Things About Beauty


“I want to know how I can have acne AND gray hair at the same time?” the new fireline paramedic echoed my own internal conversation. It was ironic, since I had noticed earlier that morning what a beautiful rosy complexion she had, and I was jealous. This was only hours before she caught me plucking gray hairs in my rear view mirror. Not that beauty is the most important thing out here on the fireline. Far from it. The most important thing is, of course, food. Then sleep. Then safety (Safety 3rd!). And maybe after all of those, beauty falls in rank.

I have never been much of a beauty expert, as evidenced in my make-up application skill level (or lack thereof) and generally unkempt hair. But according to three real aestheticians I know, and one self-proclaimed one, John Tesh, the Beauty Experts at Cosmopolitan Magazine and the back of my Lip Smackers package, there are a lot of really easy tips and tricks for staying beautiful even under the harshest of conditions. Like say, photographer’s lighting systems and long Metro Rides, or air that is filled with both smoke and dust particulates in clearly visible but immeasurable quantities for days at a time.

(For the record, until about six years ago I assumed an aesthetician was somebody who taught people how to have good taste [as in aesthetics], like a dietician teaches people to eat good[?] food.)

I read once, or maybe heard it on John Tesh (if you can’t tell, I a major fan), that we tend to have acne breakouts on the side of our face that we sleep on since our pillowcases harbor bacteria and dirt from… well, Iife, I guess. That makes sense since at this moment my own pillow is nestled between a Very Dirty Transverse Rescue System that has seen the back of too many fire pickups, my hardhat and a combi-tool (a shovel/pick combination that I carry on the line).

This probably explains the residual break out on my right cheek because I can’t really sleep on my left side with a torn labrum in my left hip and an undiagnosed pain in my left shoulder. Sleeping on my right side isn’t a whole lot better since I have a torn labrum in my right shoulder and an undiagnosed pain in my right hip, but it is some better. I read in Cosmo that sleeping on your back is the best for facial skin since gravity pulls it all backwards and toward your scalp, minimizing the development of wrinkles like the ones by my nose where my cheeks are squishing it all night long, mashed up against my dirty pillow.

Sleeping on my back poses a whole new set of issues though as that same gravitational pull seems to work on all of my body fat, which I suspect are culpable in the compression of my spinal cord in Just The Right Places so that my hands and feel fall asleep within about 45 seconds of lying supine (on my back, for you laypeople). I tried to mitigate this last night by propping my left leg up on the same dirty TRS that my pillow is snuggling with now and elevating my right foot on the hardhat. That resulted in about two hours of sleepless evaluation of tingly hands and the gravitational pull on my facial skin.

So back to the right side I went, and resigned myself to a dirty pillowcase and more zits. Sleep before beauty, I told myself. Which makes acceptance of the definite lack of beauty a little bit easier. It is more concerning to me of late since I have established certain goals which include improving my attention to physical appearance, since, “Havin’ no natural beauty” of my own like Sonora in Wild Hearts Can’t Be Broken (favorite movie alert!), I probably need to - help myself. Not that, once again, beauty is the ultimate goal, but there is no denying that with beauty comes influence, and people are happier to work with and respond better to someone who is attractive. It’s just the way it is. People, monkeys, peacocks… we’re all wired to be more receptive to the Hot Ones, whether it’s tan legs, swollen purple butts or fantastic feathery shows . So in order to make the power plays I am looking forward to in the future, I need to up my hotness factor, and probably wash my pillowcase.


Things I Skipped Over

I have been on this fire assignment for 11 days. Tomorrow I go home. I have written exactly NO WORDS this entire time. Pretty weird for me. Usually I am scratching off some loquacious communications either here or in other venues and getting my words out. But for almost two weeks I haven't had any words.

Maybe it's the week I spent working in the information office for the Area Command Team. Maybe I was inundated with words from crazy dumb people and it coincided with the guilt ridden deadline for the newspaper that I was seriously underachieving. Maybe I was worded out for awhile. I don't know.

I certainly isn't lack of things to say. I have been working with characters of all flavors on the North Star Fire that deserve mention at the very least, and full chronicling at best. I've run the gamut of a head cold, an earth quake, at least five different division supervisors, an education in Army National Guard medicine and a work force fresh off the boat from Australia and New Zealand.

