If You Can Figure This Out, I'll Think You're the Coolest Person Ever

There is something that has me completely baffled.

See, since signing up for my mission to Nepal, I have been doing my homework. I have to know what to expect about the place, such as, the climate, the currency, the local customs, and will there be a Starbucks along the Everest trail? (Actually, yes.)

So the other day I pull up the world clock app on my iPod to see the time difference between Seattle and Kathmandu. I think it's pretty well known that if it is, say, 2:38 here it is 11:38 somewhere else and 6:38 somewhere else, but it would never be 2:38 here and 12:52 somewhere else. No, it would never be like that.

OR SO I THOUGHT.

My iPod read something completely wacky, like Seattle 6:00, Kathmandu 8:45. And I was all, This damn thing is broken! Later on, I investigated this matter further by pulling up an online world clock. Sure enough...check this out. Look at all the other time zones. They are all normal. They play by the rules. Kathmandu is clearly the black sheep. It flicks it's cigarette and says, Don't tell me what to do.

Seriously, folks. WHY IS THIS?? Does anyone know?

I'll Serve My Next Mission In...

Hello From Lake Tahoe

Happy to be in Lake Tahoe...Sad my camera's battery read full when we left the house, but now, for some unknown reason, it is dead. (I'd only shot five pictures.)

Happy to be here during a full blown snow storm...Sad all routes out of here require us crossing very high passes where the snow is measured in feet. (The news says stay put if you can.)

Happy to be able to see many great friends all together in one place this morning...Sad to watch a friend of nineteen years be put into the ground today. (Sharon, your kids carefully chose your plot with a view of the lake.)

Exciting News! (No, I'm Not Pregnant)

I was going through my hard drive last night and came across this photo, taken my last day in Cambodia while we were touring the Angkor Wat temple.



If you read my blog, you may remember I was planning a return trip to Cambodia to attend my friend Ratha's wedding. That would have been at the end of August.

I ended up cancelling that trip. I also cancelled a mini-triathlon I was training for around that time. I rescheduled photo shoots, stopped blogging, and basically dropped out of life for a few months. I took that time to simplify my life. I was exhausted from always living life at full speed, doing things that weren't always best for me, but for others. I got over my fear of disappointing others and saying no. I spent less time on the computer and more with my kids. I reconnected with my husband and realized that a strong marriage must come before EVERYTHING else. Yes, that's a biggie.

One thing that will always be important to me is going on missions. Water, food, shelter, my husband and family, a good job, and humanitarian work...see, it ranks right up there on top.

With that said, my gypsy feet have been itching to travel again. So a few months ago, I signed up to serve another dental mission. This trip will be for 3 weeks, leaving mid-April. Words cannot express how excited I am to go again.

Guess how mean I am? I am not even telling you where I am going! Not yet!! I am cruelly going to make you guess, and I'll divulge the location later on.

Leave a comment and tell me where you think I'll be going. And you can't guess if I've already told you! Here are three hints:

1. It is in Asia
2. It is not Cambodia
3. I'll need a warm coat and trekkiing poles

Halloween Pictures

Wow. It's been so long since I have blogged I can barely remember the HTML code to post pictures. I'd love to share the last four months with y'all...

Anyway.

Here are some pictures from Halloween last night.

Another Check on Life's List

Congratulations, Dale. At 8:01 this morning you reached the summit of Mt. Rainier. I am so proud of you. Way to not give up! I will see you soon.

Don't Waste Your Money on Therapy and Antidepressants, Just Visit the Third World

I came back from Cambodia in January a different person. The experience changed my values, my relationships with my husband and kids, my view of money, my view of my own country and it's government and it's definition of poverty, and most of all, it changed my thoughts. I returned home feeling like the luckiest person in the whole world.

Stuff just didn't bug me anymore like it used to. I saw the positive side of every situation. For months, I rode that high. It was the best feeling ever (well, one of the best, heh). I saw the world through new eyes. I was grateful for everything. Knowing my children have access to education, opportunities, health care, food, and clean water. And hope. I'll never have to endure the helpless feeling of watching my children starve or die from treatable diseases. I'll never have to make the unthinkable decision of abandoning them or giving them up with the tiniest bit of hope that they will find a better life. They'll never loose a limb to a landmine, or sleep under a mosquito net, or be forced into slavery, or prostitution, or work for pennies in sweatshops so Old Navy provide us with the latest styles.

