Wilderness Survival

Though I did plenty of camping as a child with my family, as I've grown to adulthood I haven't been much for outdoor activity. I now take a bit more after my father in not being too physically adventurous, though I had a good role model of outdoorsy-ness in my mother who spent the better part of her youth backpacking, back-country skiing, teaching my uncles to gut fish and doing all manner of other completely awesome superwoman-esque things. But not me, at least not recently. So you can imagine that when my husband announced about 6 months ago that he would like to get back into backpacking, I didn't jump at the opportunity. In fact, I put it off as long as possible. But that ended this weekend.

We decided (relatively last minute, as we tend to do) that this was going to be the weekend. This meant that Saturday was dedicated to preparations. We made a final trip to R.E.I. for last minute supplies, though it was hard to imagine we needed anything as backpacking paraphenalia has been trickling into our house constantly for the last 6 months. (Mr. LIOLI shares with his father a certain tendency towards being a serial hobbiest and insisting that one must have all the proper gear for each said hobby. Where do we put all these accoutrements, you ask? An excellent question.) Anyway, we did still need a few things: food (freeze-dried in little pouches...weird, but cool!), hiking boots for me, Dr. Bonner's all-purpose soap, an extra water bottle, etc. Barely avoiding the post-game Red-Sox T-riders, we headed home to pack up.

We headed out directly after church the next morning and I must admit, I wan't the most pleasant travel companion. I wasn't excited at all and in fact was a bit nervous. Carrying everything I needed to survive on my back just didn't sound like that good of an idea. (Sidenote: I should be honest. When all was said and done my pack weighed in at only 20 lbs. My beloved's came in at just under 50. So I should rephrase that last sentence to read: "Carrying some of the stuff I needed to survive on my back and relying on Mr. LIOLI to carry the rest didn't sound like that good of an idea.") Anyway, I didn't think it was going to be any fun, and had visions (which I described to Mr. LIOLI in detail in the car the whole way there) of all the suffering and misery that would probably occur. What if my pack was too heavy? What if I got a blister? What if we got attacked by a bear? Or worse an axe-murdered (I've been watching too many Criminal Mind reruns, I can tell.)? Or what if we got lost? Mr. L had responses for everything unfortunately. He doesn't seem to have forgotten anything from his boyscouting days, though that was more than a decade ago.

Anyway, (and I can admit this because I am self-actualized and trained in self-reflection), as it turned out, I was wrong. It was totally awesome. The hike was amazing, through varied and beautiful terrain with plenty of ups and downs but not too much climbing. We saw redwood forests and birches and maples, meadows and beaver ponds and swamps and old rock walls, huge Indian caves and abandoned settler's dwellings. And it was actually really fun to be packing things in and out: like we were really surviving! (I should also admit that all the gadgets which I had mercilessly mocked for months--what the hell do you need THAT for--did really contribute in a huge way to the lightness of our packs the pleasantness of the journey.) Roxy the wonderdog had a great time and was a good travel companion. She even carried her own gear in a dog backpack (Thanks, Crandall!).

We camped the night at "Roaring Brook Tentsites" which should be renamed, "Stagnant Creek Tentsites" given the waterlevel at this time of summer (though we were able to filter our water there...just not take a dip!). But the tent sites were big and flat and we had plenty of privacy (only one other couple was staying there, about 100 yards away.) We set up camp, cooked our dinner over the propane stove, had hot chocolate for dessert and then went to bed as soon as the sun went down. Though we were awoken by some crazy animal noises in the middle of the night (sounds we're not used to living in the middle of a huge metropolis!), we did okay overall. We hiked out the next morning and headed back to MA for some showers and a long afternoon nap.

And that was it. Survival. Everything we needed on our backs. Pretty cool stuff if you ask me. I'm now totally up for round 2 this weekend. I'll let you know if I can convince Mr. L. (to whom I owe great thanks for again convincing me that new things can be fun!). Maybe I'll even call Mom to ask for some advice. :)

Shabbat Shalom!

I'm worried that this may start to sound like a fundamentalist religious blog with all this talk about prayer and stuff recently, but I'm going to go out on a limb and tell you about a new thing I'm starting today: Sabbath.

