Alrighty.
Re: Bumbershoot, it has come down to this: we're all talk. When it came down to actually making the drive down to Seattle, we just couldn't pick that over staying home all day in our pajamas. Every weekend since the beginning of July, we've either been away from home, or we've had someone visiting ours. Laziness wins. Kevin can have our tix and go see Death Cab.
But! We had our fantasy football draft today (one of two I'll be in this year)... and here's my team, for better or for worse. We had a 10-spot bench, which I still don't understand, but it allowed me to make some choices based sheerly on players I know and love (and will probably never start).
Introducing:
That's What She Said
Team Captain:
Jordan Kent (WR-SEA)
QB
Tom Brady (I was third in the draft. Tom Brady was the only choice to make, as far as I was concerned).
Kurt Warner
WR
Larry Fitzgerald (ARI)
Lee Evans (BUF)
Nate Burleson (SEA)
Bobby Engram (SEA)
RB
Brandon Jacobs (NYG)
Reggie Bush (NO)
Lendale White (TEN)
Derrick Ward (NYG)
Deuce McAllister (NO)
Maurice Morris (SEA)
TE
Heath Miller (PIT)
Randy McMichael (STL)
K
Robbie Gould (CHI)
DEF
Pittsburgh
Washington
Run up the score, Tom Brady! DO IT!
sábado, 30 de agosto de 2008
jueves, 28 de agosto de 2008
why we Americans lock our doors
Justin and I watched Bowling for Columbine on Friday night. Wow... it was gripping. It seems that everyone has some sort of opinion on Michael Moore -- he's just the kind of guy who incites a strong emotional reaction in most. Love him or hate him, agree with him or not -- it's hard not to admit the man makes brilliant documentaries. The last scene with a certain ancient NRA president/movie star was the best television I've seen since Oprah removed and then devoured the heart of James Frey live on her show.
Anyway, in one of the scenes, Michael Moore is interviewing Canadians and all of them are saying they don't lock their doors at night. Saying he finds all this a little overblown, M.M. goes through a neighborhood and opens a bunch of unlocked front doors, surprising the residents inside and apologizing for the intrusion. According to M.M., Canadians don't seem to be as afraid as we are. He explores reasons why that may be (the American news media in particular), but I remember thinking about the many times I've asked Justin as we've gone to bed -- "You locked the front door, right?" As we've left our apartment: "Is the front window locked?" As we've walked to school: "Did you lock the car?" It's a predictable question from me. With a predictable answer -- always "Yes."
I thought about that portion of the film quite a bit. Maybe I shouldn't be so concerned about whether or not things are locked up. Why subscribe to the fear? Isn't it totally silly to be so paranoid?
...And then my office at work was broken into over the weekend. One of my coworkers (who, in an odd twist, is Canadian) thinks she may have forgotten to lock the top lock as she left for the weekend. She walked in to find the door ajar and our computer gone, and, among the other pile of things taken, our appointment book. This seems like a small thing, unless you're the receptionist who schedules appointments. (I am the receptionist). What -- it's not enough to rip us off, you need to make our schedule hellish, too?
A few long and headache-filled days at work later, we're up and running again, and things are almost back to normal. We backed up our data off-site, so things were not as bad as they could have been. The new comp is up and running, after a Vista-XP battle to the death. (XP won). But the sense of violation remains. And the paranoia is... well, it's a little worse than usual. I love it when other people lock up the office because then I don't play "did-I-or-didn't-I-lock-the-door" all the way home. I jetted around the building yesterday to get a better look at a guy who'd been peering suspiciously into our windows as he walked by. Using my best spy moves, I got his license plate number, only to find later that he rents the office a few doors down from us. I've gone through our filing cabinets here at home and tried to figure out ways to secure our passports and birth certificates. I read through our insurance policy again.
Choosing not to play into a false culture of played-up fears is one thing. Trying not to worry when the world proves to you -- personally -- that it's a rather mean place, that's another. I've seen this before. When some idiot set fire to my brother's house and burned it to the ground the day before our wedding, I was reminded. When I saw Kevin on the news with his roommates explaining that people had looted the belongings that hadn't burned, I knew for sure that this is one sick place. I guess what's surprising is that I'm still taken by surprise.
Grudgingly, I have to admit I'm surprised by good things, too. In the middle of getting the computer set up on Tuesday, the office phone rang, and Maggie was on the other end. "I think we might have your appointment book and some other stuff? My husband found it at the park..."