I was thankful for my home that provides me warmth, safety, security, and protection. I don't have to grill rats on the railroad tracks directly behind my shack built of sticks, right next to the bushes where I defecate. No, I don't have to do any of those things, and I knew I was lucky.

I was thankful that I have a good job. And a nice car. And a president who wants the best for my country. And freedom.

Seriously, you guys, I'd stand in my closet and think to myself, I'm so lucky to have shoes.

Do you know what it's like going through life feeling like you've struck gold? It's a feeling you never, ever want to loose.

But as I feared, I am starting to loose it.

I am starting to get hung up on stupid, trivial shit like I used to. The other day, I was in the drive-thru at my favorite coffee shop. And it was a Sunday, and it was taking forever. Why do they only employ one gal on Sundays when the rest of the week there's always two girls working? Why not spend a couple extra bucks for the second employee so the line can clip along like it usually does?? Ugh, so annoying.

Yesterday I sat down to do some photo editing, so I opened up Photoshop, and what's this? My format couldn't be recognized? As it turns out, because I have a new camera but a two-year-old version of Photoshop (I know! So ancient!) my RAW files cannot be edited. There's no way around it. Wait- there is. Upgrade from Photoshop CS3 to CS5 for a couple hundred bucks. The world heard a steady stream of expletives over that one. I was SO mad. Fuming. Pissed. Furious. Why can't life be fair!?? Why does stuff like this always have to happen??

I read a comment on an Adobe forum over this exact problem that contained the line "If you can afford the 5D Mark II, than you can afford to upgrade your software." That just made me more pissed!! I wanted to tell that guy, Look! I finally saved enough for that camera! You know, good old fashioned SAVING!! Not on credit, not borrowed, not given from mommy and daddy, but saved!! And I didn't buy it until I had enough! And I don't want to drop a few hundred more because Adobe changed the system!

The old me would have instantly thought...It's not the end of the world. I have the jpeg files as a back up. Jennifer Skog encouraged us to not bother shooting in RAW anyway. Shooting strictly in jpeg from here on out will actually improve my photography skills, since I won't rely on RAW to save my images. ...And how lucky am I to have access to such technology?

I miss the old me.

Sorry for the rant. Where was I, again?

Oh yes, Cambodia.

I can't wait to go back to Cambodia...so I can again have the feeling, every moment of everyday, that I've won the lottery.

I Could Not Think of a Title for This Post. I Really Couldn't.

This is Darold. Remember him? From my mission?



Yes, I know that was MONTHS ago, but still. I think the moment he met me he decided that it'd be his life's mission to torture me. On our trip, there wasn't a minute that passed between us when there wasn't some form of teasing, fun-making, ridicule, or joking.

The first few days in Cambodia my ankles swelled to unbelievable proportions. It must have been caused by the flight that lasted longer than the Bush Administration, then made all the worse buy the stifling heat. This was simply delightful to Darold, as it provided him with all the more to tease me about. One time he said, "Ya know, Jess....I'm trying really hard to picture you with normal sized ankles. I just can't. Maybe someday when they return to normal, you could send me a picture?" And so I actually did. A few weeks after the trip I sent him the following email and picture:

Hi Darold. I tried to take a picture of my own ankles. As one could imagine, that is a difficult shot to capture, since you have to contort your body into unnatural positions. I drew a picture of my ankles instead. They have slimmed down quite a bit, as you can see. Love you.

Anyway, I endured this harassment then entire length of the trip. Sometimes I'd get fed up and say, "Can't you be nice? Can't you JUST TRY???" Then Darold would look off in the distance, squinting his eyes as though deep in thought, wait a few moments, then look back at me and say no. Then the torment would continue on.

In other words, we got along great.

Each day after eating our lunch, a few of us would go for a walk around the neighborhood of dirt roads surrounding the orphanage (remember the alligator pit??) One day towards the very end of the mission, I was walking along with Jim (who is Darold's partner). I don't remember what led up to this, but out of the blue Jim says, "Darold is putting Ratha through school, you know." I didn't know that. But in an instant it did make perfect sense. I mean, realistically, how would an orphan have the resources to go to dental school? He wouldn't.