My days consist of an alarm that goes off (when my phone isn't dead) at 05:25 AM, me putting it off until 06:10, which is when I inexplicably wake up voluntarily every morning. I get up and stagger to the bathroom here that has flushing toilets AND running water to brush my teeth before I appear in the medical unit to save a few pre-breakfast lives. On a normal fire we'd be up and at briefing by 06:00 but this is not a normal fire, for which I am grateful.,

Instead our briefing is at 06:45 and I shuffle over with my coffee and wedge myself amongst the safety officers and branch directors and listen to the weather report and fire behavior predictions, before I moved with the herd into our division breakout and get the specific rundown for the geographic area where I have been assigned.

It's here that the division supervisor makes some joke about my hair or how many naps I will get in during a shift and establishes my identity for the rest of his crews.

Then we have breakfast, which is invariably eggs and some pork product. I have been skipping lately, because you can only have eggs and pork so many times before it's just enough.

After breakfast I go back to the medical unit, where I sit and regret what I have eaten for awhile, and take care of a few last minute fire guys who need their blisters wrapped, a dose of DayQuil, or some blue fairy powder before we all head out to the line.

A typical drive to the line from fire camp is usually 30-45 minutes. This fire is no exception, and the road to division zulu is a combination of paved and dirt, including some spots of knee-deep moon dust that will coat the inside of your truck and mouth with a pasty film.

Then it's sitting. Radio into the Incident Command Post that I am at the drop point. Tie in with the division supervisor so he knows I am near by. Check with the crews, hand out some dayquil, hand sanitizer and bandaids. And sitting. Watching movies, reading books, scanning the radio, ears perking at any variation of the word medic, medical, emergency, injury... A few times a day I get a visit from a task force leader or heavy equipment boss, looking for cough drops, nail clippers, checking to see which movies I brought to watch.

The best part of a fire is the characters you get to meet. Like Dale from Australia - who got a head cold and thought I saved his life with a little Mucinex. Or Zane from Colorado who was secretly a paramedic but working as a task force leader and funny as heck. On this roll there was PFC Sevarina Zinc - an army medic who stayed busy at the medical unit checking people for eye worms and sinus infections. Then her replacement was a special forces army Sgt Lynch who had done multiple tours overseas and probably could have ACTUALLY diagnosed eye worms and sinus infections. I had a division supervisor who loaned me A Picture of Dorian Gray when I ran out of books. And a contractor who waited anxiously for me to get finished with my two copies of Cosmo so they could abscond with them. There was the weird engine dude who came into the med unit every night for "Supplies", wearing his radio harness and radio, hard hat, safety goggles and headlamp. Because ALWAYS BE READY.

I feel pretty lucky to be doing this job - at least until somebody gets on the radio hollering for the line medic and it's up to me to figure out how to haul out a blown knee from a ravine about a quarter mile deep, or something worse. I am thankful that I don't get a lot of the worses - I am perfectly content to deal with ankles and feet and arm gouges and spider bites and not have to see someone's career (or worse) end before my eyes. I don't need that kind of excitement. I get enough waiting to see which division supervisor finds my hiding spot and hangs out with me all day.


Things About Bad Calls

Last weekend we had a bad one. There was an ATV wreck way, way, way up in the mountains. It took us almost two hours to get to our two patients, who were banged up pretty bad. It was the worst case scenario kind of an emergency call. The one that you hope never happens but you kind of fashion your drills around. The one with every WHAT IF included in it. Lucky for us, this scene didn't involve anyone dying - then it would truly have bee the absolute worst.

It felt like one of those calls where nothing goes right. Everything we tried to do was harder than usual. Even accessing the patients was Way Too Hard. On some scenes, everything flows smoothly, we work together, it's fluid and graceful and efficient. This was not that scene. This was all miscommunication and frustration and Not Doing Enough.

I have spent some time going over in my head and with the other first responders that were there what it was that went wrong, and other than EVERYTHING, we couldn't quite pin down the worst parts. All of us feel like we underperformed, we were not at our best, and I think the biggest reason for that is that we were dealing with an injured friend.

