Well, I left the mid-90 degree temps in Tucson and I'm sitting here wrapped up in three layers of clothes including my mexican poncho and I'm still shivering... it's snowing here in Ohio. It's been snowing all day long.
It's so strange to be back, especially to be back in Ontario where new stores and housing developments pop up overnight. They've accumulated in the past 6 months and the change is overwhelming.
The disaster of my bedroom is overwhelming. I've taken on the project of clearing a walkway so I can move everything back in and maybe someday get to my bed so I can sleep there again. It's not as weird as I thought being out of the job and no school to go back to. I could get used to this for alittle while. My plan for November and December? Clear that path to my bed, hang out with my sister-in-law and the new nephew Carter, and look for a job somewhere, sometime...
I'll have to get a picture of the new kid to put on here. Definitely the cutest baby I've ever seen, but who could expect anything less from a Neff, right?
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Monday, November 07, 2005
soaking up the sun while I still can
Well, here I am in Tucson, AZ visiting my aunt Casey and uncle Punch. They live in a beautiful house out in the desert beneath the shadow of Catback Mountain and bordering Saguaro National Park. I arrived here on Saturday after moving out of the dorm Thursday and staying the night with friends Jock and Robin Whitworth in Hurricane and driving 8 hours or so the next morning to Payson, AZ where I stayed with my friend Rayne and his family. Got to hike around some really cool rocks that evening and drive off the road to spot elk with the headlights and got stuck. Woke up Saturday morning and drove 4 more hours or so on to Tucson. It was amazingly familiar. As soon as I got off the main highway, it was like reliving a dream and I floated on wheels out to the desert where the sky grew and the cactus gathered around my car.
I love how the desert sky becomes so geometrically artful within the framework of the ocotillo. It's odd because I can't describe what happens when the red clouds dance behind the tall cactus arms, but something powerful takes place. The scenery doesn't change. I do. My perception of it all finds an emotion and runs away with it. I love the feeling it brings me. I want to run and curl up in a safe ball all at once. The ocotillo and the saguaro join together stretching their arms upward and celebrate the evening sky and I am reminded of how small I am. I wish to join them, but I don't begin to fit in. They are beautiful desert giants. I am small and simple and I have to force my mind to take notice of the glories around me.
I have always known that I am made alive in the desert. The sun melts my skin to bronze and I can sit for hours watching the colors of my legs dance with the oranges and reds of the desert dust. They know they are meant to be together. And the meeting of color and the sun's rays sending flashes of light across my eyes fills me with simple desert delights. I find my strength here, my joy, my energy.
But I miss Zion. How odd it is to walk this desert road and find the subject of wonder is the sky rather than the towering red rocks. I took a nap out in the sun the other afternoon and when I woke up at 5 to feel the sun's rays still burning on my cheeks, I remembered that in Zion the sun would have already set. I miss the red rock cliffs. I miss the constant whisper of the Virgin River. I miss waking up each morning to watch the blood red sunlight drip down the Altar of Sacrifice outside my bedroom window. Some mornings when I'd have to go to work early I'd complain that I was waking up before the rocks did. As I walked out to my car, though, I'd turn around to see the Towers of the Virgin finally rising from slumber, peeking into the sunrise light like a blanket slowly pulled from its face. The sunlight in the canyon was brief and I learned to appreciate every second the canyon gave me. At night, I lifted my eyes to view the window of stars and watched the Milky Way slowly appear as a diagonal curtain over the dark sky. The moon would then rise over the cliff and gave the rocks a second chance to shine again and then they'd shoot off colors- reds! yellows! oranges! greens! glow-in-the-dark whites!
Loving Tucson. Missing Zion. Craving to be back in Ohio. What in the world do I want...
By the way... my brother called today from home. A new baby boy, James Carter Neff, came today. I am finally an Aunt. Casey says I should be called Tia. I like that better than "aunt Juli." That just sounds old. I'm not old. So excited to drive home this friday with my parents!
I love how the desert sky becomes so geometrically artful within the framework of the ocotillo. It's odd because I can't describe what happens when the red clouds dance behind the tall cactus arms, but something powerful takes place. The scenery doesn't change. I do. My perception of it all finds an emotion and runs away with it. I love the feeling it brings me. I want to run and curl up in a safe ball all at once. The ocotillo and the saguaro join together stretching their arms upward and celebrate the evening sky and I am reminded of how small I am. I wish to join them, but I don't begin to fit in. They are beautiful desert giants. I am small and simple and I have to force my mind to take notice of the glories around me.