Here I'd spent almost two full weeks with these people and it was the first I'd heard of this. As it turns out, Darold has done this Cambodia dental trip several times and met Ratha years ago when he served at Ratha's orphanage in Phnom Penh. I don't know all the details or timeline of how this all went down, but either way, it doesn't really matter. This whole thing is just right up my alley. Maybe it's because I've always cheered for life's underdog.

Later that day I confronted Darold about what Jim had told me. Honestly, one could really brag about this. Darold could've be all Why yes, it is quite noble of me to do this, you're right, but he wasn't. When I brought it up, he was pretty nonchalant about it. What he said was along the lines of "Well..you know Ratha is just such a great kid..." He simply passed along the compliment. While I do think Darold is fat, ugly, and stupid...there's a tiny part of me that thinks he's pretty awesome. Sometimes.

And Ratha IS a great kid. I call him a kid, probably because of his stature, but he's actually 24. He is the kind of person that the moment you meet him, you just want to tuck him safely under your wing and protect him from the perils of life. He has had, buy American standards, a pretty crappy life. But like he told me, he knew how lucky he was to be given up to the orphanage at age 11 because it saved him from child prostitution. Ratha is always laughing and smiling. Always. The second day we knew each other he said, very matter-of-factly, "You are my sister." And that's what he calls me. To me he is wise beyond his years. One day we were riding along in the truck and I was wearing flip-flops. I have this little patch of spider veins along the inside of my foot that was caused by my two pregnancies. I am a little self conscious of this, so when Ratha pointed to it, for a brief moment I braced myself to be teased. "Sister," he says. "This happened because you are a mother." In his emails he writes things like, "Thank you for coming to my country with your love, skill, and kindness."

Recently Ratha shared some very exciting news. He is getting married! And he said, "Sister, I love for you to come to my wedding. But I know this very hard for you."

He's right. It would be very hard for me. I mean, go all the way to Cambodia for a wedding? Who does he think I am? That's just crazy!!

Crazy.

There is this lens that I have been saving for. It's the Canon 70-200 2.8 with Image Stabilization. Do have ANY idea the beauty I could create with a lens like that? It is HAW-SOME. And I have wanted one since I was about 12.

But lately I've been thinking...I mean...like...how bad do I really need that lens anyway? I've survived so far without it, and I can always buy it later. Someday, when I reflect back on my life, will I even think about it? In my dying moments, as my life flashes before my eyes, will I see a picture of the UPS man on my front porch with a box in his hands from B&H Photo? (Although it is entirely possible. That lens IS pretty fantastic.)

But isn't life about living? Isn't it more about the people we love...our friends, our family, our experiences, our adventures, our memories, and less about our stuff?

I made my travel arrangements yesterday.

Haley's Garden Cake

Our office threw a baby shower for Haley last week (#3! Finally a boy!) and I happily accepted the job of Cake Lady (come to think of it, though, I've been Cake Lady for all our office get togethers for the past several years). Anyhoo, I chose to do a garden cake instead of something actually baby related. The garden would represent Haley's family. I even stuck a little "wooden" sign in the garden that read:

Haley's Garden

Watch it Grow

See? It is a metaphor for her adding another child to her family. Look at me, thinking all deep! Did you know I had that side to me?

For Father's Day

Just me and my little bratty brattertons. They stopped fighting long enough to get through the shoot! It was great! Oh, and the jumping picture...all Bella's idea.

Thank you Amy and Forrest Cooper!

June Birthday Cakes

With Dale's intensive mountain climbing the past several months, he's lost a ton of weight. Like 20 pounds on his already slim frame. I have been thinking he's been looking almost too skinny. I joke with him that he's starting to look prepubescent. He says he won't stop loosing weight until you can count all of his vertebrae...from the front.



I tell him that I am secretly sabotaging him behind his back. I'll bring him home a great big mocha from Starbucks, then after it's gone I'll ask how the extra whipped cream tasted. I'm all "It didn't clog up the little sippy hole, did it? Mua-haha..."

I added extra butter to the frosting on his birthday cake this year.

While we're on the subject of his cake, I had a hard time deciding what to make for him. Bella and I were in the kitchen, and I was throwing out some ideas to her, which all were complicated. "Mommmmmmmm....", she said, rolling her eyes and pointing out the obvious. "Why don't you just make him a Mt. Rainier cake?"