Sometimes as EMTs, we're able to compartmentalize the emergency that we roll on because we can separate ourselves from the injury - it isn't our emergency, we are just here to help. But when it's a friend - or family - there's a built in need to FIX, and wondering what we could have done to prevent or avoid or help. I know that for me, there was nothing I could have done that night that would have  felt like enough. And it made me angry. My friend was hurting and I couldn't fix it. All I could really do is hurt her more to get her where she needed to go. It's a terrible feeling to add to someone's pain, even if it's necessary. That's one of the reasons I am not IV qualified anymore. I know how important that stuff is, but I don't like being the cause of any pain. That's not a valid excuse and I am considering getting my advanced certification, because if my friend had been any worse off I would have been hating myself for not being able to give her an IV.

As parents, most of us have had to pry a kid's hand (or head) out of the back of a chair, or a railing somewhere when they got it stuck. Invariably they cry and it hurts, but as parents, we know what has to be done and we do it. It's the same deal on a bigger scale. If only we could keep our friends and family from sticking their damn heads in the railings. But life is chaos. It's messy and crazy and shit happens. All the time. To everyone. We are massively blessed that this kind of an accident doesn't happen every single weekend up here because the craziness always does. And it's craziness that could just as easily been me, or my kids or any one of us. Those of us that insist on enjoying life and getting the most out of it are sitting ducks for disaster at one point or another.

It violates my sense of control-freakishness that I can't prevent every accident from happening, or know what terrible choices my children, or siblings, or friends might make, or what insane accident they might wander into at any given moment. I can't make bad things not happen to the people I care about, no matter how much I will it. All I can do is be there and try to help. But when it's my people that are hurting, it never, ever feels like enough. It's an almost paralyzing sense of inadequacy. Like my skills are totally worthless. Why am I even here? I want to click my heels and get back to Kansas and not be the one that is Not Fixing It.

The patients from our wreck made it out ok, finally, after way too many hours, being manhandled by 37 people, three ambulances,  and two helicopters. The sense of relief from handing a patient over to someone who has more training than me is immeasurable. That's probably why I stay a basic - so I can pass the buck. But in the moments (or hours) that there's no one to pass to, it kills me to not have more tools in my backpack. Maybe that's the motivation I need for that advanced class. Maybe my friends should just stop getting hurt.

Things About Wearing A Lot of Hats

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of working. Going and doing and being, a lot of things all at once. I have switched hats on the run (literally) from Kindergarten Teaching Aid, to waitress, to High School Drama Teacher, to EMT, to Wanna Be Writer, to Special Ed Teacher, to Mom, to Sister, To Friend and sometimes, if I get my way at all, I get to wear my Sweatpants and Wine Hat at home on the couch.

Yesterday was no different from the rest. I worked at the restaurant all day and then went home and made dinner, did some laundry, and went out to visit some friends and the last remaining bar in town. It was a difficult decision to make, since I had fallen prey to my heated mattress pad in the late afternoon and was pretty much hunkered down for the night with a rental on Amazon. But the friends were persistent, and the movie was pretty terrible. I made the mistake of assuming that any Russell Crowe movie is gonna be good, especially if he is paired up with Jennifer Connelly, like in A Beautiful Mind, but Noah wasn't helping the Doldrums that seem to be pursuing me relentlessly, so I gave up, or gave in, and put some jeans on and went to Kuks. I am glad I did. Funny how those little choices can have life altering ramifications.

There was a rowdy crowd there for the darts tournament, including a bunch of hunters and some not-local guys who are working on a contract up here indefinitely. Most of these guys have been in the Mustang at one point or another, so I knew them by face if not name. As soon as I walked in a few of them recognized me as the morning coffee pourer, etc. They made fun of the red wine that I was dragging my way through, but I had been to the brew pub the night before and, well, I just can't do two nights in a row like that any more. After awhile some of them disappeared, and shortly thereafter, one of my friends came to get me. Urgently.

