My cute wife

I just shared.
Shared what?
The ----inger.
The vinegar?
Your finger.
My finger?
Mmhmm.

Something adorable and sad at the same time—watching your wife talk in her sleep. She’s so helpless in the conscious world. Unable to express her abstractions into something linear. You fight the instinct to ask more questions because you know she’s dead tired but you also haven’t said all the words you intended to say tonight. Your mind is teeming with ideas and all you can get out of her is a slumbered mumble. Somehow it’s enough. Let her continue her conversation with fairies and trolls.
You watch her a while.
There’s a hair on her face and she wrinkles her nose and brings her hand up to scratch it. Already there’s a faint crease across her face where she’s laid against the seam of a pillow. Her body rises and falls in rhythm. It’s so simple and perfect. You wish you could somehow reach into her dreams and walk hand in hand across the desert landscape of her mind. You wonder which recurring character is on stage now—what kind of dialogue they must be having. And you suddenly get very jealous that she’s having this charming conversation. All you got was a couple lines about sharing and vinegar or something.
You kiss her cheek. “Love you,” she whispers.

Go Green!

Hey all!

The high school I teach at is trying to earn some money and trying to change the world all at one time. To accomplish this great feat, we ask for your help!

Here's what to do:
1. Click on this: http://www.energystar.gov/index.cfm?fuseaction=cal.showPledge
2. Scroll down til you see View All Plege Drivers in blue on right hand side, click on it
3. Click on the letter H
4. Scroll down til you see Highland High School, click on it
5. Underneath Join Us, you'll see Take the EnergyStar Change a Light Pledge, click on it
6. Pledge!

If we get the most pledges, we win! Simple! Thanks for your help!

yours in saving energy... and by energy I mean money,
loves... jes

Religion

Chris Abney in LCC. Blake on a dangler. Jordan the contortionist.

Nothing like feeling that seismic strain stretch through your fingertips and forearms, through rhomboids and traps, calves and toes, when you hit the crux and prepare to make the crucial clip that either secures your body to the rock or sends you free-flailing--the strain of pushing through the pain of your bleeding hands, scraped knees, and torn muscles. And feeling nothing else but the exactness of that pain, the purity of each breath. It's in that moment that the world slows and you know: it's time. Inhale. Exhale. Dig that toe a little deeper. Shake out the left arm. Dip your hand in the chalk. Pull from the right. Pinch that crimper. Keep those arms straight. Breath. Shift your feet. Reach. Curse. Strain. Breath. And then...the sweet click of the draw. The security of the rope trailing the last 50 feet of rock. And the strain that melts into your muscles and seeps into the memory of your tendons. You carry that strain always, so that one day soon you'll be able to tap that reserved tenacity for a much meaner climb.

(Jes asked me if I'm adjusting since I keep writing about the mountains, climbing, etc. Answer: Inspiration comes from exile. Just call me James Joyce.)