It was genius! Why hadn't I thought of that?

So a Mt. Rainier cake the kids and I made, the night before meeting dad up on the mountain. I woke up the next day and to my horror realized that the gray/black food coloring had faded to varying shades of blue. When I pointed it out to Dale, he was all, "No honey, when you're up there, the glaciers really are blue!"



For Bella's birthday cake she wanted a tooth. With her recent baby teeth loosing events, coupled with a mom who is a "dentist", I guess this is her new favorite thing. So a tooth it was! And as everyone knows...it's two roots and four cusps makes it a mandibular second molar.





Bella at her party with Uncle Eric (my handsome little brother!)

"Are You Going to Let Your Husband Climb Again?"

It's amazing the questions and remarks I have been getting from people when they hear about Dale's experience on Mt. Rainier.

"Let's keep that boy home!"

"A thrill seeker, is he? One of those adrenaline junkies?"

"You need to keep him off the mountain for a while."

"Are you going to let him climb again?"

In my heart, I know people ask this because they care. I get it. But when I tell people that he has plans to climb again, I am getting a lot of raised eyebrows and "Hmmm....s" and "Ohhhh.....s". I had one friend flat out argue me and imply that he was basically reckless and putting his dangerous hobbies before his family.

That would be like me saying to someone, "I've noticed your husband has gained a lot of weight around his mid-section. That drastically increases his chances of dying from heart disease, you know." Or to my friend Erin, who is married to a cop, "Erin, I know Matt is beyond passionate about his job and loves it with everything that he has, but don't you know how many police officers die in the line of duty each year? Maybe he should find a new line of work, at least until your two children are grown."

Honestly, to give you a little insight to our marriage, we don't "let" or "not let" each other do anything. Listen. Dale loves mountain climbing. He is not a thrill seeker or an adrenaline junky. He likes to physically challenge himself and meet his goals, and there's a big difference. The guy has never even tasted alcohol. He is responsible and reliable, and if climbing mountains lights his fire, well, then I am behind him all the way.

You can't live your life in a safe little bubble. In 1998 my husband was diagnosed with stage II Hodgkin's Lymphoma. One of his tumors took up 1/3 the width of his chest. My point is...life is meant to be lived. What if I said, "No way, no more mountain climbing!" and he had another giant tumor growing in his body?

We support each other. He knows how passionate I am about my missionary work...even though I could catch Malaria, or AIDS, or Dengue Fever, or die from food poisoning, or in a plane crash, or I could die on the way to the airport. He backs me up because he knows I come back from those trips a happier, more grateful person who counts every blessing and doesn't waste a single moment sweating the small stuff.

I know how lucky I am to have a husband who supports my dreams, and I want to fully support his dreams, too. He is an amazing husband, and he deserves that from me. And yes, he has signed up to attempt the summit of Mt. Rainier again in September...and I'll be there, sitting at the computer watching his satellite tracker, cheering him on the whole way.

My Little Birthday Girl

Happy 6th Birthday, my sweet little Tootsie Pop.

Dale's Experience on Mt. Rainier

Have I mentioned lately that my husband has taken up mountain climbing? Well, he has. I think he caught the bug when we climbed Mt. Ellinor in the Olympics late last summer, and one day not long after that the UPS man showed up on our front porch with a gigantic box and I was all, are we getting a new refrigerator? No, not a new fridge, but a complete compliment of mountaineering equipment from REI. For Dale.

Dude, he was so lucky we keep separate finances. I'd joke with him that he took up mountaineering because road biking just wasn't nearly expensive or dangerous enough for him.

Around that same time, Dale signed up to Climb Mt. Rainier for his 36th birthday and began intensive training. More than once I saw him busting it out on our StairMaster, wearing just his underwear, a full pack, and boots, covered in sweat. Ahh, a visual treat. He worked really, really, hard to prepare. He not only conditioned physically, but devoured any book, magazine, or video dedicated to Mt. Rainier or mountaineering in general. Dale never half-asses anything, and I trusted his judgement and abilities and supported this venture wholeheartedly. Dale does not take foolish risks, and I don't worry about him.

