Thursday, February ~Where the mind goes~

Last night I was driving home from my Wednesday night art class in Grove City and as I got on I-270, the traffic was at a standstill.  As I sat in the backed up traffic and watched all the crazies driving on the berm and making U-turns in the median, one car even got stuck, I was listening to Cousin Brucie on 60's on 6 on Sirius.  Personally, I had never heard of the Cuz but Andy said he has been on radio out of New York forever.  He had asked the listeners a trivia question, "What is the tallest mountain peak in North America?" The answer of course is Mt. McKinley which immediately brought vivid images to mind.  When Sara was a junior in high school she applied to the University of Alaska in Fairbanks.  Andy and I decided that a college visit was definitely in order if this was something she was serious about.  We decided to go in October over COTA weekend because we could use personal days before and after the weekend without being docked.  So we left on the 5 day college visit that was to be the beginning of my love affair with Alaska.  Getting back to the trivia question.  We flew in to Anchorage and transferred to a smaller plane and headed to Fairbanks.  I doubt there were more than 12 people on board our small jet and when we neared Mt. McKinley, originally called Denali, the pilot told everyone that if we moved to the right side of the plane, he would be flying over the summit.  That image is as fresh in my mind today as it was 15 years ago.  We were so close to the peak that I could see the snow swirling around, covering and uncovering the ragged peaks.  I remember thinking to myself that mountain climbing would never be on my bucket list if it involved climbing through the elements that I saw below.  The stark harshness of the scene below me made me realize that we were indeed in the far north and it was not for the faint of heart. As I reflected on that image, I began to think about other experiences in my life that left similar impressions.  Experiences that immediately conjure a sharp image for me include early Sunday morning fishing with my dad.  At the time, I wasn't crazy about getting up at 6 a.m. but as we climbed out of the car at Beach bridge or the bridge at High Free Pike I would literally drink in the sights and sounds.  The myriad of bird sounds would echo through the trees as we made our way along the bank to stake out our fishing spot.  If we were at the High Free Pike bridge, Dr. Maggied's donkey would fill the air with his braying.  Then there are the sounds of the ocean waves breaking on the beach that always take me back to our first trip to the ocean.  I think I was 11 or 12 and we camped.  For some reason, Judy and I had to sleep in the home made luggage carrier on top of our car.  Dad had fixed the lid so it could be propped up and there was mosquito netting over the opening.  The part I loved was that we would fall asleep and wake up to the constant sounds of the ocean.  I love any ocean but I am partial to the Outer Banks because that was my first.  I could go on and on but I will save something for another post.  I find it fascinating that sights, sounds or mere mentions of places can bring back such wonderfully rich memories.  I also find it a little confusing because most days I can't remember what I had for breakfast.  Maybe you could take a few minutes and walk down memory lane.  As for me, I'm headed to bed with the sounds of the ocean in my head.

Madison Lake always reminds me of learning to swim.  Dad just threw us out in the deep and told us to start paddling! Guess it worked we are still here.

Oceans are the pulse of the earth