Oatmeal Tea

Little did I know my fate was sealed as I brushed against the thick foliage while loading kayaks onto the truck. The day had been glorious, following the the sunshine with the rhythmic dipping of paddles into the water. We were learning from an instructor how to read the water currents to safely navigate a river. However, the danger for me that day turned out not to be in the swift water currents. It was in my inability to identify poison oak.

It didn't take long for the rashes to show up and spread all over my body. With my skin inflamed and irritated from head to toe, few remedies brought as much relief as an oatmeal bath. Simply make a large pot of “oatmeal tea” by using six times more water than oats. (For example, one cup oats in 6 cups water). Cook the oats for about 15 minutes to draw out the healing properties into the water. Strain and add the “cooking liquid” to your bath. Put the solid cooked oats in a porous bag. Muslin bags work well or a DIY version such as nylon stockings or cotton tied into a bag. You can add this oatmeal bag to the bath, but be sure to keep it contained in the bag! I learned the hard way and had a difficult time explaining to my grandmother why her bathtub drain was severely clogged with oatmeal. Oops!

The anti-inflammatory properties of oat tea baths sooth any kind of skin irritation, whether it be poison ivy/oak, sunburns, insect bites, chapped/dry skin, rashes, or eczema. Oatmeal is gentle so it works on all skin types, including sensitive skin of babies and the elderly.

What makes oatmeal so soothing and healing for the skin?

• Oats contain polysaccharides and proteins. This means they leave a protective layer on the skin which helps prevent dryness as well as help maintain the skin’s natural barrier function of keeping the bad stuff out and the good stuff in.

• Itchy and dry skin as a high pH level. Oatmeal aids with restoring balance and normalizing the skin pH.

• Oats are filled with saponins. Saponins are natural cleansers which work to remove irritating dirt and oil from the skin’s pores.

• Oats contain one of the highest lipid content of natural cereals. This is good news for the skin since it acts as a moisturizer and lubricant.

Just be sure to pat your skin dry instead of rubbing. Rubbing causes irritation which would undo all of the amazing benefits of an oatmeal bath. While oatmeal baths do provide relief, the best form of relief is prevention. Stay well hydrated and learn the causes of your skin irritation. Educate yourself on how to prevent it from happening.

Personally, I've learned to identify poison oak and poison ivy. :-)

Indian Tears and Sunshine Diamonds

Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks, New Mexico

Crystallized into eternity, black teardrops hold ancient memories of the land, generations of wind, dirt, and sand. Legend says the small black stones found in the Southwestern deserts are the remains of Apache tears, shed for grief and sorrow of their people. Legend also says those who find these teardrops never have to cry for grief again for the Apache have already shed those tears for us. 


I miss New Mexico, an expansive 
landscape of love and opportunity. I held on too tight, like sand gripped in my palm. Sifting through my fingers, the searing heat of my grip metamorphosed dusty dreams into a single teardrop, much like the Indian Tears found in the dusty lands of New Mexico.

Snow Lake, Washington

“Should you shield the canyons from the windstorms you would never see the true beauty of their carvings.” -
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross 

In Seattle, I have replaced that sand with water. Cold water. Lately it feels like my life dreams are like sunshine diamonds on the water... they shatter with a cold splash of reality! But water shapes and carves, whether we like it or not. Driftwood and stones, once plain, endure the long process of water carving. In the end, they become beautiful masterpieces of their own enduring. 


Somewhere in the vast desert are my tears. 
Somewhere in the future is a beautiful masterpiece I look forward to becoming.

Nothing is softer or more flexible than water, yet nothing can resist it. -Lao Tzu



Indian Tears Legend: http://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/Apache_Tear_Drop-Apache.html

Candlelight Campfire

Candlelight Campfire 

 I quickly feel the loneliness of the vast and empty rural land. So vast was the land, so empty and bland the landscape, sometimes it feels like the sky and stars is all I have. I lie in the brown grass at night, gazing at the multitude of bright stars, hidden to my eyes by overpowering city lights in my previous life. I wish I knew the constellations.  Instead, I make my own. I feel a deep energy reverberating through the land as I lay there. Was this how the Natives felt so long ago, when the sky was a canvas of stories to be discovered and told around the evening fire? Continuing my gaze, I let the stars speak their story to me.

Back at the house, the electricity was out. The small town grid in southeastern New Mexico could not handle the Christmas light overload. I filled a cast iron pan with candles, set it on the floor, and invited my housemate to join me for an evening of story telling around the evening fire.

