freedom

I got laid off from Outward Bound yesterday. Although I had been joking about getting fired for a few months, it was a little bit of a shock that my position was one of the ones cut. I mean, as I mentioned in an earlier post, I'm so freakin' cheap and entertaining! At least they aren't going to hire the $80/hour grant writer (at least right now), which puts my mind at ease.

It's funny, actually: although I wasn't working there all that much and today wasn't much different than other days (I'm about to leave for taasc and spent the morning doing some things for taasc, responding to emails, and going for a run), there's a new shine to the day. I actually mailed a transcript request form to my Colby College for boys and girls. I feel like life is pretty good now.

Or, as Alyssa says, "It's good until a couple of pay periods pass by." I adore her.

And this is why we are outdoor educators.

After a trip to Table Rock with the littlest TAASC members and a couple of brave parents, I was in a daze. That group has ten boys and three girls who are nine and ten years old. I was on edge as they wanted to run around on the top of a mountain with undefined cliff edges-- that is, the edge of the cliff might be right behind that lush strip of mountain laurel.

See photos below for details: we have the Lord of the Flies equipped with their bows and arrows or guns and the girls looking competent and entertained. The boys were really pretending to shoot like that off of the side of the side of Table Rock. At one point, after explaining that they couldn't do battle with the sticks (broken bones, splinters of wood in the eyes, et al) I found myself acquiescing and letting them pretend they were guns. Even though Alberto Gonzales thought I was going soft, I drew the line at water boarding.

After the trip I was at Neighbors' for a book club meeting and telling folks (who all have worked for taasc and outward bound at some point) about one incident. This is the incident:

We were on the summit and I had made it really clear that they either had to be with me or Shadow (my co-instructor) while up there. Because of those sneaky edges, if they had to go to the bathroom, they needed to tell us. After hanging out for a while, I noticed a couple of boys laughing and on the trail going down. I asked what they were up to and they laughed that one kid-- who I'll call Spratty-- was down the trail pooping in a bag.

KD: "A WAGS bag?" (Which is a bag designed for poop carry-out in heavily shoveled areas...)

Boys: "No, like a Walmart bag!"

KD: "Go back up to the top and stay with the group." They were still snickering and I didn't want Spratty to hear more of their teasing.

Dave had an extra WAGS bag in his pack that I brought down to meet little Spratty on the trail. I found him standing in the middle of the trail... Walmart bag still empty. I almost did an arm pump. I said, "This is a much better bag for poop," and didn't make a big deal about it. After explaining how to use it, we made a plan that he would stash it behind a bush on the trail and I'd pick it up when we hiked down. Inconspicuous and face-saving.

As I was telling this story, I ended with, "And it wasn't even that much poop! When I carried it down, it was so light..."

Beth pointed out, "Isn't it amazing that we all know what you are talking about and find this to be normal conversation? Like, 'Oh yeah, that poop was so little!'"

Above All, Fashion

My friend wrote this post about running in a hideous outfit... and being seen by a coworker in said outfit.

First, I know the feeling. People often refer to my lime green running shoes as "ugly as sin." (It's the South, you know...) I buy the same style of shoes every time I need a new pair because they feel great and keep me company from the rain to the pavement. They are like little friends.

Therefore, I enjoy my "little friends" regardless of their spangles or smudges, and I wonder what our clothes and shoes must feel after we realize that they are a bit worn or gaudy.

Perhaps we keep wearing them until we hear enough, "Hey, did you buy that purple and aquamarine ski jacket off of David Hasselhoff in the 90s?"

To which we might stiffly smile and say, "Good one...heh, heh" while that jacket gives off a little Eeyore sigh and loses a little loft.

Perhaps we realize that we don't wear that pleated patriotic skirt anymore and relegate it to the back of the closet. Perhaps that shimmering gold gown would look better in the donation pile or costume closet. Perhaps that pair of tapered jeans that you just HAD to have are now tapering into the trash.

I don't know what these tossed off articles and accessories must feel like because they can't talk. So, I decided to catch my current "ugly" running shoes and their predecessors in their quiet downtime and then analyze their behaviour. (Did I put on my latest resume that I have great analytical skills? And that I can write "behavior" like the British?)

Here are my old Blues. Tar Heel and proud, their laces are fringed and they hang out by the window. If they were human, they might be relaxed like a grandpappy smokin' a pipe on the porch and telling stories about when they were as bright as the sky and looking up to the original Grays who came with me to Spain. I would hope that they aren't sad and hanging out in front of the window with a brown paper bag of booze or something. I like to think that my old Blues are happy in their retirement. They still get to bounce around town every now and again.

Here are my Blues mentoring the Limeys saying, "It's okay, we were once as bright as you. You'll fade in a little while... enjoy your tread while you have it."
Here they are, hiding from the world while tucked on the "third floor" of the library. They are sneakers after my own feet. I will never give you back to David Hasselhoff.

King of the Kibble

As I was writing a grant, I looked out my window and saw the neighbor's little scruffy dog Charley walking down the street. He's wearing a sweater.

