Would You Trust Me?

You know you're putting your faith in the energies of the planet when you put your newborn in the hands of this little guy! "Trust me, I'm Batman."

That seems to be the theme of life these days, putting our faith into the planet. You might call it God. Whatever. It's the same thing when you get right down to it. We left behind the world's greatest neighborhood, good jobs, fair warnings from more than a few, and a beautiful house that nearly doubled in value in just over five years, just to come live in the White Mountains, to spend our days where our hearts are.

Things didn't go too well right from the beginning. Dad died. Jeff died. Little Batman hated things up here, missing all his friends and North Street. Money was tight. It seemed liked we'd made the biggest fuck-up of our lives and that we were living it out in slow motion, watching the skyscraper fall over frame by painstaking frame.

But, things seem to be working out, slowly coming into focus. I have some irons in the fire, potential television programming deals that may just work out. My wife has a job lined up for her in a private practice for when she graduates...in May of 2007! The boys are loving life up here, learning to climb and swim, hiking, skiing, living closer to nature and the outdoors. Everything seems good. Even the tough stuff.

Raking up the last of the leaves in our back yard this weekend K and I talked about how things are coming 'round for us. We'd put our trust in the planet, knowing that if we moved to this place where our hearts' song was that it'd all be alright. Resting my elbow on the top of the rake I looked out at the mountain right behind our back yard, made more visible now that the leaves have fallen.

Having put so much at risk - at least that's how some people look at it - we marvel that people can live their whole lives always dreaming, wishing they could be, do or live in someplace other than where they are.

Well, it begs the Big Question of life: Would you trust me?

Go ahead, take the jump! There's a pile of pillows at the bottom of the stairs!

Job Offer, a Time to Contemplate

I love running early in the morning. There's no better time to think, investigate the sufferfest meter, have a look around at nature's wonder. On this morning snow squalls coloured the sky, back lit by the alpenglow orange of pre-dawn sun. The frosted mountains on the skyline were partially obscured by low clouds and the squalls themselves. It's one of my favorite mountain scenes. It makes me feel like I'm at altitude, climbing some peak in Pakistan or Nepal. It's a feeling I understand well, because I've been there and lived it.

The absence of a snow cover on the mountain still allows for running to the top. So, I'm good for a few more training runs before snowpack demands I trade my mountain runs for skinning to the top and skiing back down. It's colllld today, though. And, I couldn't find my running gloves. So in the dark I fumbled around my sock drawer and grabbed a pair of socks...a reminder of the old days when Jeff and I never bothered to buy gloves for running.

I had plenty to think about. Just yesterday I was offered a job with a video production facility in southern New Hampshire. This run was a good time to think it over. While I know damn well I'd never take the job, I respectfully accepted a few days to mull it over. The best thing about the job offer is that I'd get put on a health plan. It's been a year since my plan ran out. (Yah, yah, I've heard the no-health-plan commentary...) The downside of the job, and the decisive factor, is that the pay wouldn't come close to what I need. He offered me $50,000. Plus, we'd have to move the farm to southern New Hampshire. I couldn't imagine pulling the kids twice in two years like that.

Between wondering if all those checks we sent out the other day are going to bounce and me keeping focused on how bright the future looks, I decided I really would try to imagine working for this company. It's tempting, I have to admit. Things are very tight right now...day to day at times. It's been a lean year, with the suicide of my brother incapacitating me for a couple months. But, I've got some irons in the fire. Plus, my qualifications are so high that I could run that place. I've worked for myself for years and that's worked well. I've also made in excess of his asking price for the last ten years. A cut in pay? It would be a big step down. I'd never last there. I'd feel cheated if I stooped down like that.

Just before I left the meeting, the owner said to me to understand that he doesn't want me to accept the job and then leave in a year. He intimated that I'd need to keep all those Everest-like aspirations in check...three months to climb a slag heap wouldn't work for him. Understandably so. It wouldn't be fair to him, to me, to my family, nobody. I know in my heart that even if he offered me $80,000 (what it'd take for me to contemplate it) I'd be giving up all that I'd sacrificed for over the last decade. It's not gonna happen, my friend. Thing is, he's a great guy. Very talented. I totally respect what he's built there and ten years ago would've killed to work in an outfit like that. I just don't picture myself a part of his plan at this stage in my life.

