And two years later...

Well it's been 2008 since I started the blog. Still in California, still punching numbers, still paddling, still living the dream. I recently re-discovered my love of the trails, soft rolling hills and stark jagged peaks. If the view is unmatched, the hike is well worth the climb.

Next weekend we will be knocking off San J from the easy side, nearing the completion of the Sierra Club WBC class we have been taking. After this, the paddling season begins and the weekends will be filled with miles on the water or miles on the trails. Baldy and 9Peaks in May, San Jacinto from Marion (hardest) in June, Kearsarge Pass and Cottonwood Lakes in July...all in the hopes we will be hiking Whitney this summer.

One way or another...Whitney will commence this summer!

"We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams, wandering by lone sea-breakers, and sitting by desolate stream; - world-losers and world-forsakers, on whom the pale moon gleams: yet we are the movers and shakers of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties we build up the world's great cities, and out of a fabulous story we fashion an empire's glory: One man with a dream, at pleasure, shall go forth and conquer a crown; and thee with a new song's measure can trample and empire down.

We, in ages lying In the buried past of the earth, Built Ninevah with our sighing, and Babel itself with out mirth; And o'erthrew them with prophesying, to the old of the new world's worth; For each age is a dream that is dying, or one that is coming to birth."

From Here to There

I don't know why I never started a blog before. I like journals, I am irresponsible when it comes to keeping one. I write for a week, then the hard sought after book gets neglected under the bed and quickly becomes comforted by the dusk motes and stray pillow feathers. I know there are moods when I wish I had a voice recorder to turn on and simply start spewing whatever rant, soap-box, or tangent has been pent up and forced to implode. I guess today could be that day, but there is no poetry here this morning. I feel no soulful flowing of prose to paint graphic picture for the stumbler on of this random blogger's slightly twisted mind. Here's to an outlet I can use at work, when on my couch at night, when I simply need to get it all out. I find there to be moments when I have a thought that I must get on paper, a song that moves my soul, or an image I can't remove from my thoughts. When I am sitting silent in a field that crawls on for miles and the slight stirring of an invisible breeze lifts its hand for the briefest, barest moment and touches my face as I close my eyes. Yes, this is a moment I must preserve in time for those chaotic minutes the world is moving so fast it dizzies me. And this journal, she doesn't keep score, and she never passes judgement or disappoints. She is simply here to tell my story....