Perched on a rock, with only a bridge to get to it

I want to share something mind-blowing and inspirational with you.

I've started looking at images of these structures whenever I'm in a pooh-pooh mood---thinking my life is difficult, or running a little low on faith.
Because when you imagine constructing something several hundred feet in the air, on rockface, it puts things into perspective.

I'm talking about the monasteries of Meteora.
They are precariously perched on sandstone rocks that have eroded naturally into pillars.

For hundreds of thousands of years, monks sought refuge in these cliffs so they could practice their religion.  Originally they lived in shallow caves in Meteora, but as they were persecuted for their beliefs, they moves skyward.  And higher, and higher, just to be able to worship their God in peace.
Now that is dedication.

Then they started to build the monasteries.
Which was excruciating, to say the least.
The only way up and down from the rocks was with rope ladders tied together, or mesh nets.
And the monks had a saying that they replaced the ropes/nets "only when the Lord let them break."
So with every use, they were literally taking leaps of faith.

Imagine riding in a net with stones, being lifted painstakingly up the side of a cliff face, up hundreds of feet (some of these monasteries reach 1800 feet), watching the ropes strain, knowing that your life is literally in God's hands.  It is a sensation we can only imagine.

Now these monasteries, centuries old, are a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and on Eli and my bucket list.  Nowadays there are stone stairs carved into the rocks that you have to hike up to reach the top, though that is definitely preferable to climbing a rope ladder without any harnesses.

One of the monasteries is only accessible by a rope bridge from an adjacent rock.

Currently, only 6 of the monasteries are intact, and one of them, St. Stephen's, is still used religiously by nuns.  During WWII the Nazis believed insurgents were hiding in St. Stephen's and destroyed much of it, but the nuns rebuilt it.

The Holy Trinity monastery is where they filmed the climactic finale for my favorite Bond movie, For Your Eyes Only. I shared it with Eli last night (he had never seen it, nor seen Roger Moore as Bond!!) and we both were white-knuckled watching 007 rock climbing his way to the top.

Now these are what I call skyscrapers.

They embody determination and faith, and should be an inspiration to us all.

And should the zombie apocalypse ever happen,

I think these babies will be the best bet for a safe fortress.

Sleds and Motorcycles

Yep,
I've been a bit quiet lately!

I haven't posted on here in...a week? Maybe more?
It has been a crazy time.

My hubby has been away on a business trip, I had a job interview, we toughed through 3 (THREE!!!) days of nonstop snow, I nearly died on the highway because of it, savored the last of the autumn leaves, we saw the new Bond, went shopping for a whole day (and even to the pet store) and didn't buy anything (miraculous), I got my 3rd iPhone (not by choice), made my own bath melts, yelled at a few doctors over the phone, spent 6 straight hours cleaning our apartment, we took our nephew and niece sledding (and I confronted my old enemy from the Sprained Ankle Incident), watched the Ute game, had a craft night with the kiddos, and I rode on a motorcycle for my FIRST TIME EVER.

It isn't surprising that I woke up this morning with a ghastly head cold!

When we went sledding yesterday, I had a sore throat that I was ignoring.  I figured it was just my body getting used to the freezing cold weather that has heaped itself upon us so suddenly, or that I had spent far too long verbally trashing Daniel Craig (I do not like his acting) and had a hoarse voice as a result.

I took the risk of riding the Demon Sled (the same one I crashed on the stairs that messed up my ankle) and once again crashed it. On the ice.  And my niece crashed too, cutting up her lip.
DEVIL SLED!! I sought my revenge on it by vowing that no one shall ride it down an incline ever again.  The rest of the afternoon we rode my nephew's sled, which is one of those foam wonders that soars over the lumps and bumps and carries you further than anyone else on the hill.