I know, I know, I know. There's always something good that shows up in situations like this. And it's only stuff, after all. It could have been worse. I know all that.
But I've still been thinking more than I ought to about whether or not that front door is locked.
Anyway, in one of the scenes, Michael Moore is interviewing Canadians and all of them are saying they don't lock their doors at night. Saying he finds all this a little overblown, M.M. goes through a neighborhood and opens a bunch of unlocked front doors, surprising the residents inside and apologizing for the intrusion. According to M.M., Canadians don't seem to be as afraid as we are. He explores reasons why that may be (the American news media in particular), but I remember thinking about the many times I've asked Justin as we've gone to bed -- "You locked the front door, right?" As we've left our apartment: "Is the front window locked?" As we've walked to school: "Did you lock the car?" It's a predictable question from me. With a predictable answer -- always "Yes."
I thought about that portion of the film quite a bit. Maybe I shouldn't be so concerned about whether or not things are locked up. Why subscribe to the fear? Isn't it totally silly to be so paranoid?
...And then my office at work was broken into over the weekend. One of my coworkers (who, in an odd twist, is Canadian) thinks she may have forgotten to lock the top lock as she left for the weekend. She walked in to find the door ajar and our computer gone, and, among the other pile of things taken, our appointment book. This seems like a small thing, unless you're the receptionist who schedules appointments. (I am the receptionist). What -- it's not enough to rip us off, you need to make our schedule hellish, too?
A few long and headache-filled days at work later, we're up and running again, and things are almost back to normal. We backed up our data off-site, so things were not as bad as they could have been. The new comp is up and running, after a Vista-XP battle to the death. (XP won). But the sense of violation remains. And the paranoia is... well, it's a little worse than usual. I love it when other people lock up the office because then I don't play "did-I-or-didn't-I-lock-the-door" all the way home. I jetted around the building yesterday to get a better look at a guy who'd been peering suspiciously into our windows as he walked by. Using my best spy moves, I got his license plate number, only to find later that he rents the office a few doors down from us. I've gone through our filing cabinets here at home and tried to figure out ways to secure our passports and birth certificates. I read through our insurance policy again.
Choosing not to play into a false culture of played-up fears is one thing. Trying not to worry when the world proves to you -- personally -- that it's a rather mean place, that's another. I've seen this before. When some idiot set fire to my brother's house and burned it to the ground the day before our wedding, I was reminded. When I saw Kevin on the news with his roommates explaining that people had looted the belongings that hadn't burned, I knew for sure that this is one sick place. I guess what's surprising is that I'm still taken by surprise.
Grudgingly, I have to admit I'm surprised by good things, too. In the middle of getting the computer set up on Tuesday, the office phone rang, and Maggie was on the other end. "I think we might have your appointment book and some other stuff? My husband found it at the park..."
I know, I know, I know. There's always something good that shows up in situations like this. And it's only stuff, after all. It could have been worse. I know all that.
But I've still been thinking more than I ought to about whether or not that front door is locked.
jueves, 7 de agosto de 2008
no-man's land
So, I've wanted to share this for a while, but haven't exactly known how to put it. Fortunately Dear Friend Daniel called the other day, and I talked with him about it, and he didn't seem particularly horrified (he never does, when will I learn this?), so I'm feeling a little braver. Here goes.
So I've already shared that I had a hard time in my Spiritual Autobiography class. Not because of the people in it, really. Most were kind and open to hearing others' experiences. And there were a lot of different experiences, different views. It went remarkably well, for the most part.
What was hard for me was being in a sort of in-between place. I wasn't like the two or three Christians in the room who were avidly involved in Campus Christian Fellowship, who prayed and sang songs to acoustic guitar out in Red Square. But neither was I like my friend Jenn.
Jenn and I have had classes together our last couple of quarters, and I really like her. She's funny and a little brash, and that usually goes a long way with me. So much of our experience has been the same. Deep involvement in the church. On a worship team for years. An intense internship with a charismatic church leader. Broken relationships, an eventual stepping away from the culture, and a lot of questions as a result. In fact, when we started discussing the details, I realized our paths had crossed twice before we knew each other: once when her group came up to Poulsbo, and once when our group visited her ministry down in Sacramento. (I had always thought she looked familiar).
