Howdy,

Yesterday I wrote that I had something “today,” but its composition grew, so with a tease I kept it for “tomorrow,” and now today we have something from yesterday that refers to “today.” I hope that in this moment you enjoy, as this moment is all we have … Right? But that doesn’t even really make sense. What about memories? What about hope? The past? Eternity? Oh, man, this got complicated. To get back to the topic, I now present to you yesterday’s today …

Today I can give you the developmental thinking and growing will and desire of a three year old child, on the authority of “studying” or—better, after the previous post from Wednesday—listening to one Titus Shalom Hawes, who by the way became a three-and-a-half-year-old yesterday, but I realized today that in the continuous going of Thursday we forgot to mention to Ti then that it was the date of his turning 3.5, even though we’ve had it marked on the year in a glance calendar for quite some time now. (Not that we typically make too much of half-birthdays anyway, mostly just a simple acknowledgement, which is kind of fun. A person Ti’s age, though, certainly enjoys the knowledge and recognition.)

The ways, wills, and words of a three-year-old can go like this—as Ti’s did today at the pool: “No, I want to do it myself. Can you hold it for me?”

Now, grammatically, that utterance can be two or even three sentences depending on what you do with the “No,” so might have read a nice spaced-out statement, like: “No. I want to do it myself. Can you hold it for me?”

But that whole comment was one. “No I want to do it myself, can you hold it for me.”

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Howdy,

I didn’t write or get a blog post up yesterday as yesterday was a big, busy family-and-community-service-day.

I have no intention of crafting an excuse—in fact in that first line I substituted “as” for the “because” I had drafted, since I didn’t want it to say “I didn’t write yesterday because …— because when it comes right down to it I want to write, and that is my intention. To write. It’s a matter of getting it done or not, and of course there was some time to do it, if I had done it.

I didn’t blog yesterday, but I mention the big day because it was big and busy for our family and the community service was important and a privilege to be a part of, even if just for a sliver of the time that some are putting in as volunteers.

Wednesday night, our family of five left Turlock about ten o’clock (hoping the kids would sleep on the way) to drive up to Mariposa for the night. Being night, obviously our travels sped through the dark, and as we climbed into the foothills I smelled the remains of the humungous and devastating Detwiler FIRE before I noticed any sight of it. Jasper (who was not sleeping an hour into the trip, though the younger two were out) responded, “Yeah, I do smell it” when I stated I could smell the wildfire smoke and ashes.

On the way home the following afternoon/evening we’d have the chance to see a lot more of the fire’s blazed paths and blackened wreckage. (Here’s a good link for updates, information, or stats on the Detwiler fire: http://www.fire.ca.gov/current_incidents/incidentdetails/Index/1672)

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Howdy,

Yesterday I went simple, very minimal, with the post, “There, I did it (or, Drop the mic … and listen).”

Today I reuse a part of that post’s title: “Drop the mic … and listen.” And I’m doing that because I added an important part to the discussion on a question being the answer. The part about listen.

Listen. Listening.

“Listening lines up questions, and questions link up listening.”

Now, that is the challenge in this whole thing about finding—patiently and skillfully, I dare say, masterfully, discovering—an answer: listening.

Thus, yesterday’s super short post served no less than two important points: 1) Proving that I could just post that small bit without a rambling explanation (though, I suppose that I’d have to admit it already had an intro from the previous day and that I’m following up now, so I also supposed I have to agree to this idea as being disingenuous without much of a fight), and 2) I brought in the notion of listening in yesterday’s title’s additional, parenthetical, labeling—in a place that it needn’t be, with no explanation, no mention in the longer post the day before and nothing about it in yesterday’s minimal post, just a line: about questions and answers, not listening.

But that’s the point, listening is so powerful, such an integral part of the answers from questions connection. Listening plows and plants the fertile field for questions and questions—truthful, caring questions—presuppose, or should, and require listening.

Listening lines up questions, and questions link up listening. That’s the sync, if you think about it.