On Wednesday, Dale left for the mountain. Orientation would be that afternoon. Thursday would be training day, where they learned and practiced maneuvers like the self-arrest technique. Friday they would depart base camp and climb to Camp Muir at 10,000', where they would spend the night (Camp Muir is very small and basic. No electricity or running water. It has several plywood bunks for the climbers to sleep on and take refuge from the elements. That's about it). Then the plan intended for Saturday would be to wake up around midnight, where the guides would assess the weather and climbing conditions, then give the green light (climbing Gods willing) to depart and head for the summit. Once the summit is been reached, then the group climbs all the way back down that same day. That's how the plan goes on paper, anyway.

This is Camp Muir:





Dale has a satellite tracker that he wears when he climbs. It's the niftiest little gadget. It sends out a signal every ten minutes, and I can track him on the Internet. So Saturday at about midnight I was glued to the computer screen, waiting for his little signal to start moving. Finally at 2:20am, his group of 6 guides and 16 climbers (which included a father/son team from New York, a laid-back British guy, two Jet Blue pilots, a few guys from Colorado and Minnesota, several Seattle "locals", and Dale and his good friend Chris) finally left camp and headed up. I was so worried that the weather wouldn't cooperate and that he would be let down. I was so proud of him. Even if he didn't reach the summit, I was still so happy that they were making their way up the mountain. I finally went to bed.

Dale on the left, with his friend Chris.



I got up at 8:30 that same morning. I could have stayed up all night and tracked his progress, but I did have to get some sleep at least, since our plan was for the kids and me to drive up to the mountain later that afternoon where we'd watch Dale and his group come down. From there we'd have dinner, celebrate his birthday, and spend the night at the Paradise Lodge. When I checked that computer after getting up, I was a little confused at the route that I saw:



I was like what in the world? (Or better put, WTF???) I looked out our bedroom window to see if the "mountain was out" (yes, that's an official phrase for all you non-locals) and it wasn't. Hmm...cloudy. So they'd been turned around because of the weather. I was sure that was it. It didn't seem too cloudy, though, but I didn't really dwell on it. So I got the kids up and started running around getting everything ready since we would be heading up there sooner than planned.

We hit the road for our uneventful 2+ hour drive. When we were within the National Park but still had about a half hour drive to the actual mountain, Bella says to me from the back seat,

Bella: "Is Mt. Rainier the tallest mountain in the world?"

Me: "No"

"Well which one is?"

"Mt. Everest."

"Has dad climbed that one?"

"No," I chuckled, "But he'd like to."

"I don't want him to. ...A lot of people die up there."

Turns out she'd been paying more attention to Dale's mountaineering documentaries that I'd realized.

"Yes...sometimes they do. But don't worry about dad. He'll be ok."

But with that conversation I could no longer ignore that nagging gut feeling I'd been fighting all morning. I had been reassuring myself that the clouds had rolled in and made for poor visibility, and the clouds had of course brought snow, making the guides turn them around. But the weather was fine, and that didn't explain away their erratic path, or the fact that they had sat in one spot for over an hour. My stomach dropped considering that they probably turned back because something bad had happened.

Dale met me in the parking lot of the visitor's center. He hadn't been able to check into our room yet, so he just waited outside for me. All in all, I knew he'd been ok, since I had tracked him back down the mountain too. But I was really happy to see him all in one piece. Before I even had one foot out of the car, he said, "Boy do I have a story for you."

And boy did he have a story for me.

It's better in his words, because it's his story. This is taken directly from his journal (this starts at Camp Muir, second climbing day, attempting to head to the summit):

Chris and Dale in their bunk, looking all cozy:



Saturday June 5th, SUMMIT DAY!
“Ok guys, it’s 1:30, the weather is great with light wind and no precipitation...Here is some boiling water for your breakfast and be ready with your crampons, harness, helmet and headlamps on in one hour...We have a good shot at the top today”! All of our moods went from exhausted and sleepless to excited and anxious. Outside the guides called out the names of the climbers that would be grouped together in roped teams. My partner Chris and I were teamed up with Thomas, the guide who was from New Zealand. We were to be the second team to leave. The lead team consisted of two lead guides, Tyler and Adam, with four climbers in between them. The third and forth rope teams had five climbers each, not counting the three guides, Caroline, Mark and Tim. Looking across the Cowlitz Glacier to our first obstacle, Cathedral Gap, we could see a little trail of eight or so headlamps that were already on the trail to the top. They were not affiliated with RMI or any other guide service, rather a string of private unguided climbers hoping to reach the summit in a few hours. We headed off into the blackness with only a spot of light shining on the snow at our feet about eight feet in diameter. We followed team number one across the glacier. I was at the end of our team with my partner in the middle and Thomas our guide leading from the front. The spacing was about thirty feet between us.