Hitting the summit during my run felt wonderful. But, as usual, I didn't become enlightened. As climbers, we kid ourselves into thinking that reaching the summit of K2 or Everest will bring us total enlightenment, nirvana. Only, we get there and instead look off to the next mountain and wonder if enlightenment can be found on that summit, over there.

I studied a plume blowing off the summit of Mt. Washington, a dozen miles to the north. A mini Everest right here near my home. The ski lifts beside me were silent, not a lick of snow on the landing ramps. I had this mountain to myself. In a few weeks, though, the mountain will be covered by snow, lifts already operating for early morning trail checks by ski patrol.

When that happens, the mountain won't be completely mine again until spring, when I'll be back to kick its ass and take another run at enlightenment.

I Could Bite You

Bud and Bodhi
They COULD bite, but wouldn't!



Life is nuts sometimes. Thing is, the person you're supposed to be most connected to on this planet isn't always available. Things get busy. Life = 2 boys, 3 dogs, 1 big house, 1 vacation rental apartment, self employment, master's program, internship, swimming and climbing lessons for the kids. I don't need to go on. And, I'm not complaining, either. I love it all, the whole crazy nuthouse.

In the process of making our way from the beginning of the day to the end of the day my wife and I barely have time, or the inclination, to connect. That's why last night was so fine. That's why I feel no regret for this hangover.

Last night my wife and I celebrated her birthday. We stayed up way too late and drank way too much. The boys were in bed at about 8, after watching back-to-back Simpsons. (I know, I know, not a good show for kids. Whatever!) We put a few CD's in the stereo, starting with Ballads by John Coultrane, then onto some other jazz CD's. We don't do jazz often enough. It was just perfect, a nice and mellow way to start things out. Great conversation. Quiet house. Good vibes. Puppies rumbling at our feet.

A few hours later we'd drained a six pack, a Foster's Lager oil can, a stray Sam Adams Ale, polished a bottle of red and had poured Scotch into the shot glasses we bought at Luray Caverns this summer. We also learned firsthand just how loud that stereo actually goes. The Stones Let It Bleed. Neil Young Tonight's The Night. Yah! CD's were everywhere, as we basically DJ'd the evening's selections. My wife is one hell of a dancer. She was very polite not to laugh too loud when I started to show my moves. White man's overbite, as Billy Crystal calls it, fists pulled up to the chest, little bounces back and forth.

The night ended far too soon. We're happy to pay for it today. We shared great conversation, had some laughs, shed some tears, listened to fine, fine music, celebrated the birth of my soul mate. Together. Connected.

Childhood

How did we get here? It all starts with a childlike curiosity of things in the world. How those elements respond back to us may have much to do with how we grow up, and ultimately whom we become. If only the world would respond to us when we offered it our pure sincerity....like a child who looks to his mother for love and expects that he'll get a hug.

Mount Everest Haiku

Clouded ambition
No mercy to those who love her
Ahh, Chomolungma!

Dharma Bum Lost - Role Model and Father

My dad died a year ago this Wednesday, on November 9th, 2004. I think it would have been easier to mourn his loss if I'd had some time with it. But three months after his death my brother committed suicide. It made the loss of my father pale in comparison to the sense of despair and confusion of having lost my best friend and soul mate. But, today I'm not writing about my brother. That'll come soon...and often.

About a week before my dad's death my six-year-old son and I drove up to Maine to visit him. I didn't really believe it would be the last time I'd ever see Dad. But, that "damn cold" seemed to have gotten the best of him. Time was running out. Lung cancer is a son-of-a-bitch. This self-realized 73-year-old man had indulged in the illiteracy of youth for too many years, drinking, smoking, carousing, neglecting not only his body, but that which came with career, marriage and fatherhood.