One of the visiting lads had taken a swan dive out of the sunroof of his moving vehicle. He had landed on his face, and when I got to him, he was wedged into the backseat of his pickup, bleeding everywhere, with some very frightened friends around him. I told them to call 911 as soon as I saw him. He'd done a good job tearing the right side of his face off, including his ear. I sent random strangers to my car to get my bags while I held onto his bleeding head, only imagining what the inside looked  like if the outside had sustained this much damage. Not to mention his spine. He was conscious, and talking to me. Which was a relief. The position we were scrunched in the vehicle was eerily similar to the crash scenario we had just done at the school. Head injury and all. I got some semi-drunk volunteers to get a backboard wedged in behind him and we rolled him up on the bench. My hands never left his torn up face. This was one of those times that I wish that I could do more. The kids that were there with him (they were all in their early 20s) had sobered up quickly at the sight of his dangling ear. I talked a couple of them through how to hook up my oxygen tank, only to find out that it was empty. In the 45 minutes that we waited for the ambulance, I went over and over in my head how dumb it was that this good looking 22 year old kid had been sitting in the Mustang this morning, drinking coffee, and now he was on his way to plastic surgery, at the VERY least, and lucky to be alive. For a few minutes of drunken stupidity. I wished to God that I had three sets of hands - there were so many other things that maybe I could have done. Or more supplies. Or any kind of help or preparedness. These are the moments that highlight our lack as a tiny, underfunded town. And our helplessness as humans to undo even one bad decision. The ambulance got there after what seemed like forever, and we got him successfully transferred. Later, his buddy called me to say that, sure enough, he had a spine fracture and had been flown by helicopter to Spokane. Even so, he's a lucky dude. Lucky and dumb. I went home with blood on my hands and jacket and shoes and woke MacKenzie up to tell her that I would rather see her never drive a car than to forget for an instant that they are deadly weapons. I hope the kid's face comes back together ok. He is a handsome boy. But he'll never be completely intact again. And maybe that's how some of us have to learn. It makes me sad. And Angry. And feel very small and helpless. I liked him better when I was his coffee pourer and not the person holding his face together.

Tomorrow I go back to Kindergarten. Where the responsibility is no less than it is in the back of that truck. Because somewhere along the way, the kids have to learn about good decisions and bad ones. And really, the responsibility is always there, even pouring coffee, to be kind, and to be wise, and to make good choices that other people see. It doesn't matter how many hats I wear, my job is really the same. I am thankful for ALL of my jobs, every role I play, because even on the days when I pretend to be a teacher, I am fairly certain that I am learning more than anybody.


Things About Rainy Days

It's pouring. Raining hard. The power was out for 45 minutes, which I slept through, but when it came back on, my iPod lept mysteriously to life and started a random playlist that may be the only bright spot in this day.

A quick phone call told me that the divorce is filed. Three months from now and it will all be over. As if it never happened. Except it did. But it's done. Divorce sucks. It just shouldn't be. It's unnatural, legally tearing yourself away from someone you loved. The rain seems appropriate.

This afternoon we have an EMS drill, a fake car wreck at the highschool with a bunch of different agencies responding. We (Northport First Response) have to look our best and perform at our best. I am not feeling it. The rain. The divorce. All of it. I might be the crabby responder out there telling the fake patients to suck it up. I hope I don't get fired.

Anyway. It's a rainy day, inside and out. And tomorrow will be better. And the playlist helps. But some days are just rainy like that. We have to stand in the rain to appreciate the sunshine.




Things About Fire Camp

This is my tenth season in wildland fire. You'd think by now that I would have it figured out, surviving this mini-world with its own rules, but I am still learning. For my fire and non fire friends, I'd like to share with you some of the survival techniques I have adopted. 

Fire Camp Survival Guidelines

1. In a wildland fire setting, the more smiley and friendly you are, the farther it will get you. Being cute helps, but isn't entirely necessary. I have heard that this approach works well all hours of the day, but because of personal handicaps, I can only vouch for the hours of the day beginning at about 9 AM. 