We talked about going and grabbing coffee at some point, talking about our experiences, in that loose way where coffee never actually will happen, but it's fun to think about. Things hit a bump when a woman in our workshop group asked us about our experiences in the church. She's Buddhist, but has a twenty-year-old son also attending Western. He's a Christian whose very involved in campus ministry, so naturally she was curious.
During the course of the conversation that followed, I saw a difference between me and Jenn: she's as fervently anti-Christian as she once was fervently Christian. She launched into why she's not a Christian, why she wants absolutely nothing to do with Christianity, naming off several criticisms of the Christian viewpoint -- criticisms I really couldn't argue with, because they're views that much of the mainstream evangelical movement embraces (i.e. anyone who hasn't said the sinner's prayer before he dies goes to hell, gay people are a threat, etc).
It was a tough conversation. Whenever I would object, saying, "Not all Christians think that. I don't," she would respond with, "Well, most do," and she was right. She was harsh, though I know her well enough to know she didn't mean to be, and I can understand her reasons why. She could tell I was feeling raw, and apologized after class. I told her not to worry about it -- the truth was, it really had very little to do with her at all.
I cried most of the way home.
It just sucks living an in-between existence. I've lamented more than once to Justin that we're too Christian for most, and not-Christian-enough for the rest. I've had the same disappointing "We-don't-fit-here" experience with churchy couples' small groups that I had on this particular afternoon with Jenn.
I find it impossible to reject Jesus. I also find it impossible to swallow the idea that if I'm a Christian, I do this thing, I don't do that thing, I vote for this party, I exclude these people, and march contentedly in rank and file. I don't like the idea that as soon as I walk in the door, I have to surrender my ability to think, to question, to respond as an individual to what I read in the words of Jesus.
This puts me in a tough spot.
It puts us in a tough spot, I should say. Justin and I have tried a few times to go to church, because I've said, "We should try to go," but each time, it's done more damage than if we'd just stayed home, and it's always me that says, "Let's not do this again." Let me say: they're good people. And there are probably plenty of good things I could give and receive as part of that community. I just can't get past the weird culture, the group-think, the things that remind me of when I was so fervent, so sure of myself, and yet so completely in the wrong. It's kind of like when we first moved up here and I joined the worship team, and shortly found myself sitting at a piano bench singing songs with words that I would never actually use in everyday conversation, watching everyone raise their hands and close their eyes at the same time. It's a constant "twilight zone" kind of experience. Yuck.
At first, we did what was easiest. We buried the issue as much as possible and just focused on being newly-marrieds. Enter the Spiritual Autobiography class. Oops. Lots of things coming to the surface.
Near the end of the quarter, we sat down and talked about it for a few hours. We realized we could probably bury this for a good ten years under the distractions of a happy marriage (and it has been one), but that we wouldn't be living in good faith. So it came down to it: do we believe in Jesus and his message? (This was an actual point of discussion, by the way). Yes? Or on most days, yes? Okay. Well, what the hell do we do about it then? For some reason we pulled out Thomas Merton and came to this passage:
There is no neutrality between gratitude and ingratitude. Those who are not grateful soon begin to complain of everything. Those who do not love, hate. In the spiritual life there is no such thing as an indifference to love or hate. That is why tepidity (which seems to be indifferent) is so detestable. It is hate disguised as love.
Tepidity, in which the soul is neither "hot nor cold" -- neither frankyl loves nor frankly hates -- is a state in which one rejects God and rejects the will of God while maintaining an exterior pretense of loving Him in order to keep out of trouble and save one's supposed self-respect. It is the condition that is soon arrived at by those who are habitually ungrateful for the graces of God. A man who truly responds to the goodness of God, and acknowledges all that he has received, cannot possibly be a half-hearted Christian. True gratitude and hypocrisy cannot exist together. They are totally incompatible. Gratitude of itself makes us sincere -- or it if does not, then it is not true gratitude.
Gratitude, though, is more than a mental exercise, more than a formula of words. We cannot be satisfied to make a mental note of things which God has done for us and then perfunctorily thank Him for favors received.
To be grateful is to recognize the Love of God in everything He has given us-- and He has given us everything. Every breath we draw is a gift of His love, every moment of existence is a grace, for it brings with it immense graces from Him. Gratitude therefore takes nothing for granted, is never unresponsive, is constantly awakening to new wonder and to praise of the goodness of God. For the grateful man knows that God is good, not by hearsay, but by experience. And that is what makes all the difference.