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Howdy,

A question is the answer.

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Howdy,

Do you know the answer to a/maybe-even-the question?

A question is the answer.

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Howdy,

About camping, What if?—or, If only … 

Continued from yesterday: Part 7 (Post B) …

That’s the fear of wild animals: the thinking about them. That’s the fear of camping: the thinking. Domesticated minds straying into the wild. It takes a couple of days of settling into a hike and its wilderness locations to begin to slow the mind and not be so jumpy at wilderness-y sounds. That nature. So stick-snappy. That camper. So jittery.

Sometimes there’s a reason to jit (which, apparently, is “a style of dance music popular in Zimbabwe,” but that’s not what I mean—although, see, and dare I say, Behold, I do indeed put in the research for these magnificent and crafted pieces even when it would appear (at times, one might think) that I’m just simply writing away, so when tempted to stray into thinking that, please do me the favor of remembering that you’ve learned, here, that jit is a style of dance music popular in Zimbabwe—with jit, I mean the jitter part of jittery, as I supposed you guessed many words ago: but before learning a thing about Zimbabwe’s popular dance and music culture, so if you when big on Jeopardy or Who Wants to Be a Millionaire or some game show like that please remember to toss a thank you my way, or, we could just call it even for your wading through all this with me, as you do have my sincerest appreciation: we’ll just call it even—whether you cash in with winnings or not. NOTE: this does not constitute a game show guarantee of any sort, and the striving and still-aspiring author is not to be held responsible for anyone’s saying jit when he or she should have uttered jitter while jittery under the duress of being on television, in competition, about to look dumb for all to see, and/or jubilant at the prospects of winning).

Let’s just start that over: sometimes there’s a reason to jit. There are wild animals out there, in the woods, of the forest, deep in the wilderness country, in a galaxy far, far away from any place to pop in Star Wars. Just this memorial weekend, we laid eyes on a mountain lion. It was neat, but we were more than likely a little glad to have seen the highway bounding mountain lion on the way home rather than sighting it during the drive up to camp.

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Howdy,

About camping, What if?—or, If only … 

This is our last one, the final entry of the topic of camping (well, I thought it was until our final two parts begun taking on letters, A & B), and I dare not call it fascinating again, for fear that you’ll disagree with me at this point.

Besides, I’ve already taken my run at it. There are no more expectations and promises. Just a cap on camping.

Because when you’re done with camping, you’re pooped. Tired. Exhausted. Happy to be headed home to that house and routine ya’ll so readily wanted to escape for that recovery relaxation in the shade of those pines looming tall over that mountain lake sandy shore breaching the soft bed of pine needles and that glassy body of clear and calling water that’s oh-so refreshing, even just to look at, let alone brave with a breath and a dive and an even bigger yet quicker breath for life, of life. Alive and living. Refreshment greater than an ice cold coke, though I can understand the Coca Cola being the choice of some.

For those, I say grab a cold coke and a wetsuit for warmer water and come on in, but that’s just me. I’ll do all three: coke, swimsuit and/or wetsuit. As long as I get to get in the water. Come on, the water’s nice—even when it’s not.

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Howdy,

About camping, What if?—or, If only … 

Continued from yesterday: Part 6 (Post B) …

Not-so-idyllic:

Gosh, I’ve already written so much about the good stuff—the idyllic, you might say—because it is a great hike, and I’d do it again for sure. It’s short and fairly easy, really. But it’s got its intensity in places and had my family’s attention, which is just good for safety anyway. Not a bad thing. And they conquered it, which is also good. What was really cool was that after not having cell reception for a couple of days a few texts dinged through as we were on the toughest part, approaching the top, and one was from our friend Larry who had sent the verse 1 Peter 5:7: “Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” A thank you and one foot in front of the other, out in God’s wonderful wilderness and wild creation.

The drive from camp to the Fresno Dome trailhead was only like 20-25 minutes (but that was for only like five or six miles—very bumpy and dusty with chunks of dirt road missing). Epa totally getting dusted out on his motorcycle on the drive up; he was very patient and gracious bringing up the rear of the caravan. Thanks, Tom.

