Tales of the 10th West Irregulars

Monday, January 15, 2018

Saturday, January 13, 2018

we have a thing about the backroads of Nevada

Yes, we have a thing about the backroads of Nevada (and Utah). A thing for old houses, for odd places and forgotten spaces. It took us 2 different dirt roads to snake our way off the interstate at Cove Fort, Utah and returned via route 93 in North Las Vegas. I had to shut the navigation off on my phone because it was seemingly melting down over our route. As we drove towards Caliente it gave off offering alternate roads to rejoin I-15 and began suggesting full on U-turns.

But we kept driving.

Out of our way- but not really because this is our way.

It is our family culture. It is what keeps us, us.

We saw a wind farms rising out of the fog outside Milford, Utah.

We pulled over to watch a golden eagle eat.

We pulled over to visit this....

We sopped here again. Caliente

http://10thwestirregulars.blogspot.com/2016/04/93-nevada-taking-long-way-home.html

Our way ended out here like this: the edge of route 93.

Salt Lake, Cove Fort, Enoch, Milford, Modena (UT), Panaca, Caliente, Ash Springs, Alamo, Coyote Springs, Las Vegas (NV)

Time to get down to work....

Good luck in LV Little Giants of GTC!

Monday, January 8, 2018

before the storm

There was a moment of quiet before the storm. A whole unspoken-for day before I would wake at 5:00 AM, make a 1/2 pot of dark coffee, then wake her for a 6 AM practice. A few hours of hidden swimming in soft music that swirled like water flowing in and out of a shallow tide pool. A few minutes when she was as she was before- a child with her arm all the way up to the elbow submerged in the salty water. Fingers reaching out for a touch of the rays slipper backs.

Then it was 2 days of arriving in the dark and leaving in the dark as we hosted a Gymnastics Invitational at the gym. Two days of running stairs, emptying trash cans, stocking water, endlessly refilling toilet paper, finding seats, smiling, counting, greeting, hosting, delivering plates of steaming food, mopping up the floors, passing pens & papers, and of hardly seeing her at all.

Until she arrived to compete at the end of day 2.

To My Daughter who hasn't bothered to take her 1st place medals out of her gym bag. Who spent the day with Sophie (who is on crutches) navigating the slick sideways of The Gateway to catch a Sunday matinee movie. Who in the night admitted she is tired of hurting. Tired of pain that takes her breath away.

Dear Daughter, there is a moment of quiet before every storm. I have never seen it more clearer than on that mountain that day. The highest mountain I will ever dare to climb- the bravest I have ever been. A moment of beauty so pure it has no sound to speak of. Dark clouds hanging on a horizon pulled into the valley by warm wingless winds. Clouds of dry lightening by summer; ashy rain by winter's lungs. They drive towards the mountain crowning the peaks before encasing them in stormy mist. The beauty is followed by power; graceful and destructive. Vital and wild; life sustaining.

You are on top of your mountain. You are in the storm right now. It's okay to come in out of the rain. And it's okay to stay out in a little longer. It has always been up to you.