(Yeah, any of you longtime blog buddies will recognize that last little bit, a favorite quote of mine).
We realized that our distaste for mainstream Christian culture is not an excuse for burying our pursuit of faith beneath a pile of frustrations. It won't strengthen our marriage, won't strengthen our character, won't make us more like Jesus in how we treat other people. I hate the idea that I had let my relationship with church get confused with my relationship with God. I hate that I let it cloud the grace I once saw so clearly. I hate that I wasn't grateful for each day as I once was. It was an uncomfortable realization to come to, but it was a needed one.
We're hopeful that at some point we'll find a capital-C church with like-minded folks where we can worship in good conscience. For now, we have time set aside each Sunday for what we call our Guppy Time. (In jest, I named our weekly time our Gratitude Unification Procedure, and it stuck). We read the Bible, and are working through Soren Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling, and we talk about it. It's been good. I haven't felt in-between in a while now. There are lots of things I'm still uncertain on, but I don't wonder if we're chasing faith authentically or not. I'm learning to be grateful again.
I was telling Dan about all of this, and his only admonition was something I've already been thinking about: we need to be willing to be home for others, too. I'm hoping at some point that we'll have people join us in our living room. I like the thought that other people who feel they don't fit can find a place where they do. We'll see.
Anyway, thanks for letting me share where we're at. For those of you who've been reading over the long haul and have chimed in with lots of "me-too's" over the course of this messy journey, thanks also for being a home of sorts when face-to-face conversations with like-minded folks were rare.
So I've already shared that I had a hard time in my Spiritual Autobiography class. Not because of the people in it, really. Most were kind and open to hearing others' experiences. And there were a lot of different experiences, different views. It went remarkably well, for the most part.
What was hard for me was being in a sort of in-between place. I wasn't like the two or three Christians in the room who were avidly involved in Campus Christian Fellowship, who prayed and sang songs to acoustic guitar out in Red Square. But neither was I like my friend Jenn.
Jenn and I have had classes together our last couple of quarters, and I really like her. She's funny and a little brash, and that usually goes a long way with me. So much of our experience has been the same. Deep involvement in the church. On a worship team for years. An intense internship with a charismatic church leader. Broken relationships, an eventual stepping away from the culture, and a lot of questions as a result. In fact, when we started discussing the details, I realized our paths had crossed twice before we knew each other: once when her group came up to Poulsbo, and once when our group visited her ministry down in Sacramento. (I had always thought she looked familiar).
We talked about going and grabbing coffee at some point, talking about our experiences, in that loose way where coffee never actually will happen, but it's fun to think about. Things hit a bump when a woman in our workshop group asked us about our experiences in the church. She's Buddhist, but has a twenty-year-old son also attending Western. He's a Christian whose very involved in campus ministry, so naturally she was curious.
During the course of the conversation that followed, I saw a difference between me and Jenn: she's as fervently anti-Christian as she once was fervently Christian. She launched into why she's not a Christian, why she wants absolutely nothing to do with Christianity, naming off several criticisms of the Christian viewpoint -- criticisms I really couldn't argue with, because they're views that much of the mainstream evangelical movement embraces (i.e. anyone who hasn't said the sinner's prayer before he dies goes to hell, gay people are a threat, etc).
It was a tough conversation. Whenever I would object, saying, "Not all Christians think that. I don't," she would respond with, "Well, most do," and she was right. She was harsh, though I know her well enough to know she didn't mean to be, and I can understand her reasons why. She could tell I was feeling raw, and apologized after class. I told her not to worry about it -- the truth was, it really had very little to do with her at all.
I cried most of the way home.
It just sucks living an in-between existence. I've lamented more than once to Justin that we're too Christian for most, and not-Christian-enough for the rest. I've had the same disappointing "We-don't-fit-here" experience with churchy couples' small groups that I had on this particular afternoon with Jenn.
I find it impossible to reject Jesus. I also find it impossible to swallow the idea that if I'm a Christian, I do this thing, I don't do that thing, I vote for this party, I exclude these people, and march contentedly in rank and file. I don't like the idea that as soon as I walk in the door, I have to surrender my ability to think, to question, to respond as an individual to what I read in the words of Jesus.
This puts me in a tough spot.