2. Personal hygiene is a highly subjective and easily justified area of compromise in the wild land fire world. The necessity and frequency of showering, with or without shower unit availability, is hotly debated and widely considered to be of a personal nature, except when you share a crew rig with one or more other people. At this point, it must be decided as a collective whether bathing is a requirement, an option, or strictly forbidden. Thank heavens most Hotshot crews are moving away from the idea that a shower is a sign of weakness, but we still have some paradigms to overthrow. I, personally am of the every-other-day school of thought, any more would seem indulgent, any less, assuming you have showers at you disposal, would just be unnecessarily gross. In the event that showers are not available, dry shampoo does serve a purpose other than decorating the inside of Paris Hilton's overnight bag. Also hats. Hats are good.*

3. Getting dressed. This continues to be one of the Great Challenges of life in fire. For those of you who sleep in tents occasionally for "fun", it is readily apparent that standing to dress can be problematic for any adult of an ordinary size, unless your tent is the Taj Mahal of outdoor lodging, which I would frankly be too embarrassed to unfurl at a fire camp. The Taj Mahals are here, and widely mocked by hotshots who still insist that people who are not weak sleep sans-tent on any not-flame-engulfed piece of ground. But a reasonable tent of the 1-3 man variety still leaves room to be desired (literally) when one goes to get dressed in the dark, cold, early mornings. Over the years I have learned to dress myself in a laying position. This is pretty easy, except for the Bra, which as we saw in recent stories, becomes a day long issue at times. The other danger in this lying down approach to dressing, is the risk of catching something in the Velcro of your nomex pants without noticing. This could be something innocent, like a sock, or one of the many hats that are placed strategically around the tent for quick retrieval. More often than not, the thing stuck to your Velcro will be a pair of dirty underwear.  Dirty underwear on a fire are different than regular dirty underwear at home. Whether this is because of the generally understood rule of 4 (inside, outside, front and back, gets you four days of "clean" underwear out of one pair), or because squatting to pee in the ash results in a gray/black dusty effect regardless of the color they started as, dirty fire undies are just embarrassing. Especially when you wear them to the morning briefing in the Velcro of your Nomex pockets. So always check your Velcro. Also zippers. Zippers on Nomex pants are notorious for refusing to go up, stay up, or close without catching the yellow tail of your Nomex shirt. The standard fire fighter finger sweep of the zipper fly is at least an hourly occurrence, and can be pulled of deftly, as if one was just reaching casually for one's pocket -  but making sure the zipper pull is exactly where it is supposed to be for maximum modesty. Again, no one wants to see fire undies. Especially if they're on outside or backwards days. I have arrived at briefing with almost every article of clothing on inside out and/or backwards at least once, luckily never all at once. On nights when I am really tired, I usually don't bother to take anything except my pants off to sleep, knowing that an equally tired 5 AM will make dressing a disaster. Nomex clothing on a fire can be exchanged for standard issue stuff at supply, rather than washing it, but if you buy the fancy designer Nomex, it's up to you to keep it clean. My new favorite hobby is visiting supply to see if anyone accidentally turned in some name brand Nomex, and have completely overcome both my pride and my fear of poison oak in digging through the bin of turned in dirties - dumpster diving ala Wildland Fire. This tactic won me 8 old school Nomex shirts last year, the vintage, smooth ones that are WAY more comfortable. This year I stumbled across a pair of Kevlar pants in almost my exact size! $200, y'all. My partner, Lee, was both impressed and envious, so we went back the next day, just to see, and I scavenged another pair, in almost his exact size! We were a little giddy with our good luck and vowed to check supply morning and night for the duration of the assignment. 