It's 60 degrees and Charley took himself for a walk. Did he want to check out his domain? Or was he simply looking for someone with thumbs to help him take off his crew neck sweater?

Dangerous Playground

After running up to the top of the field, the minnows pause just before the safe zone to taunt the sharks.
Safe this time, but the next run down the field offers sharks, hungrier than before and quick to make the kill.
Arch the back!
Lunge and tag!
Oh, one more shark for the team and we pant and regroup... before swimming into dangerous waters once again.

Love and A Quilt

I received a wonderful package in the mail today from Mrs. Robertson. She is a dear friend, fantastic quilter, and the founder and owner of Quilt Arts. (If you click on this link, scroll over the words, especially "About" to get a feel for this amazing place.)

It's really cold outside and in my house and I love having beauty around me. The quilt she made for me is perfect. Perfect.


She deserves many cherries in her Shirley Temples.

Check out the photos and haiku below. The one above is with a flash, the others are without.


Twelve degrees outside.
And with wind chill feels like three

AR, my hero

Light.

I was writing a poem while on a flight from Madison to Atlanta. Thinking about my next line, I looked out the window and saw this:
I took a photo and then went back to my poem. The next time I looked out, we were in a cloud. Gray mist surrounded the plane. I started to read. The next time I looked out the window, the sunset offered these views:

If only Pink Floyd were playing.

always look at the bright side of life, deh deh do do do do do do

Does anybody know that song?

One might be nervous about losing a job. One might be worried about a broken car and losing a job. One might be concerned about it all, but this one is glad that I am in my room this morning with the sun shining in the window and the heat turned up to a scorching 65 degrees.

Often, I need to be rushing out and don't get to see this sun coming in, but today oh today, I am planning on working from here in the afternoon. The morning is mine.

Here is a poem for the Good Doctor Klein:
With the clicks of my fingers, I can abracadabra numbers
Imagine the magic of adding numbers to one column
from another column
And making both numbers less!
One click and I have dread for the first column
And a sigh of, "Okay, it will be okay" for the next.
Slight of hand with a credit card bill.

Here are some photos from another magical Christmas vacation:

And She's Sitting Right Here

I went out to lunch yesterday with our "Development Department" from Outward Bound. This department has dwindled from 4 full time people and me working 20 hours a week to 2 full time people and me working 10 hours a week. It was a post-Christmas treat from our director.

While at lunch, we were talking about the economy and slim times at the school. We were not talking about me possibly leaving, but the other development person (we'll call her Kelly) began saying to the director, "Well, I know a fabulous fabulous grant writer who would be great for our school. Work ethic-- uh, out of this world! She's the type of person who lights up a whole room when she enters! She doesn't come cheap though, $80-$175 an hour..."

At first I thought, "Well shit. I'm sitting right here and your giving advice about giving my job away?" And then I figured that for $80-$175 an hour they could have many Katie Dunns there. Bing Dunn.

So if I want to keep this job, here are my points:

1. Shit, I can light up a room. Just give me some whiskey.
2. I know not to end a sentence with a preposition.
3. And, the bottom line: Times are slim and I am cheaper than that lady.

Dancing in the Streets

We were leaving an adult daycare home after a few hours of yardwork, reading, and hanging out with the elderly participants. They were having lunch, so we simply stopped in to say goodbye. As we shook hands around the room, several said, "What?! No singing for us? Sing us something." C'mon folks, not only do you get to see these cherubs for hours, but now you also want some sort of dinner theater?

So, I turned into my mom for a minute and said, "Sure! We can do it, right guys?!" If they were teenagers, they'd look at me in the same way that I used to look at my mom when she'd sign me up for something that I did not agree to do-- like, "You have GOT to be kidding." But they are 9 and 10 year olds who starting singing, "Dashing through the snow..." Soon we had a taasc dad on a lovely piano accompaniment and the party was on. One song (with different interpretations of lyrics) and we were out of there. Spontaneous celebration.

This week has been full of spontaneous celebrations. In addition to having some kitchen slow dances, I was delighted to be part of a dance party at Doc's house after dinner the other night. He said, "Don't you love this song?" and began to Ska-dance around the living room. I added some moves that only Tessa and random climbers have seen, and joy filled the room. Why not dance party of two?

It seems like a year to not wait for weddings or bar mitzvah's to boogie down.

don't call it a comeback. i've been here for years.

I was doing well on perpetual vacation--it was so wonderful to see my family and then Lyssie and Pete. New Jersey and Massachusetts were full of excellent food, relaxing with my folks, funny stories from the kids, great movie watching... Madison was full of life advice, cultural events, and slow dancing to "I Touch Myself" on the same night as when that poor WHOP driva was out in the cold.

Returning had the best that Asheville has to offer: its people, its running and biking terrain (although someone overworked her poor Christmas-cookie filled body), and its food. I relished in the 60 degree weather after being in the tundra. This photo is from a bike ride last weekend. Tee shirt.

Then, I worked a bit at the office today and had a mini freak-out tonight about my future plans. Consultants were ready to give advice and I am taking it. Show up, pay attention, don't be attached to the outcomes. Sleep, water, and lift with the legs. What is good now? Just do something.