occasionally stretched in the name of getting things done, getting things right.

This story is about a goat. In my neighborhood. Evidently a new addition to the landscape and audio atmosphere of my personal stomping grounds. Despite my outdoor tendencies, let me just say, I live in a highly populated city neighborhood, not rural Idaho with the cows, potato fields and chickens announcing the arrival of the sun.

Crying. It got to me. The sound of wailing that closely mimicked a human baby. All (damn) day long. Bawlin and crying at a constant rate that curled my toes and pulled at my motherly instincts. At one point in time last night, the crying got so bad I did what any normal, sane human being would do I called the police , I twittered my annoyance across the Internet airwaves.

Share photos on twitter with TwitpicThe twitter response was instant. Sympathetic tweets came pouring in from around the world. Disbelief, wonderment, astonishment, and a few, “you can’t be serious and I’d like to see that” tweets. So, being me —a risk taker, a no hold back fearless soul– with new high tech abilities in the name of a Blackberry cell phone capable of taking pictures (more on that evolution later) I tweeted that I was going on a mission to garner proof. I’d BRB ~

The source of my disbelief and annoyance wasn’t hard to find. Just follow the sound of a baby being tortured by unseen force’s. I pinpointed the exact house, the location of my (and the goats) torture. Envisioning a mission worthy of sneaky behavior, I scouted out the street looking for potential witnesses to my innocent mission. No one in sight. I turned my camera on, held it tightly in hand and slid down the side of the house resisting the urge to bend over or pull my shirt up around my face. I took the casual trespasser stance. Make it cool, make it normal. A smooth criminal. Nothing going on to alert suspicious behavior sort of stroll.

I suck as a criminal. I ran up to the fence, clicked my picture, ran back for the street. Nerves got to me. My face flushed red and I again looked for potential witnesses while quickly shooting off my prized picture to twitter. A crappy twitpic of a little brown blur standing in under-watered grass. Regardless, I had my proof. I was shall we say, victorious!  

It wasn’t good enough, in my humble opinion. I hate it when I don’t do things good enough. It will eat at me, bug me, torture me into cryin like that little goat. I couldn’t leave well enough alone. I needed better! I casually strolled back to the location of my recon mission and took a deep breath and went for it again.

Dude: “Hey, what are you doing.”
Me, and I don’t know what is worse, getting caught or what I said: “Twittering your goat”

Share photos on twitter with TwitpicBusted.

And now that I think about it, unless someone twitters, saying “twittering your goat” sounds pretty raunchy. It just jumped out of my mouth. Panic, you know. Now, I was trespassing, BUT the dude has a goat. If I know my city codes well enough, that makes him illegal in the eyes of the law as well. We were on equal ground. So there you have it, a twitterbird busted for taking a picture, and a dude harboring an illegal goat in a city neighborhood doing a stand off………

So I grinned, charmed it up, smiled my – you’re going to love me whether you feel like it or not grin — and made quick peace with the situation. I even got the picture I wanted and shot that off to twitter. No police were involved and I made a new buddy, not the dude, but that sweet little goat that belts out a soprano baby squeal.

She who goes Walkabout

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Peace is a River

Peace is a River

 Paul has referred to me as, ‘she who goes walkabout’ a few times over the years. That’s a reference I’ll wrap around my persona and run with any day I can. Gone is good, gone is fun and gone is movement. My mind and body needs walkabouts, otherwise I do tend to go a bit stir crazy.

No one wants or needs to witness my personal brand of stir crazy, including me.

I had yet another fantastic time away which makes home life pale in comparison. The walls of my home feel bland and constricting compared to the expanse of life outdoors. I’m fairly certain at this point in my life, I could become a nomad. A rubbertramp who could live out of a truck and pull trailer with whatever I could stuff in. I could braid my hair, wrap a bandanna on my head and shower twice a week in a waterfall. Now, I’m not a radical… I wouldn’t try to live off the land. A life without Diet Coke and Oreo cookies would borderline unnecessary self deprivation. I may be off center, but I’m not insane.

Two Big Fish and a Rebecca

Two Big Fish and a Rebecca

I’ve done a lot of writing during this last month of travels. It’s not all fun, fishing and f*ckin off. I can be having the best of times, but my mind keeps writing sentences no matter what I’m doing and those sentences usually demand I stop and write them down. Writing is the most faithful companion to my ever wandering moods.

Sometimes I do wish my mind would write in trashy romance novel themes. It wouldn’t be so bad if I was standing on a bank fishing with 15 men and my brain was ticking off the sentences of a seedy sex scene with robust breasts and throbbing, well, you know……Then I could smile down the bank and laugh secretly to myself with my racy writing thoughts. I’m lacking the, ‘if only they knew’ potential of that sort of writing mind.

It’s time for me to attempt some major catching up with the reality of the world. I hope all is well and the summer is treating everyone in the most brilliant of beautiful ways.