I know, I know. Even my Judaism professor from seminary would tell me that Gentiles (non-Jews) are not required to observe The Sabbath in a biblical sense. But the more I read and interpret scripture and generally am alive, the more I sense that taking one day off in seven is fairly essential spiritually, personally and theologically. More and more I feel the need to be convinced (through direct experience) that the world going around does not depend on me accomplishing things in it.

Now what I'm not talking about is taking a day away from physically being at work in order to run errands, continue to respond to work emails and calls, and clean the house. I'm talking about a day away from work of most types, especially my professional work but also work from my life and relationships and home.

As you may know if you are also a minister, a pastor's work has the ability (and the tendancy) to ooze out into pretty much every other area of your life. Which leads to the fact that I feel pretty much "on call" 24 hours a day 7 days a week and do at least a little work for my job every single day that I am alive and have been for the last 422 days. But this isn't really going that well, so I'm making a change.

I'm going to try, just for this fall season, to take 24 hours of rest from work per week, usually the same day each week, and see what happens.

Today is my first day (actually I started last night) and I woke up with the most profound and hilarious awareness: what in the sam hell am I going to do today? I've decided I won't be checking email for work or responding to non-emergency phone calls. And I've sort of ruled out watchcing television all day or running errands. Which doesn't leave a lot of things on my list of normal activities.

This morning when Mr.LIOLI asked me the same question, I answered: I'll probably just read the bible or something. (I am SO pious!) But here it is, not even 9:30 a.m., and I've given up on that completely. I already "accidentally" logged into my email twice. (When I sat down at the computer it was the first thing I did, my fingers almost unconsciously typing my log-in, which is a scary testament to the force of habit.). And I've checked my phone several times to make sure it is working, even though I've agreed not to answer most calls. I've walked the dog and boiled some potatoes for the potato salad I'll make tonight when we have some friends over, but other than that, I'm free as a bird. And I have no idea what to do.

My friend LW has a blog about the Sabbath, which I love and I will read some of today for inspirtation. But other than that, who the heck knows?

Perhaps I'll have a mystical experience and go on to become a monastic theologian. Or maybe I'll come up with a soluntion for some complicted problems that have been lurking around, simply by ignoring them for a day. Or maybe I'll just be frustrated, check my email 12 more times, talk on the phone "by accident" and realize that this is a practice that takes practice. Heck, the Jews have been doing it for 4000 years and I bet some of them still sneak onto gmail once in a while on a Saturday.

So wish me luck, my reading friends!

Signing off for now,
LIOLI

Corruption Charges

I've warned my sister and brother-in-law that I will in fact attempt to corrupt my nephew, just a bit at appropriate life intervals because I think it's part of my job as an aunt. You know, to give the kid a little social capital on the playground by sharing with him key concepts and words that will keep him a bit ahead of the pack.

I thought I'd document that my work is beginning in part, and it was EASY. Simply lead by example, play some video games and little man wants to jump right in and become a "gamer." Love it. :)

Truth

I love that this is turning into kind of an online confessional booth. But I just logged on to ask: Why do we say stuff that's not true ALL THE TIME? It's like lying has become okay if it's with good intention. I've recently realized that I am TERRIBLE about this.

A few weeks ago, Mr. L was telling me a story and I needed to go into the bedroom to get something. So instead of "hold on," I said, "I'm still listening." and promptly walked out of the room and into the closet from where it would in fact be impossible for me to keep listening. I laugh about it now, but it is really indicative of something that in principle I believe to be wrong: lying. Why,for instance, didn't I just say "wait a second," instead of something that was blatantly untrue?

I usually do an experiment with my class when I teach about Buddhism where I ask them to note, mentally, every time they tell a lie in the course of one day. I usually do it too, just to play along. It's INCREDIBLE. Here are some choice examples that you may identify with:
"I'm sorry, I don't have any change to spare." (Yes, I DO in fact, I just don't want to give it to you.)
"No, I can't meet then. " (I can, I just would prefer to watch TV instead.)
"Let's hang out sometime." (And I'll just hope you never take me up on it!)
"I'm still working on that." (By which I mean I totally forgot I said I was going to do that until you just mentioned it.)
"Yes, Officer..." (And anything that follows.)
"I thought I emailed you about...." (And by thought I mean, I didn't.)
"I love that look on you..."
"That's so funny." (Especially if this statement is not accompanied by laughing.)
"That's okay, really."
The list goes on.