I have always known that I am made alive in the desert. The sun melts my skin to bronze and I can sit for hours watching the colors of my legs dance with the oranges and reds of the desert dust. They know they are meant to be together. And the meeting of color and the sun's rays sending flashes of light across my eyes fills me with simple desert delights. I find my strength here, my joy, my energy.
But I miss Zion. How odd it is to walk this desert road and find the subject of wonder is the sky rather than the towering red rocks. I took a nap out in the sun the other afternoon and when I woke up at 5 to feel the sun's rays still burning on my cheeks, I remembered that in Zion the sun would have already set. I miss the red rock cliffs. I miss the constant whisper of the Virgin River. I miss waking up each morning to watch the blood red sunlight drip down the Altar of Sacrifice outside my bedroom window. Some mornings when I'd have to go to work early I'd complain that I was waking up before the rocks did. As I walked out to my car, though, I'd turn around to see the Towers of the Virgin finally rising from slumber, peeking into the sunrise light like a blanket slowly pulled from its face. The sunlight in the canyon was brief and I learned to appreciate every second the canyon gave me. At night, I lifted my eyes to view the window of stars and watched the Milky Way slowly appear as a diagonal curtain over the dark sky. The moon would then rise over the cliff and gave the rocks a second chance to shine again and then they'd shoot off colors- reds! yellows! oranges! greens! glow-in-the-dark whites!
Loving Tucson. Missing Zion. Craving to be back in Ohio. What in the world do I want...
By the way... my brother called today from home. A new baby boy, James Carter Neff, came today. I am finally an Aunt. Casey says I should be called Tia. I like that better than "aunt Juli." That just sounds old. I'm not old. So excited to drive home this friday with my parents!
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Day Off
Today I hiked up to Scout's lookout and took a nap in the sun. Well, I wasn't crazy enough to fall asleep because I was laying near the ledge with a 1000 foot drop or so beneath me. So I lay there, rather wirey and alert, but still enjoying the sunshine. I finally got up after I heard too many hikers passing by, "If that girl even rolls over, (sound effects), she's gone."The view of Angel's Landing and the Great White throne was amazing. I have some really fun pictures of Angel's landing I've been meaning to post on here. I'll have to do that soon.
I turned left and didn't do Angel's landing today, but hiked out alittle ways on the west rim trail. Incredible rock on this trail. It made me want to do the whole thing sometime. There are many things I've learned to do alone. But I decided this trail won't be one of them.
As I hiked along, I met four retired state troopers who dubbed me "the nicest gal on the trail so far." I didn't know if this was sarcasm or if they really meant that to mean something.They said I needed something other than pictures of rocks, so this is their contribution.
I hiked down with them later and as they breaked and I took off down the switchbacks they yelled out, "Thanks for talking to the Duke! Just make sure you get to the sheriff's office soon for a restraining order." "Thanks for the warning," I called back, not really knowing what they were talking about.
When I got back from my hike, Arik, one of my housemates was dying to go get a buffalo burger. I fell to the pressure and agreed to go, even though I declared upon leaving, "I'd be a vegetarian if I could like vegetables." Buffalo wasn't on my list of meats I was anxious to try, especially after passing fields of them on our way up to the restaurant.When we pulled into the dirt lot, I wasn't sure where exactly the restaurant was, till we saw the big ole entrance sign and the restaurant dogs greeting us in the yard. I heard some guy yell from inside, "We have people!" or something like that. And he promptly came out, brushed his hands on his apron and told us to take a seat inside or out and "how the hell are ya?!?!" "Fine thankyou," as I quickly chose a table outside. I didn't want to know what was on the inside.
I was excited to see Dr. Pepper on the menu... my addictions have not ceased. I was surprised to receive an old jam jar to drink it out of. For some reason, my Dr. Pepper tasted kind of chemically and I blamed it on the glass. I have this weird phobia of drinking out of glass glasses.
Note the sign in the background... "Please do not feed dogs." Several dogs sat at our table with us, salivating over our buffalo burgers and Rocky Mountain oysters... yes, you read that correctly. I ate the balls from some animal. I can't believe I did it, well, I only took a smallish bite. But I can now say I've done it.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
get ready for overload of worthless story and picture
The following posts were all supposed to be part of the same entry but I can't seem to post more than one picture without freezing up my computer and having to restart it, which I've stupidly done several times tonight. The strange shadows in the corners of my pictures are because I have a wide-angle lens which doesn't fit on my camara so I try to hold it steady in front of my lens, but as you can see, I often miss.