I should mention, I’m now spending time over at RigginZ Outdoors~

Summer Slacker

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Kaitlyn and a camera shy Bandon, just a day on the River

~Summer Slacker in training...Kaitlyn and a camera shy Bandon, just a day up Camping~

For those of you that follow me on Twitter (as I’m sure everyone twitters these days, right?) or those who are my friends on Facebook (what?!! you haven’t friended me on Facebook yet? WTH?) you know that I snuck out of town again last week. I couldn’t help myself, it’s the allure of Mountains and the seasonal salmon run……

My current ‘at home status’ is simply a temporary pit-stop. I’m leaving again this Wednesday. It’s the fourth of July weekend ~ I must go, no choice,  no apologies, adios style!

It would be un-American not to go enjoy the weekend, right? As for leaving on Wednesday, well that’s just a preemptive maneuver to avoid the weekend crowd and claim a banner camping space. It’s a dog eat dog world on a holiday weekend, fight for your bone, king of the hill, claim your territory flag quickly sort of deal. Early departure, well, I’m just smart like that~

This is the first summer since I started blogging (as some of you can vouch) that I’ve tried to touch base in between my frequent departures. In the past I just took off, traveled, did my thang and usually around September I’d pop in for a, hey I’m alive, blog post. It feels a bit strange this year to keep admitting  just how often I take off for days at a time. If someone was watching my action I imagine it would hurt the neck, a bit like a tennis match, back and forth, to and fro, there she is and there she goes……

Just a regular morning in the mountains

Just a regular morning in the mountains

Welcome to my world~

I took this picture a week ago on a trip. It should illustrate why I’m on the run all through the summer. There are so many things to see, so many moments to etch into my memory and simply put….there is so much beauty out there I can’t bear to risk missing any of it.

 I’m not sure if that desire makes me a true slacker or if I’ve just constructed a life that allows for personal exploration and frequent adventures.  Movement outside of my hometown is one of the priorities in my life that brings me true joy. I understand every individuals definition of joy is different, but I can put out there that I truly hope other people make room for joy in their world as well…..frequently.

Honorary “guy” Status

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Combat Salmon Fishing

Combat Salmon Fishing

In the Great Outdoors, when it comes to either fishing or hunting, participating woman are the minority.  Meaning, for every 10 or 20 guys, you might discover one lady tucked into the group giving the activity a whirl.

In my experience, usually that one lady is there by conversion effort rather then true individual desire. Meaning, a guy started dating a lady that had never fished or hunted and he told her that’s what he was into….. in turn she automatically gushed, “OH, I love the outdoors.” Translation “OH, if you love the outdoors, I’ll learn to love fishing or hunting, at least until we are married anyway.” ~~For the record, loving the outdoors and loving fishing/hunting are two different balls of wax, I’m just saying ~~I liken the conversion ladies to—-Eventual Weekend Fishing and Hunting Watchers & Widows.

Conversion ladies gets the full treatment. The men will put in an impressive effort to take care of these gals, tying bait, fixing snags, carrying a backpack etc….. Guys become quite the gentleman in a zone where typically they can relax and flex their manly instincts. Bless their little hearts, these guys want desperately for their ladies to love what they love……….

And then there are a few of us gals participating in the rougher side of the outdoor league that are there, not to impress a guy, but because we want to be there. I’ll call us few, The True Bloods. A True Blood will go fishing all by her lonesome self without the need of a male babysitter and love every second of it.

Jack Salmon

My Bambino Jack Salmon

I’ve noticed, we True Bloods get treated differently out there in the testosterone zone. Once the guys realize we can handle our own equipment, that we aren’t there by association and we are just as competitive and focused as they are, we earn “honorary guy status”…….all the veils fade and the censor chips are tossed into a deep crevice.

When guys absorb that I’m not going to go all hormonal on them, they will first let the cuss words fly. Oh lordy these guys can cuss when they get going. Sometimes I think there should be a new cussing credential that soars past typical trucker cussing. If I say, “Dude, you cuss like a salmon fisherman” that means you could roll grandpa, twice, in his grave with profanity. I never flinch when the profanity flies. All part of the experience in acceptance.

Once a gal has passed the profanity test, nothing seems to be off limits in this honorary status. Guys jump straight to scratching their balls at random and spitting off the river bank without shame in front of a True Blood. In my experience complete acceptance is when the guys seem to forget I have ovaries and pee at random near me. I can’t write how many times I’ve glanced over from a campfire or riverbank and witnessed a guy water painting circles in the dirt. Now if I could just figure out how to pee in front of the guys without exposing my ass to the world, all would be equal and balanced.

I understand some may translate all that I’ve written as crude behavior on guys part, but for me, I see it as a time when everyone can let loose, forget the constrains of city life, pressure, expectation and presumptions. In the rougher outdoors, there is a different set of rules everyone abides by, an honor code and that code has nothing to do with Emily Posts etiquette book.