I liken this to the pre-recorded voice I am forced to listen to when I am on hold that tells me, "We appreciate your call." (Do you really?) and "Thank you for your patience." (You have no idea whether I'm being patient or not.) It's as if something about saying these things is important even if they're not true. As if there are things that need to be said that don't correspond to reality and we've all agreed that this is okay.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to go on a truth-blitz in which everyone told the honest-to-God truth for one day. Wouldn't that be so liberating? And terrifying? I'm not saying I'm going to do it soon, but maybe it's something we should put on the to-do list.

But for now, "I'm going to work on it."

Beach Day: Epic Fail

Okay, it seems like I am on a bit of a "Down-with-Boston" streak, but really I do appreciate it as a city and our life here and the history and culture and blah blah blah. But let me tell you one more story before I leave the NE-Critique train behind:

A few weekends ago, our friends and we decided we wanted to go to the beach. It was supposed to be a beautiful weekend and we all had work off, so we were going to take advantage of it. We picked them up around 9:30, thinking we'd get a reasonable start. Now something you must know about Boston is that despite the fact that it is a coastal town, it doesn't really feel like living at the beach. It just feels like living in a huge metropolis that has some water somewhere near it that you hear of but never visit. And you have to drive a ways to get out of the city and to a legitimate beach with sand, etc.

So we headed north with dreams of a day at the ocean. Our friend RT (who should really have a side business as a travel agent given his adeptness at trip planning) had picked the perfect beach for us. Despite a few close calls at traffic circles and one lifted draw bridge, we made our way there easily. When we arrived, there was significant traffic backed up at the entrance, but we weren't worried, because we weren't in a hurry. This was beach day. It was when we got to the front that the trouble started. It turns out people weren't slowing down to get in the entrance and pay (Yes, that's right, you have to pay to go to the beach here, $25 a day per car.) But it wasn't that. The beach was full.

Having grown up in the West where population density was never an issue, I found the prospect of the beach being "full" preposterous. "It CAN'T be full," I moaned. "That's RIDICULOUS. Go back and check. Or just pull in. Maybe they won't notice."

"It's full," came Mr. LIOLI's quick reply in that tone I now associate with the implied question, "Why don't you think any of the rules apply to you?" (Topic for self-reflection: Why don't I?)

"But how can the BEACH be FULL?" Apparently, we learned, it can. Well actually it was that the parking lot was full. Which wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that most MA coastal towns prohibit parking on the street from May to October, so no beach seekers can park, except in the beach parking lot, which is in fact full. For what reason, I have no idea. But apparently this is not an uncommon situation. Because the next one we tried was full too. And the next. And the next. At the fifth beach, we decided to give up. With defeated spirits we decided to stop by the salt marsh on our way out of town, "salt marsh" being a fancy term for "the sludgey mess that is left behind when the tide goes out in the summer." Something that looks approximately like this:


We found there an eclectic mix of folks who also apparently couldn't go to the beach, most of whom would fit squarely in a Jeff Foxworthy sketch. Anyway, we waded and laughed about our failure and Mr.LIOLI got bit by a black fly and we went to a clam shack and dairy queen on the way home. Thank God that these particular friends are the most flexible and adventurous ones we've got, because it certainly was an epic fail of a day.

But I'm still stuck on the fact that the beach can be full.

NE x NW: A Excercise in Comparative Travel

Having traveling to Portland, OR recently, the differences between the northwest and the northeast crystallized in my mind in a way that they haven't before. Let me share some snapshots of my epiphany:

• Air Travel: At Boston Logan airport (a notoriously terrible, dirty, ugly airport which is ALWAYS under construction through it never seems to get any more attractive or accessible) there is LITERALLY a person whose job it is to stand in the security line and SCREAM at the confused, fearful crowd like a belligerent, angry shepherd: LAPTOPS OUT, YOU'VE GOT TO GET YOUR LAPTOPS OUT, PEOPLE. GET THEM OUT. YOU CANNOT HAVE THEM IN YOUR BAG. BAGS ON THE BELT. SHOES OFF. GET THOSE SHOES OFF. C'MON PEOPLE. GET IT TOGETHER. TAKE THOSE LAPTOPS OUT. This mantra is on a continuous loop which mostly only functions to heighten the anxiety of everyone involved and give me a massive headache, as if the probability of stress and headache is not high enough given the travel culture, shoe removal policy and general severity of the TSA these days. BUT at the Portland International Airport, I almost laughed aloud when I observed the man who functionally had the same job there. But HE was calmly circulating through the crowd and speaking in a low, soothing voice: "Does anyone have any questions? Does everyone understand what will happen when you get to the front of the line? Does anyone need an extra ziplock bag?" Once at the front, the ticket checkers were courteous and helpful. Folks were helping to put others bags on the belt and everything was going down in a generally courteous and well-mannered way. I also noticed they actually had a station set up to explain the security procedures which included brochures in multiple languages, extra ziplock baggies, labels for your laptop and luggage tags.
  
• Driving: I've often joked that I'll never be able to move away from Boston because I've become such an obscene driver since being here that I'd never survive elsewhere. In Boston, the name of the game is aggression, rule-breaking and each man for himself (What's the gender neutral way to say that? Each person for him or herself? Awkward.) ANYWAY, it is not uncommon here to see people blatantly ignore common traffic laws and regular courtesies such as not honking 2 nano-seconds after the light turns green. I have seen people honk at pedestrians crossing the street who had the right of way, elderly people taking to long at a crosswalk and, on several occasions, other cars stopped at a red light. (Actually, it seems the ONLY violation that will not be tolerated here in Boston is an illegal left turn. All others are assessed on a sliding scale from okay to slightly annoying.) But Portland is like a fairly land of driver respect. You might pull up to a stop sign at the same time as another car and, instead of playing chicken in a 'No, it's my turn" standoff, you'd see both cars (probably Priuses of different colors) wave each other along as if to say, "No, you go." To which the other responds: "No, you go." And the first, with a wave, "No, really, you go ahead." And you stay there until everyone smiles and laughs a bit and someone goes but with an apologetic wave at having gone first.
• Bikes: They have bikes in Portland. Thousands of them. That people actually use to get places. And they periodically shut down the streets so the bikes can get around. And the buses have bike racks on the front. In Boston, if you are lucky enough to not have your bike stolen in the first five minutes you have it out, you have a 75% chance of getting killed by a Boston driver. (See above.)
  
• Trash: While the ditches of Boston are filled with Styrofoam Dunkin' Donuts cups (Bostonians believe all of America "runs on Dunkin'"), I actually checked out a Portland parking strip on a Saturday morning to find a discarded beer bottle......of organic micro-brew. Enough said.
  
• The pubs are already full in Portland by 4 p.m. on a weekday. This may be because of the 14% unemployment, but it is cool!
• Oregon state law permits CRAZY things like taking your dog to the beach. Or going to the beach at all.
  
• Parking rates in Portland were just raised: $1.25 an hour downtown. I am sad to admit that I have paid $40 a night in Boston for parking. Just in case you're not a math geek, that would be 32 hours of parking. But I was only there for 3.
• It gets cool at night in Oregon, even in the summer. It NEVER gets cool in Boston in the summer. Actually, even when it is cool the humidity is still so high you somehow have the strange experience of being cool and sweating at the same time. Awesome! OR the universe might cool off but the cement building have a unique conductive property that allows them to store heat all day and release it all night to create a cementy-night-heat that cannot be replicated outside of the city.
  

So those are my reflections on comparative travel (which I believe should be a new field of employment....I'm available if anyone's hiring!). I think you know where my heart lies.

Traveling Buzz

The MR. tells me my posts are way too long given that folks these days have a very short attention span. So here is something awesome and short:

I just saw a guy going through security at the airport whose 1 quart ziplock (intended for 3 oz. toiletries) was full of (you guessed it!), tiny bottles of Jack Daniels.

GENIUS.p.s. Conspiracy theory: Is this 3 oz. policy simply a project of the travel size toiletry lobby? I mean, it's genius. Travel size toiletries are 25X as expensive per ounce. Think about it.