It hurts just to say those words. Look at him now and it seems unbelievable. The person who had beaten down so many obstacles, this one human being who'd become as close to an angel as any, was nearing his end on this earth. The recovered alcoholic, absentee father of my childhood had become a pillar of morality, strength and inspiration to me and so many others. In the thirty-plus years of his sobriety he'd spent the majority of it counseling and helping those battling with alcoholism and addictions, rebuilding a torn marriage with my mother and developing a meaningful relationship with his three children.

He was laying in bed, wearing, as usual, the longsleeved, white mock turtleneck with the logo from my Everest expedition on it. I swear it was the only thing he wore in the last year of his life. And bet you a nickel he died in it. On the sleeve was the Buddhist "Om" symbol, the symbol of peace. On the back, the logo featured a rocky peak with a single eye over the summit, a symbol of knowledge.

My son and I walk upstairs to see him, his six-foot-two frame more fragile than the last time I saw him. He reaches out, smiling.

"It's okay, Will, you can get up on the bed with him." My boy shows wisdom beyond his years (and mine), and he crawls beside my dad, cuddling beside him, giving him a long, loving embrace.

"How ya feeling, Dad?"

"Ugh. Awful. But, we'll beat this thing...." Classic Dad: no need to worry us with talk of death or anything!

Then, between breaths and some coughs, my dad proceeds to tell Will about me, about life, about the man that Will will one day become. Before my eyes I witness the passing of knowledge from one generation to the next. Will strokes my dad's hair, staring into his eyes, laughing from time to time, nudging so close to him that he ends up on top of him.

Less than a week later, my dad died in his bed. My mom and sister had just walked downstairs for a short break. He snuck out when they weren't looking.

He leaves me behind with only one regret: that my two boys won't grow up with their Grampie around. So, I'll try to mark this anniversary in some meaningful way. I can do this as a testament to him, by keeping the memory of his example bright, to pass along the spirit of a gentle soul who became a guide to so many, to be sure that in his passing the light of hope and goodness is every bit as strong.

Thanks Dad. I feel you here now. Look over my boys and guide them.

And, be sure to tell Jeff I say hi.

Your boy.

The Snow Is Gone

One week ago the snow up high made running Black Mountain damn near impossible. If not for the tracks of a coyote it would've been tough to keep on the trail. Obscured by a foot of snow, trees weighted down by the thick snow bending to the ground, I could imagine someone unprepared dying up there.

Today, Will and I ran up Black Cap, but under much more forgiveable conditions. The snow was melted away. Leaveless trees opened the vista to surrounding peaks. The warm, calm temperatures betrayed the gray looks-like-snow sky. We talked the whole way up, giving fair warning to any animals that might be browsing in the woods or fields. Fresh moose pellets signaled the presence of wildlife...but the incessant talk of humans triggers an understandable run mechanism.

That's why my solo runs are so gratifying...gliding stealthily through the woods and trails keeps open the possibility of sneaking up on an animal. I almost ran into the rear of a bull moose a couple months back. He was grazing on some shrubs, I cruised out around a corner from the woods, and BOOM! We both froze for a second, surprised. Believe it or not, he ran first! I considered turning around, afraid I might encounter him on the way down. But, I'd only completed half my run. Besides, the chances of him actually running me down goring me were too slim to lose a workout.

Well, the plumber should be at my house in a few minutes. Every sink, faucet, tub, toilet in the joint needs a tweak or a fix. Getting a plumber around here is almost impossible. Better not let this one get away. I tell my wife if things get financially desperate I could always become a plumber. Kids, take note: there is a shortage of plumbers. To hell with plastics!

Later-hosen. Have a great day.

First Cup

For this soul there's nothing so grounding as that first cup of java in the morning. Coffee takes the edge off, floats me just off-center from the gritty reality of a day-to-day existence. And, let me make this clear: I'm talking Coffee, not that Dunkin' Donuts watered down joke of an excuse for coffee. I mean The Real Bean, dark, ground to a powder, lovingly filtered, cup by heavenly cup with boiling hot water. I'd sooner go without for a day than to take a trip to Dumpin' Do-not. If you ever see me at one, please, shoot me.