The silence on the mountain was pierced by the sound of my ice axe spike plunging into the snow on my left side and my crampons making a metallic crunching sound below my feet. There was no wind and the moon was shining bright behind me. As we wound ourselves across the glacier and up the series of steep switch backs to gain the ridge on Cathedral Gap, I could start to hear the two way radios of the guides start to come alive. The team ahead of me was steadily making their way up the ridge and starting to make the small but tricky descent onto Ingraham Flat at the head of the Ingraham Glacier.









A warning from Tyler came over the radio about iffy snow conditions and to take it slow and easy so conditions could be assessed. There was a crust about two inches thick over the top of bottomless layer of powder. It was tricky climbing though this as you could hear chunks of ice would break off the surface with each step and go skittering down the glacier surface and into the abyss. Thomas our guide stopped us and instructed us to wait until Tyler and Adam in team number one said it was ok to continue. The call came over the radio to head cautiously onto Ingraham Flat and group up with all four teams. A feeling of “this is the end of the climb” was staring to embed itself in all of us. For God sakes, we were only ninety minutes into the climb! The guides unroped from their respective teams and met to devise a game plan. After a few minutes (these few minutes most likely saved our lives), Adam addressed all of the climbers. He told us that the snow conditions were very borderline right now and needed to be properly tested before a decision to climb the base of the Ingraham Headwall and gain the ridge of Disappointment Cleaver could be made. One climber pointed to the string of lights that we saw earlier who were now traversing the base of the head wall. Adam quickly replied with sharp emotion, “I don’t give a shit what those climbers are doing! If we decide we can climb just because they are, and we make it to the top, we then have to deal with possible worse snow conditions on the descent after the morning sun has made the snow even more unstable." He continued on, "We will walk fifteen minutes ahead, dig a snow pit to measure crust depth, angle of rapose, and sloughing, and then make an educated decision to continue or turn back."

The guides went back to their respective teams and roped in for the walk. Five minutes later, from behind me, I heard a frantic yell from the guide over the radio. “Tyler! Run!” My head shot up to look at Tyler’s team ahead of us, and I caught a glimpse of a huge avalanche sliding down the Ingraham Headwall one hundred and fifty yards in front of us and the team of headlamps disappear into the tidal wave of snow. A huge plume of powder was airborne and doubling in size with each second. I then focused on Thomas who was pointing to the right and shouting “RUN, RUN, RUN!” Instinctively, my partner and I wasted no time attempting to get out of the direct path of the plume headed straight for us. We were only able to run thirty feet or so before we ran out of time and dove into the snow, assumed the self arrest position (ice axe dug in deep over my right shoulder, shaft of the ice axe diagonal across my torso with my left hand gripping the spike end for dear life, and kicking foot holds wildly into the snow while keeping a low rigid position) and braced for the unknown. Thoughts of being swept down the glacier and deposited into a crevasse overcame me. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself, as the loud freight train sound enveloped us and the snow plume blew over the top of the teams. I don’t know how long the whole event lasted, but it seemed very surreal, as if I was in a movie. I thought, “I just turned 36 and this is how it ends?" As soon as it hit us it was gone. Covered in a light layer of snow, Thomas got to his feet and yelled back at us, “Get up and get out of here!” We hurried as fast as we could a few hundred feet lower in elevation to a safer area and the glacier. A call came over the radio that Tyler and Adam from the lead team were heading to the debris field to search for the buried climbers.

