Face the Force of January: Write & Play Outside

Though I'm stating the obvious, I am still surprised at the force of breathtakingly low temperatures we were subjected to at the beginning of this month. Of course, I face it head on: I continue to cross-country ski & engage in lots of snowshoeing. I have really utilized my Grabbers inside both my mittens and my boots. They give hella heat. So even yesterday, though it was balmy up in here in Pinewood, I wore them inside my boots and noticed they didn't activate. I think maybe I either didn't expose mine to enough oxygen at the beginning (you're supposed to wave them around in the air for awhile), or they were old. According to the date they weren't old, (exp. 9/12) so I just didn't allow them enough preliminary air I suppose. But since Barb, Connie and Sharon were not in the mood for a noon trip up to Berthoud Pass and that great little hut that I couldn't tell you how to find, but you will find it (!), we decided just to travel up to the 40 acres above Pinewood that opens up to national forest access. Our whole neighborhood uses it as it provides a great workout: steep switchbacks, views of Longs & Meeker, Hague's Peak and Twin Sister's and then an entire sweeping vista of the plains—all the way to DIA (on a clear, no-brown-cloud day). So we got up there and lulled in the sun, drank tea and tried to discern lion tracks between other snowshoe tracks and the few other human foot prints. It helped that we had just gotten another small layer of fresh snow so there were only a few dry patches that we had to maneuver around and only removed our snowshoes when we wanted to summit some dry ledges that overlooked the entire panoramic view.

In addition to braving the cold by way of physicality, I'm sure everyone knows that sharpening your writing skills is always a good thing during cold snaps. I've been invited by poet friend Jeni Rinner to join in on The Artist's Way in which you write with a group of people on "Morning Pages" and in "Clusters." Sounds like it's just a way of breaking through a stubborn block and I'm not sure I want to start it all that religiously. I've been working on my memoirs and submitting to various journals and contests, one of which of course proved quite beneficial as I think I mentioned in a previous blog. But I have also embarked on another collaborative effort with my friend, photographer Beth Sanders where I am going to be writing some poems to match her very interesting, haunting, beautiful photographs which explore the transformations (I think) of women. Which brings me to the act of reading on cold days or nights. I've been reading a book about women on solo outdoor adventures. It's not a new one, but my friend lent it to me because some of my memoir pieces resonated with that book. Written in 1996, published by Seal Press and edited by Susan Fox Rogers, Solo: On Her Own Adventure is a compilation of vignettes of women who have traveled alone all over the world and this country into backcountry, wilderness areas and found their own strength and resourcefulness. It's not a "survival," sensational free-fall ride like "Man Vs. Wild." It's written very simply, and understated and offers thoughtful, encouraging glimpses into what it's like to feel, finally, comfortable being alone. As we snowshoed today, the four of us, ages 50-60, talked about how happy we were to be seeing more and more "older" women in various places, from Moab to Central America, who are out hiking, biking, rock climbing, kayaking in areas that were once considered too "dangerous" or too physically challenging for women of a certain age. As we basked in this collective realization, we didn't speak it out loud, but I think we each made our little corny vows to ourselves that we would continue along that same path and become one of "those women."