4. Eating. Everybody knows that we eat great on fires. 4000 calories a day, all you can eat salad bar, and lots of snacks. The dark side of fire-food is the mystery meat sandwiches for lunch, pastrami that is rainbow colored, mixed veggies for dinner that are a suspiciously high concentration of watery Lima beans, and really bad coffee. I will leave coffee it's own space and address the rest. Dinner is usually great. There's almost always something edible for dinner, if nothing else, the salad bar is often a safe fallback. I usually eat the meat that is the main course and salad. I've learned to skip the bread, and often the starch sides and cooked vegetables. I've even managed to avoid most deserts. Except for the strawberry shortcake last night. And milk. I drink a lot of milk at if camp. It's just tradition. After ten years in fire, I have finally come to the realization that I don't like fire lunches. I still get them so I can take the two granola bars, dried fruit and grandma's cookies home to the kids (or Husband), and eat the fritos, but I find little that I can really digest. As I mentioned, if you can identify the stack of meat in your sandwich, it will undoubtedly be translucent, at best, and usually technicolor. Survival techniques for this fire problem vary. Usually a run to the closest store for chips and bean dip do it for me, maybe stealing yogurt and cold cereal from the breakfast bar, some people I know save part of the giant portion of meat from dinner the night before. Any fire overhead personnel worth his mettle will be packing a Jetboil. The Jetboil is the line firefighter's mealtime salvation. In addition to making your own coffee (next section), e Jetboil is amazing for soups, frying salvageable parts of fire lunches (I.e. burritos, thin sliced ham, etc), and just giving you something to do if you are sitting on the line all day waiting for someone to have an emergency. Last year when it was late season and it was cold and I had a little bit of camp crud, i got some of the Bear Creeek soup mix and some crackers. I had the best little cheddar and brocolli picknick on my tailgate. Always pack snacks. Always. Unless you are me, and forget to, and whine for days. 

5. Coffee is the single most important part of fire camp survival. Most food units make their giant vats of coffee with a coffee concentrate as opposed to grounds. It's pretty disgusting, unless you scald all of your taste buds off early into the fire because it's also much hotter that humanly reasonable. Our medical unit, and many of the other fringe overhead organizations, bring a coffee maker and "real" coffee to camp with them. Sometimes the secret leaks out and you find yourself waiting in line for the third pot because the entire overhead roster has come for a cup. My biggest issue personally is finding acceptable cream sources. I've often had to resort to powdered creamer, which I honestly prefer to the sickly-sweet, coffee mate flavored creamers which are available in great abundance and basically just a compound of poisons and sugar. This fire has almost real half and half, of the tiny cup, non-refrigerated variety, and since the coffee tastes bad, I've been adding a packet of honey. Later we will discuss honey. But it makes my coffee taste almost like a carmel latte. The ideal set up, especially for a line medic, is a Jetboil and a French press, or the available combination thereof. I'd prefer to have them separately, because ultimately, after seasons of unwashed use, the French Press is a robust and well seasoned shrine to good coffee, and I don't really want my broccoli cheese soup tasting like java. On my last assignment, I took a pint of heavy whipping cream, my coffee additive of hedonistic choice. The paper carton didn't hold up well in the cooler of ice though, so I am rethinking my approach. Probably a Rubbermaid bottle from home? A good buddy of mine packs Starbucks Via with her Jetboil, no press needed. I'm not in love with Via, or Starbucks in general, but it's better than coffee syrup coffee, by a long shot. **

6. Sleeping. One word: Benadryl. Until I get my own camper with a memory foam mattress, no configuration of stolen gray foam mats from supply, thermarests, sleeping bags and quilts from home can fend off the inevitable back spasm after several days of tossing and turning. This morning I woke up with a bruise in my left gluteal muscle, presumably from a flashlight or pair of socks or something that was easily mistaken for part of the "bed".The best approach to sleeping in fire camp involves identifying and avoiding floodlights, smoking areas, cell phone reception pockets, and poison oak, taking a Benadryl and not remembering the night at all. NyQuil is another camp favorite, but may be harder to talk the resident EMT into handing out, depending on how benevolent they're feeling. An EMT who has fixed a lot of BooBoos in a day is usually feeling pretty high on their protocol administration, and is likely more pliable than a bored camp EMT who hasn't had a chance to flex their medical knowledge for the day and is dying to tell you why they can't give you NyQuil. So always look for the dirtiest medic in the unit. Which will very likely be me. 

7. Socialization is another key factor in this microcosm. Learning where it is important to make friends will get you a long way. Some of the most important people to buddy up to included communications (you'll never have to beg for batteries), medical (dibs on the rare Green Gold Bond?), And supply (vintage Nomex and unlimited duct tape and glow sticks). Food is also a good place to have friends, you can get a preview of meals which can determine a detour through town for a quick stop. It never hurts to have the  Incident Commander and a few assorted operational bigwigs on your side, in case of unruly bosses, ordering up friends and/spouses or snagging primo spots on the line. "we need medic Weston for this float assignment on the Rogue River." "I'd like Medic Weston to fly the fire with me for some strategic medical planning." Friends in high places, y'all. See guideline 1. 