So yesterday morning on my day off I went to Snow Canyon in St. George. It was so gorgeous. I was alittle afraid going alone, but it turned out to be alright. It’s kinda funny that I could probably count on my fingers how many words I spoke to another human all day… It was a lonely day, but it was fine, not like some of my other lonely days.
I've sometimes heard Snow canyon nicknamed "little Zion" because it has very similar landscapes. I think it is an intersection of the Mohave desert, the Great Basin, and the Colorado Plateau. There are active sand dunes and others are petrified. There’s an old volcano and tons of lava flows. Desert shrubs like live oak, creosote, and sage are everywhere and the contrast of these beautiful greens against the blacks of volcanic rock and desert varnish on the sandstone and the red rocks and blue sky are astounding.
So yesterday morning on my day off I went to Snow Canyon in St. George. It was so gorgeous. I was alittle afraid going alone, but it turned out to be alright. It’s kinda funny that I could probably count on my fingers how many words I spoke to another human all day… It was a lonely day, but it was fine, not like some of my other lonely days.
I've sometimes heard Snow canyon nicknamed "little Zion" because it has very similar landscapes. I think it is an intersection of the Mohave desert, the Great Basin, and the Colorado Plateau. There are active sand dunes and others are petrified. There’s an old volcano and tons of lava flows. Desert shrubs like live oak, creosote, and sage are everywhere and the contrast of these beautiful greens against the blacks of volcanic rock and desert varnish on the sandstone and the red rocks and blue sky are astounding.
And then I spotted some prints left by a crazy child in bare feet. They were all over the place; running around in circles, jumping up and down, then rolling around in the sand. I decided to follow the prints. I found myself stomping around in the same stomping marks left by the little feet. It made me smile. I decided these prints were also alright.
And as I followed the child’s prints, they joined paths with the bigger footsteps and soon we were all travelling together, and I decided these prints were acceptable too because we all start out with child’s feet and we remain the same person. Our feet just grow alittle. But that’s when I looked down and realized I was still wearing my shoes.
And as I followed the child’s prints, they joined paths with the bigger footsteps and soon we were all travelling together, and I decided these prints were acceptable too because we all start out with child’s feet and we remain the same person. Our feet just grow alittle. But that’s when I looked down and realized I was still wearing my shoes.
It is alright for a child’s feet to grow into an adult’s in time. It’s inevitable. But what I was doing was letting my feet get to my head. I was forgetting that I was that same child still. Now these prints were unacceptable and I allowed them to go no further.
I kicked off my shoes and I jumped and played in the sand the whole way back to my car. Sometimes it was so soft and so deep that it came up to my knees. I fell on my butt a couple times but I acted like I meant to. It was just me and a giant sandbox. I needed that little reminder today of Juli the child.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
fire dancers and pot smokers and me
There is a night security guard looking at me right now... I am sitting in my usual parking space in the dark lot... my face lit up in an eerie green glow from my computer screen. All summer I have come to the hotel parking lot to steal their wireless internet "waves" and they've never caught me. Don't you dare catch me now. I've almost made it.
Ok, he's gone. More important things to do. Brr... my toes are freezing. I can't believe seasons have come and gone and it's actually fall here in Zion. I remember driving in the first week of June and seeing snow still up on the caps of the surrounding mountains. I remember seeing all that snow melt in July and watching the Virgin river swell and pull the surrounding banks into it's current. I remember when it was too dangerous to hike the slot canyons when the flash floods were high and when the Narrows water was too fast. I remember the sad look on that German man's face when I told him it was closed and he said he'd been planning to hike the Narrows all his life and this was finally the trip. I remember that weird week in July when it hailed every day. I miss those nights when the rocks baked in the sun all day and kept all of us in the canyon warm during the night and I could walk around in shorts and tshirt and take a night nap on the bench outside the lodge. I remember the night when I awoke from my thoughts to find two skunks hanging out underneath my bench and other nights when grey fox would sneak up to sniff my toes. And now it's fall. The leaves in the higher elevations have already turned to yellows and reds. It's already snowed an hour away from us and the snowbirds have come down from the mountains to visit Zion "to get away from the cold." And I sit here tonight with my toes freezing. The cold has finally reached us too.