It puts us in a tough spot, I should say. Justin and I have tried a few times to go to church, because I've said, "We should try to go," but each time, it's done more damage than if we'd just stayed home, and it's always me that says, "Let's not do this again." Let me say: they're good people. And there are probably plenty of good things I could give and receive as part of that community. I just can't get past the weird culture, the group-think, the things that remind me of when I was so fervent, so sure of myself, and yet so completely in the wrong. It's kind of like when we first moved up here and I joined the worship team, and shortly found myself sitting at a piano bench singing songs with words that I would never actually use in everyday conversation, watching everyone raise their hands and close their eyes at the same time. It's a constant "twilight zone" kind of experience. Yuck.
At first, we did what was easiest. We buried the issue as much as possible and just focused on being newly-marrieds. Enter the Spiritual Autobiography class. Oops. Lots of things coming to the surface.
Near the end of the quarter, we sat down and talked about it for a few hours. We realized we could probably bury this for a good ten years under the distractions of a happy marriage (and it has been one), but that we wouldn't be living in good faith. So it came down to it: do we believe in Jesus and his message? (This was an actual point of discussion, by the way). Yes? Or on most days, yes? Okay. Well, what the hell do we do about it then? For some reason we pulled out Thomas Merton and came to this passage:
There is no neutrality between gratitude and ingratitude. Those who are not grateful soon begin to complain of everything. Those who do not love, hate. In the spiritual life there is no such thing as an indifference to love or hate. That is why tepidity (which seems to be indifferent) is so detestable. It is hate disguised as love.
Tepidity, in which the soul is neither "hot nor cold" -- neither frankyl loves nor frankly hates -- is a state in which one rejects God and rejects the will of God while maintaining an exterior pretense of loving Him in order to keep out of trouble and save one's supposed self-respect. It is the condition that is soon arrived at by those who are habitually ungrateful for the graces of God. A man who truly responds to the goodness of God, and acknowledges all that he has received, cannot possibly be a half-hearted Christian. True gratitude and hypocrisy cannot exist together. They are totally incompatible. Gratitude of itself makes us sincere -- or it if does not, then it is not true gratitude.
Gratitude, though, is more than a mental exercise, more than a formula of words. We cannot be satisfied to make a mental note of things which God has done for us and then perfunctorily thank Him for favors received.
To be grateful is to recognize the Love of God in everything He has given us-- and He has given us everything. Every breath we draw is a gift of His love, every moment of existence is a grace, for it brings with it immense graces from Him. Gratitude therefore takes nothing for granted, is never unresponsive, is constantly awakening to new wonder and to praise of the goodness of God. For the grateful man knows that God is good, not by hearsay, but by experience. And that is what makes all the difference.
(Yeah, any of you longtime blog buddies will recognize that last little bit, a favorite quote of mine).
We realized that our distaste for mainstream Christian culture is not an excuse for burying our pursuit of faith beneath a pile of frustrations. It won't strengthen our marriage, won't strengthen our character, won't make us more like Jesus in how we treat other people. I hate the idea that I had let my relationship with church get confused with my relationship with God. I hate that I let it cloud the grace I once saw so clearly. I hate that I wasn't grateful for each day as I once was. It was an uncomfortable realization to come to, but it was a needed one.
We're hopeful that at some point we'll find a capital-C church with like-minded folks where we can worship in good conscience. For now, we have time set aside each Sunday for what we call our Guppy Time. (In jest, I named our weekly time our Gratitude Unification Procedure, and it stuck). We read the Bible, and are working through Soren Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling, and we talk about it. It's been good. I haven't felt in-between in a while now. There are lots of things I'm still uncertain on, but I don't wonder if we're chasing faith authentically or not. I'm learning to be grateful again.
I was telling Dan about all of this, and his only admonition was something I've already been thinking about: we need to be willing to be home for others, too. I'm hoping at some point that we'll have people join us in our living room. I like the thought that other people who feel they don't fit can find a place where they do. We'll see.
Anyway, thanks for letting me share where we're at. For those of you who've been reading over the long haul and have chimed in with lots of "me-too's" over the course of this messy journey, thanks also for being a home of sorts when face-to-face conversations with like-minded folks were rare.
martes, 5 de agosto de 2008
Mt. Rainier
We had so much fun!
I haven't been up to Mt Rainier since I was a kid... I had forgotten what a magical place it is.
When you can see it, of course. The first day up there, the mountain was completely covered in clouds. Visibility was, well, like this:
Not very August-like.