It's not that I'm trying to deny my existence with this worship of The Cup. I appreciate the events and characters that color my life: the hardships, the losses, the successes, the challenges, my wife and children. But, a very strong cup of black coffee offers an escape from this ADD mind. And, as my cousin once pointed out, at least I know my limit: when I'm throwing up all over my date's lap I know it's time to stop!

Coffee is ritual. I've shared so many good times and conversations over a cup of coffee. Some mornings, especially those where I'm missing my brother (he committed suicide nearly a year ago, was my best friend and soul mate), I pull out one of his favorite mugs, filter the coffee directly into it, and am instantly transported to a time where he's pouring a cup for me in his kitchen. Ahh, the aroma! Jeff and I go sit in the living room, philosophize, talk about anything, have a few laughs. When he gets up to pour another cup he doesn't need to ask. He knows I'd like another please.

Some of my more memorable cups have been prepared in times of hardship: Stormbound at 26,000 feet on Everest back in '99 I was sure that I'd run out of coffee. Our tent was a total mess. It was all we could do to get outside for nature's call without being blown over. We'd endured nearly three days of 80+ mph winds, two of us inside, almost out of food and picking through the tea for something, anything appealing to consume. One last look through the zip-lock bag and there it is, the telltale tiny blue square, signaling the last of the Maxwell House mini-filter coffees. (Hey, it's Everest. Cut me some slack!) Now THAT was a cup a' joe!

I'm not suggesting that coffee is the path to happiness. Even so, it's quite possible that it is: so much satisfaction in such a little container! We each have our ways to get through the day. Before my brother committed suicide I might've found fault with someone who smoked too much, had some destructive addiction or another. But, if something helps you get through the day, it can be a positive in your life. That philosophy is sound, so long as you're looking deep inside for answers, not escaping just for escaping's sake. We're all on a path. Some of us just need a little help now and then.

I'm two cups down so far this morning. The way I look at things, my Thermos is half full.

And, maybe somewhere near the bottom, is nirvana...

The Dharma Bum Blogs - November 1, 2005

I used to keep a journal. Meditate three hours a day. Climb on my days off.

I'm the same guy. Just older and more in debt.

On a mountain run the other day Will said something like "the more things we have the less time we have to enjoy our lives" or something like that. He's right. We work so damn hard just to have things, more things, better things, newer things. Maybe we should just sell the house and buy a small cottage on a plot of land and simplify.

Between sucking air from the exertion of our once-a-week mountain runs we usually philosophize about life, careers, keeping up with mortgages, kids, cars, grocery bills, adventures, marriage. That's the beauty of a mountain run: get a killer workout, take in the beauty of the wilderness, clear the mind, get focused, enjoy a good sufferfest, push through barriers....a miniature day wrapped into an hour of physical exertion.

6:30 in the morning: as we make our way higher the thick snow from last night bends the small trees right over the trail. Down low there's not a trace of snow. But, above about 3,000 feet in elevation it's full-on winter. We follow the footprints of a coyote, winding and wandering upward, sometimes under low-hanging branches, so low we have to crouch to get through. Somewhere up near the top of the mountain the coyote tracks cut off the path, lost within the deafening silence of winter.

This is Day One of The Dharma Bum Blogs:

The internet is a wasteland, where people come together to share their lives in obscurity. I can waste countless hours on espn.com, everestnews.com, Google, whatever. But, having found the Blog, I see that maybe this is my chance to get a journal started again...where I can record my thoughts, get ready for that book I'll write some day.

At The Dharma Bum Blogs people of the same feather are welcome to gather, to find company in this insane world. My entries will run the gamut. I'll share my thoughts and experiences about climbing, sufferfests, suicide, trail running, raising kids, marriage, expeditions, spirituality, getting along in the world, not in that order. And, unless it's a really bad day, the overall feel is optimistic...

Thanks for visiting. Check in from time to time.

The Dharma Bum