We could hear the shrill beeps of their avalanche transceivers as they were attempting to locate survivors. After fifteen minutes of silence, “We have pulled five out, one is unconscious but breathing and more are still buried...We will continue our search and notify NPS (National Park Service) to get help up here." Even during the chaos and urgency of the whole situation, Tyler and Adam were very calm and precise in their radio transmissions. I instantly gained a whole new respect for what mountain guides do on a daily basis. It was the foresight of these individuals who made the right call to have us abort our attempt at the summit due to unsafe snow conditions within minutes of the unthinkable happening to us. The sixteen of us “weekend enthusiasts” were lucky to be alive and we all knew it. At this point, the disappointment of not making the summit faded away to feelings of appreciation to be alive and in such capable hands as these guides from RMI. I now realize the $1000 dollar price tag for hiring a reputable guide service just paid me back one hundred fold, a thousand times over! Rescue efforts continued as the remaining guides roped us all together as one team of sixteen climbers. We made our descent to the top of Cathedral Gap and waited on the ridge until further notice from Tyler and Adam. Everyone now had a chance to collect their thoughts and assess injuries that went unnoticed in the chaos of the scramble to flee danger. The only woman climber of our group of sixteen had managed to pierce her inner thigh on her right leg with her crampons. She was ok and was capable of making it down. Lots of people had torn pants and gaitors from running in crampons. I luckily escaped with no injury to myself or damage to my clothing.

This photo is one our lead guide, Tyler, took of the avalanche.



We were about 200 yards closer to the avalanche when it hit. You can see Tyler, Adam, and Mark (our guides) digging out the buried climbers.



Thirty minutes later, two climbers were helping an older Asian climber down to our spot on the ridge. They dropped their equipment and pulled the Asian climber’s hat off and his hair was saturated with blood. He had big cuts on his head and they attempted to bandage it with butterfly bandages from a first aid kit. This was one of the climbers buried in the avalanche and in broken English, he pointed to the top of the mountain and said, “Go up?” To which one of the climbers that helped him down replied, (using lots of hand gestures) “NO, GO DOWN!”, pointing at the ground. He was probably confused from his injury. “You are done! You were just in an avalanche, you are done!” This guy didn’t have a backpack, helmet, ice axe or harness. Meaning he wasn’t roped and he didn’t have any supplies other than his coat and goggles. Unbelievable! The two climbers took him down to get him medical attention. Just then and rescue climber from the NPS showed up and Thomas briefed him on the situation. Finally Tyler and Adam had help on the way. We got the ok to descend to Camp Muir and because I was on the far end of the rope, Thomas instructed me to lead all sixteen climbers and the remaining four guides across the Cowlitz Glacier and into camp. Secretly I was excited to have such an important job! It was my time to shine!

We made it down safely and Thomas shook my hand and said, “Good job leading mate” in his New Zealand accent. We all packed our remaining items which were left in the bunk house and headed back down to Paradise with mixed emotions.

Boy Do I Have a Story Coming...

I have a big post coming, with pictures, video and all. I hopefully will have it done tonight. But the extremely condensed version goes like this:

My husband attempted to climb Mt. Rainier this weekend for his 36th birthday. Unfortunately he did not reach the summit...but was nearly swept away an avalanche that buried 11 and killed 2 right in front of him.

I am very happy my husband will see 37.

The Wishing Flower

Ok, so, these turned out a little blurry, but I still like 'em.

I Love You, Man in Brown Shorts

Dear UPS man,

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Only in Cambodia, Part III

When I travel, I have a certain rule that I stick by: Never Be Without Your Camera.

Working in the orphanage, we had a little lunch time routine of going for a walk once we finished eating. On our very last day working there, a few of us headed out for our usual walk around the neighborhood. The orphanage sits on a dusty, dirt road which is one of several dirt roads configured in a grid. We had our same usual route. There was never really a whole lot to see, just mostly lots of palm trees and a few homes. On this particular day, I went to grab my camera, then thought, I don't need to lug around that big old thing today. I've done this same walk a gazillion times and have already photographed anything worthy of a picture. Yes, folks, I broke my own rule.

Some of the kids from the orphanage had joined us that day. I had fallen behind the group, and I think I was with Jim, when someone from up front called back to us and said the kids were gonna show us the alligator farm.

Ahh...Only in Cambodia. The theme Cambodia Does Not Have Lawyer appropriately and equally applies here too, as you will soon read.

Now, this "alligator farm" is the adjacent property NEXT TO the orphanage, and the kids knew right were to go. This whole scene is hard to describe, but I'll do my best since I only have two pictures. From the front, it was pretty much a normal looking house, set back from the road just a bit. We walked back in behind it, and I didn't see anyone else around besides those of us in our group. Behind the house was this kind of concrete patio area with some chickens running around, a few monkeys in cages, and if my memory serves me right, I may have seen a peacock or two. It was all very makeshift, like those stories you hear of people keeping exotic animals illegally, cuddling with their Siberian tigers until they are interviewed from hospital beds, arms and legs ripped off because their wild animal followed it's instincts and turned into, well, a wild animal, and ate it's master's limbs for breakfast. And they're all, "I've raised Fluffy since she was a kitten, when I smuggled her home from that African safari we went on five years ago. I don't know why she'd turn on me like this."