We all had so much fun taking turns on that baby, and I was reminded of the incomparable thrill of flying through the cold air, soaring down a mountain (okay, a hillside, but the experience enlarges everything in your mind).  We had a little snowball fight and the kids had a giggle fit (which is the cutest thing in the world) and when we said it was time to go home (because it was getting dark!!) they cried out "you guys spoiled us!! This was awesome! Can we go next winter?!"  and I told them that Eli and I will take them sledding every winter forever, even when they are adults and think they're too cool for sledding.  Michael responded "I don't think I'll EVER get over sledding!"
On the drive home, with the promise of hot chocolate (in 3 flavors to choose from!), we shouted out Christmas carols.
Which, of course, I shouldn't have been doing with a rapidly swelling throat, but on days like that you can't hold back in the least, and I'm glad I didn't.  It really was the most fun I've had in a long time.

And though the sensation of sledding is wondrous, it pales in comparison to riding a motorbike.
My Dad has been riding motorcycles since he was 14 years old.  Yes, 14.
Despite having a crash that nearly killed him, and gave him the pin he still has in his leg, he loves bikes.  he bought a Harley a few years ago and that bike is so BEAUTIFUL it makes you salivate just looking at it, nevermind when he starts the thing up.
But, when I was a little girl, he made me promise never to ride on a motorcycle.  Ever. Not even his.
And being the good little Daddy's Girl that I am, I never did.
But per a recent discussion we had on parents raising their kids, and putting fear into their kids, and his regret that I may have held back doing certain things in life due to fear, we decided I was going to get on the back of his Harley and LIVE.
And I did.
And there honestly isn't anything like it.
The first few minutes I was nearly shaking, I was so terrified.
There wasn't anything between me and the road (right below my feet!) except physics.

And I've never been one for science, so it is difficult to put your faith and your life into something you fail to understand most of the time (I did like burning the different elements in chemistry, and learning anatomy in biology).
On those turns, when you have to lean and you feel the weight of the bike beneath you, tipping downward, your heart drops into your stomach.
We were flying down the hill near our house, 3 minutes after the ride started, and I looked up and my breath was sucked out of my chest.  The sky was RIGHT THERE.  The trees and grass and the little creek we used to catch turtles in is RIGHT THERE.  You can smell everything.
It really is like walking fast---you get to experience being outside with the thrill of speed added into it.
What a deal!
It's terrifying having those other cars next to you and knowing that if a driver makes a mistake, they could injure you, or kill you, but you just have to enjoy the ride and trust the driver.
I even spread my arms to my sides, as if in flight, just for the sensation.
We drove up the canyon and I saw the cliffs in a way I've never seen in a car.  We took the twistest rode we could find and surprisingly, I felt safer on the bike than I do in a car.  The heights didn't even bother me like they usually do.  It impacted me like a near death experience---everything looked brighter, smelled fresher, and I felt a tingling in my limbs and could feel me heart beating "I am, I am, I am."  Even the coffee we stopped for at the mountain lodge tasted more flavorful.
I am so glad I did it, and even more grateful that I am no longer afraid of riding on a motorcycle.
I don't feel the need to go out and jump on anyone's bike, but next spring when my Dad takes her out again, we may go for another spin.


Now for some photos:

Autumn love

GORGEOUS leaves in my parents' backyard

Bike up the canyon

The scarecrows I made with the kids.  Notice the bloody princess, far left.

Unplowed highway. Scary.

Love snowy Utah mountains.

We meet again, demon sled.

He looks like a handsome Russian!

Pure joy.

The Embarrassing Truth

Oops, I did it again.

SO.... I never really wrote about this.

Because it is embarrassing.

Last summer I sprained my foot and my ankle. Within a week of each other (both on a Tuesday night), and both in silly ways

The first to go was my foot.

I was walking in the kitchen and our fridge was having a problem and leaked a large puddle of water in the middle of the white floor, which I didn't see until I was in it.

I skidded and, still standing, my foot slipped right underneath the oven!

It wedged into that little inch gap between the floor and the oven drawer and then, with my foot still stuck in there, my whole body contorted and went down.

This all happened in about 3 seconds and Eli, in the other room, said he just heard a squeal, a big thud, and then silence.  He shouted out "Are you okay?!?!"

And a few moments later heard an agonizing "NOOOOOOO!"