We told stories of laughter and sorrow. We learned of each other’s histories and dreams. We then walked outside to continue our storytelling through the stars. Once again, the sky was a canvas of stories, yearning to be created and told. We looked for shooting stars. Surely one of them would be our recently passed hedgehog rolling around happily in hedgehog heaven. We connected the dots to explain the happenings of our day. We filled the Big Dipper with warm tea… and went inside to drink it.

Fast forward a few months, my landscape changes. No longer am I lonely in an empty desert. City lights reflect constant movement bustling in the alleys of Seattle. Street lamps, car headlamps, glaring LCD screens of smart phones and computers, neon bar signs, late night coffeehouses, refrigerators casting a midnight glow…. Harsh lights threaten and drown the gentle gift that belongs to all of us, the night sky. Instead of land, crude concrete interrupts the energy I once felt echo around me.  I trade the lustrous urban sprawl for a black trail in the wilderness and let my eyes and spirit adjust.  

Blanketed under a canopy of stars, watching meteors streak the night canvas, I fall asleep to the ancient rhythm of our Earth’s unfaltering dance .  Soon I am kissed awake by sunbeams that reveal a mountain adorned with wildflowers, their laughter echoing off canyon walls, filling the mountain basin, and gliding across alpine lakes fed from lingering snow melt in the August sunshine. 
  

Joined in chorus, beds of wildflowers carpeted the trail, their outer fringes reaching out over the dusty footpath. The concrete jungle was now far behind me as I continued to embrace the call of the mountains and the sky. The best things in life are simple and free. Open your heart and listen!

Seattle Spring

Magnolia Bud in Seattle

Seattle Spring: An Afternoon in the Washington Arboretum

A magnolia blossom yawns awake after a long winter’s nap. A soft fuzz cradles the bud as it braves the early spring chills. A young fern slowly uncurls to the sunshine after a season of damp grayness. Ravens and robins peck through the fresh green grass, spotted with white and purple wildflowers, looking for worms and seeds to feed their young. Squirrels scamper throughout the underbrush, searching for leftover nuts saved in winter stashes. Young couples venture to the gardens, beckoned by glimpses of sunshine, pushing a brand new baby carriage. Old men wander the trails, clutching binoculars seasoned by the years, but always ready for a new discovery in the dark evergreens.

A fern uncurling

As I turn my face towards the sun, I breathe in radiance and let the warmth soak my skin, which is a shade paler from a bleak winter. I sink to the ground to relish the smells of fresh growth mixed with lingering decay from the winter.

The past few months have seemed like rotten decay. I lost my job. I lost my love. I lost my housing. I lost my motorcycle. I lost a stable financial situation.  I lost more than I’m willing to share here. The rotten decay so visibly surrounded my path through the dreary winter, a compost of shattered dreams. Come spring, I realize the decay is not meant to hinder me. Rather, it enriches me to allow for fresh spring growth of change, the decay adding necessary nutrients of life experience to build upon and grow.

A layer of flower pedals have already fallen to the ground, lacing the path with hues of pink and white. They too will decay, bringing nutrients to the soil and encouraging beautiful growth. Life is like that… a series of blooms and decay, all of which make us stronger and healthier.

Tree Blossoms on the Path

What’s that? Yellow tulips pushing out of the muddy ground? Tree blossoms shimmering in the afternoon sunshine? A little girl jumping in mud puddles with pink rainboots? A puppy rolling happily in the grass?

Spring is here. New life is forming. Life is good! 

Vertical Pillow

Self Portrait: Arches National Park, Utah

Vertical Pillow

Oftentimes I am asked, why do I rock climb? Why do I love the outdoors so much? To understand, one must know my childhood pillow.

My entire life I’ve never fit in. I can’t argue with it. It’s the story of my life. I was born deaf so arguably one could say I didn’t fit in a hearing school, hearing social events, or even a hearing family. Against the odds,  we made it work. It wasn’t easy. There were many moments of laughter of overcoming the trials. But it wasn’t all joy. I dreaded school. I dreaded classrooms where we had to listen to the teacher and other students, raise our hands (or just blurt out) for comments on previous comments that were orally expressed. Everything seemed lost in the sea of sound I was slowly drowning in. I felt a gasp of fresh air during the classes where we spent time reading or copying notes from a PowerPoint or chalkboard. My hands were occupied instead of the constant frustration welling the invisible tears inside me, that only my pillow would know.