Justin was a bit skeptical, thinking this whole Mt Rainier thing was just a hoax.
So after a short hike, we went back to our campsite and shivered for several hours. But the next morning, we woke up to this:
(I'll leave it to you to guess who was more enthused at this point in the morning).
Not a cloud in sight!
Perfect day to hike. Would have also been a perfect day to pack some sandwiches, but we couldn't be bothered with petty details like that. Thank God we packed some Triscuits and some granola bars.
Avalanche Lilies. Straight out of the camera. Gorgeous.
It was a little surreal to be hiking through snow in 70-degree weather, but many of the trails were still partially covered. Lots of slipping and sliding, lots of giggling on my part.
Oddly enough, the higher we climbed, the more wildflowers we saw (and smelled). Up near the top, the lupine was strong and sweet. Lots of deep inhales.
Lots of deep breaths also partially due to the thinner air. I was dizzy a few times. Especially right around here:
But we made it! A 1700' ascent!
Here's the panorama shot from Panorama Point:
Ah. Well worth it.
The next day we took a quick jaunt to the lakes, and headed on home.
Note the sweet sunburn on my neck (reflection off the snow, oops).
Go team! There's no one I'd rather climb mountains with.
I haven't been up to Mt Rainier since I was a kid... I had forgotten what a magical place it is.
When you can see it, of course. The first day up there, the mountain was completely covered in clouds. Visibility was, well, like this:
Not very August-like.
Justin was a bit skeptical, thinking this whole Mt Rainier thing was just a hoax.
So after a short hike, we went back to our campsite and shivered for several hours. But the next morning, we woke up to this:
(I'll leave it to you to guess who was more enthused at this point in the morning).
Not a cloud in sight!
Perfect day to hike. Would have also been a perfect day to pack some sandwiches, but we couldn't be bothered with petty details like that. Thank God we packed some Triscuits and some granola bars.
Avalanche Lilies. Straight out of the camera. Gorgeous.
It was a little surreal to be hiking through snow in 70-degree weather, but many of the trails were still partially covered. Lots of slipping and sliding, lots of giggling on my part.
Oddly enough, the higher we climbed, the more wildflowers we saw (and smelled). Up near the top, the lupine was strong and sweet. Lots of deep inhales.
Lots of deep breaths also partially due to the thinner air. I was dizzy a few times. Especially right around here:
But we made it! A 1700' ascent!
Here's the panorama shot from Panorama Point:
Ah. Well worth it.
The next day we took a quick jaunt to the lakes, and headed on home.
Note the sweet sunburn on my neck (reflection off the snow, oops).
Go team! There's no one I'd rather climb mountains with.
viernes, 1 de agosto de 2008
getting the heck out of dodge. again.
Ack! Summer is going by WAY too fast. We've been insanely busy, but it's the fun kind of busy. Spending lots of time with friends and with each other.
I still want to recap the conference... oops. Looks like it will have to wait another while.
Really, all I'm doing here is procrastinating. I should be packing right now, because as soon as J gets off work, the two of us are going camping.
Here:
Permit me a sigh of contentment simply at anticipating how beautiful it will be. August is primo time for visiting Mt. Rainier, and I couldn't be more excited. You really can't beat living in Washington State. Go team!
Hopefully we won't meet any of these while we're there.
Well, not this bear specifically, since this is a Kodiak Bear and Mt. Rainier is home to lots of black bears. Still, things could get a little awkward if we meet on the trail. Hopefully they'll go for Justin first.
I kid, I kid.
Enjoy the weekend, all! I will show you each highlight of our trip in painful photographic detail upon our return! (and the peasants rejoiced)
I still want to recap the conference... oops. Looks like it will have to wait another while.
Really, all I'm doing here is procrastinating. I should be packing right now, because as soon as J gets off work, the two of us are going camping.
Here:
Permit me a sigh of contentment simply at anticipating how beautiful it will be. August is primo time for visiting Mt. Rainier, and I couldn't be more excited. You really can't beat living in Washington State. Go team!
Hopefully we won't meet any of these while we're there.
Well, not this bear specifically, since this is a Kodiak Bear and Mt. Rainier is home to lots of black bears. Still, things could get a little awkward if we meet on the trail. Hopefully they'll go for Justin first.
I kid, I kid.
Enjoy the weekend, all! I will show you each highlight of our trip in painful photographic detail upon our return! (and the peasants rejoiced)
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