Hot Tubs, Moldy Towels and The Birth House

Posted by Melissa Baumgart

A Weekend Away.
I had the pleasure of going to the Oregon Coast this past weekend.  Our dear friends (and GLWT reader number uno) hosted us at their beach house just south of Astoria, OR.  I loved every minute of it, from driving through the old town where the Goonies was filmed, the windy walk down to witness the mighty Pacific Ocean, the sauna, the breakfast of seasonal frittata and dinner of dungeness crab to catching up in front of the fire after the kids were tucked in bed.  So, no, I did not do any water aerobics this past weekend.  Not unless you count raising my glass while relaxing in the hot tub as a form of excersize.


My Pool is Closed.
It's a bummer, Green Lake's Evans Pool is closed for two weeks.  I am hugely disappointed, since that was my favorite place for water aerobics in Seattle.  I just don't know if I'll find another spot that fills me up, emotionally and physically, like that one.  If you know of one, I am all ears.  And in case you weren't aware, I prefer my water aerobics in the deep end with lots of old people.

Project Simplify is on.

I don't even use half of this stuff.

Last week, Amy started a challenge that has to do with organizing.  Amy found a blog, Simple Mom, and she does a decluttering/organizing project every March.  She sets up guidelines and helps you to focus on one "hot spot" in need of attention in your home every week.  When I first read Amy's post, I cringed.  Organizing and cleaning used to be my thing, until kids.  I suppose I still do OK in the category, but for me, with these things, it's like I either do it really well or I throw in the towel.  Consider my towel thrown, so long ago, it's probably in some cluttered recess of my closet growing the mold that is giving me allergies and my leg rash.  Now when I hear about other people "organizing" my ego takes it as a personal blow.  Like someone just plastered my old moldy towel on the cover of US magazine next to Snooki's baby bump.  


My weekend away was spent with a friend of mine that excels in the organizing and cleaning categories of life.  Every closet or drawer I opened was a new challenge.  How do I feel good about my personal flaws in the face of perfection?  Well, believe me, it is hard for a Virgo woman.  Hell, it might be hard for any woman, if they are being honest.  It wasn't until I got home that it really hit me, when I was faced with all the clutter and disorganization and mess of my own space.  I walked through my door with a smile on my face from all the fun, and quickly discovered an uncomfortable chip on my shoulder, longing for the neat and orderly me of yesteryear.

The wretched container cupboard. 

Instead of wallowing in my imperfections, I decided to move through my cringing and right on into Project Simplify.  It feels like less of a To-Do list for me, and more like some kind of intense exposure therapy.  Let's just hope it goes better than my trip to the mountainside.  Although, I wouldn't rule out a few tears being shed.

This week is going to be spent tackling the kitchen.  I love cooking, so this is an area I spend a lot of time in.  I figure it is a good place to start.  I have agreed to three things for the week:

1. Cleaning out my fridge and freezer.  This means getting rid of things I don't use, no matter how healthy and good they are for me.  If I don't use them, they are doing no good.
2. Organizing my containers, plastic and otherwise.  This cupboard is out of control.  I can get it all tidy in the afternoon, and by nightfall it is a complete mess.  I am going to also find a way to keep it tidy.  My recent purchase of a Martha Stewart magazine on organizing says, "Staying organized is an ongoing process; if something isn't working well for you, change the process until it is."  That is my goal for this cupboard.
3. Making a meal plan and sticking to it.  I used to do this and it always felt so good.  Knowing that all the fresh, healthy food in my fridge is going to be used and not found rotten two weeks later is always a good feeling.    

Reading more.

I have continued to read, since last month sparked my love for reading.  I am not reading at the same pace as last month, but I am working through a 400+ page book, The Birth House by Ami McKay.  It takes place in the early 1900's and is about a woman that apprentice's with an old granny midwife and has to cope with medical technologies like twilight sleep being offered to the women of her rural town.  She has to walk the delicate line between being a good wife in the context of the culture she was raised in, and following her calling, which is serving women, not her husband's needs.

I am really enjoying it and I feel a strong sense of reading the right book at the right time.

Until next time.  And please, consider checking out a water aerobics class near you.  I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.
-Melissa

The Backpacking Chronicles: 1

posted by Melissa
The Mountain and Me

Me with my backpack.

After getting everything ready for the backpacking trip, I got up early on Thursday morning to go and take my final test for Anatomy & Physiology.  As soon as I was finished, the crew (Amy, Jamie and Bob) picked me up from school and we left for our big adventure.  I was relieved to be finished with the summer quarter of school, anxiety ridden about the mountain I was about to climb, and joyful to be spending time with people I love.

I had to keep reminding myself, "I am on vacation.  This is what some people do for fun."

We popped into Leavenworth for a hearty lunch before the hike.  The first place we laid eyes on was a Mexican restaurant, South.  We were in a Bavarian themed town, but sure, why not have Mexican.  Our server, Valente, was what we call "one of our people."  His humor had me cackling loudly and his hospitality warmed our hearts.  Not five minutes after sitting down, Valente walks over with four double shots of tequila, just because.  When does that ever happen?  I knew, at that moment, that this was going to be a charmed trip.

We all sang along to the Grateful Dead on the sunny drive up to the trailhead.  I wasn't as afraid of the mountain as I thought I'd be as we gained elevation on every curve.  We geared up at the trailhead and cheerfully started our ascent.

It was tough, one minute in and I was huffing and puffing like nobody's business.  All I could think was that I need to get my ass back into the yoga studio.  Three miles in, we took a rest at Little Eightmile Lake.  By that time, I had had some sort of unlikely rejuvenation sent from the mountain gods.  I was literally running up some of the trails, and keeping a pretty good pace.  I also thought we were nearly done for the day, maybe another half mile more to go to Eightmile Lake.

We needed to make one of the first of many big decisions of our trip.  It was 5:30pm, so with few hours of sunlight, should we take the short hike to Eightmile or should we set ourselves up for tomorrow's jaunt to Windy Pass by climbing up to Lake Caroline?  People, Lake Caroline was another 2.5 miles and 3000 feet in elevation.  And I had a 50 pound pack on my back.  The crew decided on Lake Caroline.  I was obsequious.

Last picture of the ascent.

As we started our climb, I was hopeful.  I had the past three miles under my belt, and it hadn't been so bad. I talked myself through most of the first mile or so, reminding myself of the "exposure therapy" I was working through.  I got shaky at one steep and narrow part of the trail, but I kept on going, one foot in front of the other.  I was feel pretty proud of myself by the time we got to our next resting point at a beautiful rocky spot just above the burn line of a forest fire in the 90's.  It was there that I took my last photo of the hike up, and felt the last joy I would feel until we had long since reached the top.

I said the word f*#k more times than I ever thought I could.  It was the only word I could utter.

At some point, because the rest of the hike is mostly a blur, the mosquitos started swarming.  It was around that time that I also started to lose it.  Every time I looked ahead, it was all uphill.  Steep.  Dangerous.  Overwhelmingly impossible.  And I could hardly breathe.

I had to stop, but the mosquitos were relentless.  Jamie begged me to keep going, for the sake of our already spotted skin.  I simply could not.  I just stood there and cried.  Jamie later told me it was the saddest state he had ever seen me in, crying while mosquitoes bit my face, and too tired and despondent to swat them away.