After a long hard day in school, the internal agony would not stop. I had to endure hours of ballet practice at my church. I could hear the music but I could not understand the chattering and laughter of my fellow ballerinas. The teacher’s instructions would be lost on me. The teacher would have to waste long moments working with me individually, in front of the entire class, further driving my embarrassment. My body didn’t match the prescribed movements or chime in sync with a rhythm in a music I could not understand, a frustration to be released as tears on my pillow.

School and church were the two circles of life. Ballet was in the church. And so were all of my jobs and my parents jobs. Church is supposed to be a place of refreshment and renewal. For me, it was a constant source of irritation. No matter how hard I tried to explain, no one seemed to understand that I only heard sounds, not comprehension of words. I’ve spent hours upon hours fighting the urge to nod off, drowning again in a sea of sound roaring around me in Sunday School or during the services or in the hallways. When later I failed to summarize the sermon or Sunday School message, I was chided. I was accused of drifting away spiritually and being rebellious against God.

This only led to real anger and perceived rebellion. I yearned for someone to just take my hand and say, “It’s ok. I love you. I understand’. Instead, I was labelled. Immature they called me.

I worked hard in school to suppress the tears raining inside of me, to prove everything wrong. Homework was my outlet, my escape. I attacked it with furious passion, oftentimes creating more work for myself than really necessary.

So why do I rock and ice climb and pursue alpine adventures? Why do I love the outdoors so much? My love traces back to the dampness of my childhood pillow. The trees, flowers, and animals do not need to express themselves orally. The rock and ice allows me to create my own movements to my own tune. The trail provides a peaceful sanctuary.  

I become me. No labels. No false accusations I do not have the courage to fight.

And at night my pillow is dry :-)

P.S.
This was written about 2 years ago. Since then, I have been blessed to be a part of three amazing communities: The Deaf community, the climbing community, and the Church community where I have found a loving group of Deaf and hearing people to share the joys and trials of life! Thank you! I love you all! 

The Art of Scrambling

Love in the Rocks, Enchanted Rocks, TX

Children have been scrambling for thousands of years.

Until now.

In a short span of time, television, computers, and over-protection have squelched a natural instinct essential to our survival and physical movements. Kids used to go scramble up and down boulders and trees, developing muscles and agility that proves essential well into adult years. The boulders have been replaced with a couch and fear of lawsuit over a scraped knee.

While setting up rock climbs for a group of kids learning the sport of outdoor climbing, I created a mix of challenges, making sure we had the full spectrum of easy and difficult climbs.  The kids struggled. I climbed up to physically place their feet. I figured they have yet to develop the critical thinking skills required for structured climbing. No one was brave enough to touch the more "difficult" climbs. That's ok. I didn't push it. While challenges are good, I did not see the immediate need for them to descend after a very negative experience.  We broke for lunch.

Lunch evolved into fascination over watching kayakers and rafters test their skills in the gorge as well as keenly observing the tadpoles and larvae thriving in the pools of water on the rocks left from the recent rains.

These intent observations evolved into a long supervised scrambling session. I instructed them to keep their rock shoes and harnesses on (to keep them in the mental mode of climbing). We spent a long time scrambling over boulders, as well as being awed by the continual discoveries of wildlife and plants found in the cracks and pools. We even found a huge hole formation in the bedrock, which provided a fun way of sneaking in bouldering practice (climb in, climb out. The hole came up to my shoulders and I'm a tall gal!)

We probably spent at least an hour scrambling, exploring and laughing. I guess I could have herded them back to the ropes sooner, but I had an ulterior motive. Without even realizing it, they were developing confidence on the rock and reinforcing climbing techniques in a fun and non-intimidating environment. Furthermore, they were developing a love for nature, a personal passion of mine to see kids outside.

Arches National Park, Utah

It worked. I suggested that we get one more climb in before breaking down. I couldn't get them off the ropes!! Their climbing and attitudes noticeably increased tremendously compared to the morning. They were self- motivated to try everything, even the harder climbs. They were even telling each other where to put feet and hands. They had the opportunity to let their bodies rediscover what children have been doing for thousands of years. They found the ancient rhythm of childhood and it showed.

For rock climbing programs geared towards children, I encourage instructors to allow supervised and safe free play in between structured climbing sessions. The benefits are numerous. Not only will the children tap into their ancient rhythm, they re-learn the joys of exploring a video game free nature wonderland!

Enchanted Rocks, TX