I went to a specialist the next day who was chuckling as he explained that he has seen plenty of sprains in his time, but never a sprained foot.  So I was put in one of those awful, clumsy boots that I named "Booteus Maximus."

After having a rough time getting around on it and being frustrated that my summer had started off with such a crappy injury, a few friends offered to take me out to show my a good time.

So Eli and I and some pals went to our favorite local pub and proceeded to do an Irish Car Bomb and have a glorious evening!

The only fly in the ointment was that one of our friends brought along his bizarre and not-so-great new girlfriend (thank goodness they were only together for a few weeks).  

A few hours later we headed out to the car, which was parked curbside, and the mix of the car bombs and the boorish boot, I stumbled slightly on the curb and just went down.  Hard.

And snapped my other foot.

It hurt worse than the first one, and I collapsed into tears as my ankle started swelling.

In the ER, finding the oxygen humorous, I guess?

Then this nut-job new girlfriend decides to step in and use her limited medical expertise to help.
She was trying to yank off my sandal (and would have cut it, had she had scissors) and I was like "What are you doing?!" and she said "I've worked with old people, they fall a lot. We should take your shoe off!"  To which I threw my head back and howled "I'M NOT OLD!!!!!!!!!!"

Our driver took us to the Emergency Room and I got a wheelchair and a patient bracelet and then we waited for a loooooong time.  During which someone put those hospital masks on us.

They did the X-Rays and such and yep, another sprain.

Fulfilling the trashy ideal with my boot.

So the next couple weeks I had a boot, my faithful cane Violet, one sprained ankle, one sprained foot, and damaged pride to get by on.

It was pretty humiliating.

And a few weeks ago,

I sprained my ankle (yet again) in a stupid way.

And I'm just now fessing up.

We were at my father-in-law's house having one of his grand ol' barbecues, with all of my nephews and nieces galloping around.  And I am the Cool Aunt, so I'm always participating in their games and egging them on and hustling them outside to play football with me.

And they dug out their winter sleds for some reason and were trying to slide them down the stairs.

And me, being a responsible adult (not), suggested that they slide on the upstairs stairs, rather than the downstairs stairs.

Because the upstairs stairs are steeper.

Yes, I did.  

So they went on up and were flying off the landing and started shouting for me to come join them, and being a Stair Sledder from way back myself, I joyfully agreed!
I popped onto the sled behind my niece and lifted my feet off the floor, into her lap.  And off we went.

Our hair was flying, we were squealing, and right as we soared off the last few steps, she accidentally nudged my right foot out of her lap so it was hanging down when we smashed into the floor (and it hit the floor before the sled, so it took the brunt of it).

My heel hit first, and was at a terrible angle for such a crash.  It bloody KILLED.

I certainly damaged my Achilles.

I limped away, slammed a pack of frozen peas on the thing, and rode out the evening on grimaced smiles.  The next morning I conceded to Eli that it was baaaaaaad.  But it wasn't too swollen or bruised, and since I had the sprains last summer, I knew what the doctor would tell me about treating them and didn't want to pay a co-pay for free advice.

And I've been taking care of it since, with the help of ankle wraps and Violet the cane.

It still bothers me a bit, but it's doing good.

I just don't have any Stair Sledding in my immediate future.

Yes, I went to Vegas as a gimp.
And I would do it again--apparently being in a wheelchair gets you free Paul McCartney tickets!

Chin Beards and Bob Dylan Rabbit

I have no idea what in the hell this is, but I kinda like it.

It is totally something I could be found doing at 10pm on a Thursday night, without provocation.

I'm good at weird.

Case in point: 

I am thrilled that my hair has reached chin-beard length again!

And Carrot Cake, the stuffed bunny I still sleep with (I catch Eli cuddling him too sometimes)

makes a great Bob Dylan.

So in the face of all that is wrong in the world, both globally, and personally, with me spending 1/4-3/4 of my days on the phone with doctors and the insurance,

feeling like hell, and trying to get my health sorted,

this is what keeps me going.

Chin beards and Bob Dylan wannabe bunnies.

Oh, and fluffernutters.