I have a small stack of journals sitting on my desk. I don’t write in them regularly; they’re mostly for keeping notes while I’m traveling. I’ll often go weeks or months between scrawled, barely-legible entries. In the back of each one, there is a tally of annual nights spent in a sleeping bag (tents, yurts, huts, cabins, hammocks, and truck beds all count). I’m usually in the thirties by mid-May, and, for the last few years, I’ve broken 100 nights by September or October. Continue reading “No goals allowed”
A few months ago, we bought a truck. Somehow—and I still believe with all my heart that this was because someone, somewhere wasn’t paying attention or doing their job—we walked into a dealership on a weekday afternoon and drove away in a brand-new Toyota Tacoma. Continue reading “The end of an era”
Speaking strictly anecdotally, many of the smartest people I know have a particular practice in common: as children, they would disassemble things (toys, bicycles) and put them back together to see how they worked. Having mastered the innerworkings of one set of items, they moved onto bigger and more complex objects (kitchen appliances, clocks), not always without consequence, and eventually, in some cases, became capable of changing the oil on their cars or repairing heavy machinery. Continue reading “Tinker toys”
I have lived most of my life in an exceptionally dry climate. Colorado is the sort of place where you step off the plane and your nose promptly starts bleeding.
“At least it’s a dry heat!” chirp out-of-towners from humid places as they slather lotion on their peeling hands and faces. When friends visit, they often spend the first day or so feeling generally lethargic and remarking on how difficult it is to breathe when, say, walking up a flight of stairs.
“Drink lots of water,” we tell them. Continue reading “List: Hydrate or die”
I am married to a music snob. This is fine with me, because, if I’m being honest, I don’t care all that much about music.
I have preferences, sure. I have favorite bands and albums (“records,” my husband calls them) and songs I will listen to over and over and over again if I’m driving alone and there’s no one in the car to slap my hand away from the stereo and say, “Christ, enough already with the Barenaked Ladies!” or whatever. It’s not always the Barenaked Ladies. I was just making a point. Continue reading “The best road trip music, hands down”