We followed a path further into the jungle, then up a ramp into dwelling best described as a glorified tree house. From there we turned to the right and walked out into the open again, finding ourselves out over these alligator pits. So it was us, some railing, and ten feet below were hungry alligators. There were different sections, grouping these man-eaters by, I'm guessing, stages of maturity. Damn, no camera.

I never would have told this story without pictures. It's just too crazy. But I got these from Dave.

Honestly, this first pic does not even do it justice. Some of the pits had to have had upwards of a hundred alligators.


Aww...'lil babies.

Oh wait! It gets worse! We walked further down (we were basically on catwalks over these pits) and then there wasn't any railing! Like, you could just fall in! And the kids that were with us obviously had been there before because they were all running around like they knew the place inside and out.

Now, of course I wanted to get eye-level with these kids and in my caring-yet-stern mommy voice tell them not to come play here! Because they could fall in! And the alligators would eat them in one bite! But how do you do that when they don't speak English and you don't speak Khmer? Even in translation, how do you convey the importance of that?

Only in Cambodia, Part II

Often chickens would wander into our dental clinic and we'd have to chase them back outside.

Ahh...only in Cambodia.



One day I was walking back to the orphanage from using the bathroom (two words: squatty potty), and I noticed one of the chicken's feathers looked...sort of...red. Hmm...Strange, yes, but I didn't think much of it. Then the next day, another chicken with white feathers looking a faded shade of blue.

Later on, I found out (and I swear I am not bullshitting you here) that at the orphanage, for entertainment...the kids enjoy that good old family favorite activity of watching cock fights.

No really, I guess they somehow dye one of the chickens, then introduce it to the other chickens who then recognize it as a stranger and attack it. And these orphans, the sweetest, most well behaved, God loving kids partake in this violent activity for fun. I never actually witnessed this myself, but I did see the evidence of the colored chickens.

Now how does this even fly (no pun intended, heh) that in this Christian-run orphanage? Because apparently, cock fighting is in the bible.

Only in Cambodia, Part I

Remember how I said I could write a thousand posts with the theme "Cambodia Does Not Have Lawyer"? Well, I could also write just as many themed "Only in Cambodia".

One day, during one of our morning walks, we walked through the temple grounds. There was a big, beautiful temple (obviously) in the center of the compound, with several smaller buildings including monks' quarters surrounding it, a cemetery, and an outdoor crematorium all set on the banks of the Serei Sophorn river.

We stop and talk to these monks, and one of them, through his broken English, asks us if we'd like to see his monk elder who had recently passed away.

*blink*

*blink blink*

Sure, we said, and followed him into one of the smaller buildings. Now let me back up here and explain something about myself. There is a great battle that goes on in my mind when it comes to death. One half of me has a very strong morbid curiosity. That's the part of me that would be fascinated by watching an autopsy. Then there's the other half, that has an extremely low creep point. That's the part that after watching said autopsy would go home and have nightmares about it for weeks. So as we follow this monk, my mind is screaming- Scary! Don't go! Cool! Interesting! Don't look!! Turn around and run!

We enter this small building as the monk runs ahead and starts turning on all of these switches, illuminating the place with brightly colored Christmas lights, all blinking and twinkling. There were candles and incense, the whole scene kind of had a birthday party feel to it. I half expected to see a mariachi band playing in the corner.

The corpse was in a glass coffin that seemed to me to be like a life sized fish tank. The younger monk was quite proud of this display, you could tell, as he explained that this elder had been on display here for three months, and would stay here for three years (YIKES!) I noticed he had little cotton balls up his nose, which I assumed was to keep the cartilage from collapsing. And since you were wondering...no, I didn't smell anything.

These pictures are from Dave's collection, since I didn't have the guts to take any:





I haven't had any nightmares about this. Guess that means I am growing up.

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I have actually sported most of these hair styles at one time or another in my life. I am sort of liking my 1940s war-bride look here in this first one.