Did I mention that we had eight children ages eight and under on the hike?

Honestly, the kids did great and were of course taking them was a big reason for why we’d even want to go, but they did make us nervous. The stakes are so high (literally). Sarah and I hear in a talk once about raising the kids about the difference between hurt and harm with your kids. Meaning, your kids are going to get hurt, it’s going to happen, and they’ll heal—part of the deal—but you want to watch out for harm. Harm can come in different forms—and falling off a granite cliff would qualify. Sickening feeling.

But that’s one to remember: your active kids will get hurt and will recover and you have to let them play, like monsters in a bash and crash destruction derby in tennis shoes, so don’t freak out about hurt as if it’s harm, but be alert for harm—worth the alarm. Neither hurt nor harm is idyllic, but seeking to allow no-hurt would also be not-so-idyllic. Remember the hammock and the face plants? A good hurt. Or, as we rough and tough street-balling basketballers say, “No harm, no foul.”

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Howdy,

About camping, What if?—or, If only … 

We’ve been exploring camping, and yesterday I said I’d mention more about our Fresno Dome hike. Our epic hike—that was idyllic in a lot of ways, though my wife may disagree with that.

Strongly disagree.

So, let’s have two “columns” in this post: idyllic and … not-so-idyllic—for our epic hike of Fresno Dome.

Under idyllic for the hike we can get in most of our other words from this series of camping posts: fascinating; outdoor; activity; expectations; anticipation (but not of relaxation); adventure; escape; junk food; experience; wilderness; epic.

Words under not-so-idyllic: not relaxation; not fictional—a fall would be quite real and harmful and deadly; not romantic (not to my wife); struggles; overcoming fear; “sweating hard for our escape and relaxation.”

Those have sort of been our words, but here’s more about the hike.

Idyllic:

A Saturday morning hike, after breakfast and percolated coffee … and gathering four families and all our combined kids, including our immediate family and our immediate three boys (as we worked hard not to be last and lagging and late and left behind—plus, I was on the fence about going with my bum-knee still somewhat recovering from my goofy infection at the beginning of July). Okay, so the gathering to go belongs below in the not-so-idyllic “column” but it’s just part of the deal and the wasn’t part of the hike, so I’ll leave it right here—since we did make it to the hike: success!

The drive from camp to the Fresno Dome trailhead was only like five or six miles (but took like 20-25 minutes). Elevation change from camp, including the drive and hike was approximately 5,500 to 7,500. You could taste the difference even at the trailhead, and the fresh smell become a noticeable difference in breathing once the hike was underway. The elevation increase is just something that is there, and you know it. It’s neat, and it can bring you to your knees. (Though our hike was not that dramatic—just a few heaving breaths that bring about the mental note: “I need to workout more when I get home,” but it’s okay because it’s the kind of noncommittal note you can forget in the runner’s high after a successful return. (At home, there are freezers. And in freezers, there’s ice cream.)

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Howdy,

About camping, What if?—or, If only … 

I’ve mention a few things about camping being fascinating, built on grand expectations and assumptions, involving anticipation of relaxation and its counterparts: active adventures; escapes from work, from heat, from the routine of daily grind (but not in the sense of the much-needed cup of coffee—we employed a new method for us this latest trip: a percolator—history repeating itself, apparently, so I kind of felt like Teddy Roosevelt prepping coffee for the camp [could see myself in one of those old black and whites with a floppy felt hat]); and another kind of escape: from any kind of strict or good diet; epic stuff, at least most certainly when compared with mundane routine (whatever that is).

What do we like about sleeping-bag-bed-head camping?

Waking up and getting after it!

After the coffee, of course.

Wilderness is adventure. Active exploration and outdoor adventure.

The activities I had brainstormed into a draft for this post before departing for our recent weekend of camping looked like this: “swimming, digging in the dirt, kayaking, fishing, hiking.”

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