I'm always looking for new tricks and interesting fire-coping mechanisms. Feedback welcome!

*I am in search of a reasonably cool and not-itchy Denver Broncos beanie. 
**Dutch Bros should come out with an instant coffee, y'all.

Things That Hurt

My  head. I woke up with a pounding headache that I blame entirely on a horrible dream wherein I was married to my ex-husband once again and we were moving into a giant weird house full of spiders. I was trying to run away with the kids but nobody could understand why I was so upset. I hate dreams like that. I wonder what causes them? I refuse to blame the peppermint candy ice cream I ate before bed. It has enough guilt to bear for the stomach ache that I fell asleep to.

I haven't had much to say lately, partly because I have been somewhat busy, making picturesquely imperfect (leave me my fantasies) gingerbread houses and homemade dinners, and starting loads of laundry which my Adorable Husband ends up following through to the fold an put away stage. And then when I sit down with my computer and contemplate something deep and profound to say, websites like Urban Outfitters and Victoria's Secret and Amazon all scream out to me with their amazing Holiday deals and I have difficulty focusing on anything except boots and things like that. And then there is the issue of the Very Cute, but Very Bad puppy who at this moment is shaking an unwrapped Christmas Present like a dead kitten in her little needle teeth. If I catch her chewing on something I can possibly live without, like an empty cardboard box or the car microfiber duster I paid $1 for, I let her be, since it's going to be that or something else. This morning she brought me first one, and when that was confiscated, the other red velvet shoe from my closet. At least she has good taste. And I will say the jingle bell collar was a wise investment since she is easily located now, wherever she is tearing up something that she should not be.

Right now The Avett Brothers are playing on 101.7, and sometimes I forget how much I love them. But the first strains of I & Love & You reverberate along with a chill down my spine and the warm fuzzy feeling of KNOWING not only them, but their songs, and their people, and the ideals that they champion in their music. Christmas Music is a nice little break from routine for us, other than Josh, who is already sick of everything except the California Raisins' version of We Three Kings, but I am secretly excited for January and making up for all this lost time with my boys.

This last few days, or week, or maybe even half of a month has been a little tough for me, on several levels. I've already done enough whining about the physical stuff, so I think I will delve into some internal stew that has been simmering since my Loving Husband, ever so tenderly, called me out on my bad attitude. Just when I was feeling all smug for my positivity and happy spirit, and self righteously condemning the pharisees who couldn't just catch the contagious joy that probably had something to do with an unbridled Holiday Shopping binge and endless espressos and parties and an excuse for a Whole New Wardrobe, I run face to face with the ugly truth of my selfishness. Why Josh couldn't just "get happy" was beyond my grasp, since the world is perfect and I have new skirt. When he finally got tired enough of tolerating me, he was able to articulate quite well, my self absorbed approach to life. The unfortunate thing about being married to Josh is that he is almost always right. He is graciously learning to allow me to be wrong from time to time without needing to crusade against my erroneous views, but in this instance, he was dead on and I was out of excuses. I was being shallow and judgemental and all of the things that I professed to loathed. So, in true contrition, I begged him for the grace to allow my little binge of selfish misbehavior continue until after Christmas, at which time I would become absolvent and depressed in response to the dire conditions we face in this life. No, but seriously, I needed a kick in the butt and I am thankful for a guy who can do it, even if clumsily, at least faithfully to me.

So I am still working through some of this inner process, which loosely translates to a mild slow-down in spending and more cautious approach to spousal reprimands and arbitrary judgements.

On another note - I just got called for an interview as an Emergency Room tech at the hospital. This is something that I will have to carefully consider. A grown up job with grown up side effects - like giving up fire season? But something that I would enjoy and would keep my mind and body active, and helping people... Pondering.

Things That Make Money

this is what I do in the woods: suspend IV bags from sticks and hang out with silly boys
I am leaving for a forest fire up in Wenatchee. This will probably result in a two week silence from me, but if it works out, I will find ways to speak from fire camp. In the meantime, I will be making enough money to finance my woman-of-leisure lifestyle when I return.