The other night I had my first and only bonfire for the summer. How sad is that. One of the park service guys is going back home to Ohio for school and he had a going away party. There was a weather advisory for strong winds for that night and all of southern Utah was asked to not have fires, yet that is exactly what we did. I looked around the circle and in the glow of the fire I could recognize almost every face. Springdale is small. The same person that serves you coffee one place is your waiter at the next restaurant. They were serving drinks out of the back of a pickup truck and some people had reached the idiot mode pretty early on because they had already come from the bar. I stood there throwing the stick for the dog. Lucky me, he always came back to play again. He was faithful. I needed a friend. Every once in awhile I glance back to see what people were doing. Some were twirling fire. One guy was riding a unicycle around blowing fire, except he increasingly fell on his face as he drank more and more to get more fuel for his firey breath. Other people were standing around smoking pot. I listened as their conversations turned more philosophical and watched as their mouths hung open more in a state of amazement at words such as "the" and "it." My side of the fire was alittle less interesting. We stood around talking and I threw the stick for the dog. I was surrounded by people, yet I realized I was completely alone.
I'm ready. I love Zion. I love the beauty of it all but I'm so ready to be home. I'm tired of being lonely. I live in community, yet the odd thing about community like this is that you can sit there in a room full of people and watch a movie, yet only be masking the fact that you're still alone. Physically, you're social... intellectually, you're dying inside. I had a weird dream last night about being back home and walking the streets alone. Everything was so grey and though I've been told some of us dream in color and others not, I've never been so aware of the grey of my dreams before. I met up with a carnival. It looked like fun, but I walked on because there was no one to enjoy it with. And the odd reminder from the other night, as I weaved in and out of the shops in my dreamy town, a dog followed me, asking me to throw the stick.
Ok, he's gone. More important things to do. Brr... my toes are freezing. I can't believe seasons have come and gone and it's actually fall here in Zion. I remember driving in the first week of June and seeing snow still up on the caps of the surrounding mountains. I remember seeing all that snow melt in July and watching the Virgin river swell and pull the surrounding banks into it's current. I remember when it was too dangerous to hike the slot canyons when the flash floods were high and when the Narrows water was too fast. I remember the sad look on that German man's face when I told him it was closed and he said he'd been planning to hike the Narrows all his life and this was finally the trip. I remember that weird week in July when it hailed every day. I miss those nights when the rocks baked in the sun all day and kept all of us in the canyon warm during the night and I could walk around in shorts and tshirt and take a night nap on the bench outside the lodge. I remember the night when I awoke from my thoughts to find two skunks hanging out underneath my bench and other nights when grey fox would sneak up to sniff my toes. And now it's fall. The leaves in the higher elevations have already turned to yellows and reds. It's already snowed an hour away from us and the snowbirds have come down from the mountains to visit Zion "to get away from the cold." And I sit here tonight with my toes freezing. The cold has finally reached us too.
The other night I had my first and only bonfire for the summer. How sad is that. One of the park service guys is going back home to Ohio for school and he had a going away party. There was a weather advisory for strong winds for that night and all of southern Utah was asked to not have fires, yet that is exactly what we did. I looked around the circle and in the glow of the fire I could recognize almost every face. Springdale is small. The same person that serves you coffee one place is your waiter at the next restaurant. They were serving drinks out of the back of a pickup truck and some people had reached the idiot mode pretty early on because they had already come from the bar. I stood there throwing the stick for the dog. Lucky me, he always came back to play again. He was faithful. I needed a friend. Every once in awhile I glance back to see what people were doing. Some were twirling fire. One guy was riding a unicycle around blowing fire, except he increasingly fell on his face as he drank more and more to get more fuel for his firey breath. Other people were standing around smoking pot. I listened as their conversations turned more philosophical and watched as their mouths hung open more in a state of amazement at words such as "the" and "it." My side of the fire was alittle less interesting. We stood around talking and I threw the stick for the dog. I was surrounded by people, yet I realized I was completely alone.
I'm ready. I love Zion. I love the beauty of it all but I'm so ready to be home. I'm tired of being lonely. I live in community, yet the odd thing about community like this is that you can sit there in a room full of people and watch a movie, yet only be masking the fact that you're still alone. Physically, you're social... intellectually, you're dying inside. I had a weird dream last night about being back home and walking the streets alone. Everything was so grey and though I've been told some of us dream in color and others not, I've never been so aware of the grey of my dreams before. I met up with a carnival. It looked like fun, but I walked on because there was no one to enjoy it with. And the odd reminder from the other night, as I weaved in and out of the shops in my dreamy town, a dog followed me, asking me to throw the stick.
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