Part One - The Ingenue in New York

In 1990, I was a year out of highschool...and as wide eyed and green as any small town girl could be. For years I had dreamed of traveling. Of escaping the tiny orchard town that I grew up in, and heading out on an adventure of my own making. I still had all of the National Geographic maps that I had carefully pinned up on my bedroom wall, marking the different places across the world that I knew I would visit someday.

My opportunity came one day when two good friends of mine, Cori and Tammy, proposed an amazing trek. They told me that they were planning on flying to New York for a five day tour, and they asked if I would like to go along with them. New York City!! A world away. A universe away! Mars seemed closer to me than New York City! A full on swarm of butterflies took flight in my stomach when I told them yes. YES! Count... me.... IN!

It wasn't long before I was collecting money to go on my first real trip as an 'adult'. I worked hard all summer, saving the money I earned as an apple sorter in a tin roof packing shed. I remember looking in the eyes of all the haggard women who worked there alongside me, their faces reflecting the tired lives spent beneath the burning neon lights of the sorting table. I swore my time there was only temporary. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life hunched over an endless rush of apples...picking out the rotten from the good. I wasn't going to be sitting on that splintered wooden bench outside on a smoke break, rubbing my arthritic fingers and wondering what life could have been like. I was only a visitor there in that open air shed.... and this trip was my ticket out.

I dressed up for the flight. Perhaps I really am an old soul, as my grandmother used to say. I just couldn't see heading out on such a life changing trip dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. I wore a simple black skirt, with a black and red paisley blouse. I wore my chestnut hair in a smooth french braid. There was an ornate silver and black pin at my throat. I would later rue that damned pin... because it set the metal detectors off at the airport. After I had sheepishly emptied out my purse and showed the attendants that I had no pockets...they glanced at my broach and waved me through.

I settled in my designated seat by the window, and stared out the window as Cori and Tammy chatted happily between themselves. I had the distinct impression that to them... this was simply a trip. A place to go, where there would be shopping and sights to see. For me... it was the beginning of a dream come true. I *knew* that the moment was a memory in the making. I wasn't going to let it slip by without really being IN it.

It was well into the night in Seattle by the time our plane taxied down the runway. We were taking the redeye, and the pilot told us we would be seeing the sunrise on the East Coast when we landed again. I was going to chase the night across the sky...and I felt light headed with the thought. When the engines went full throttle and we lifted off... all my senses reeled as if I were spinning on a playground tire swing. The lights of the city were fading away below, and although that ascent was smooth and perfect, I could feel panic well up in my throat that there was nothing between me and thousands of feet to the ground below. My hands gripped eachother with white knuckled anxiety. I had forced myself not to think of my fear of flying the months leading up to the trip... and now there was no turning back. Fears and all, my whole future as a traveler was beginning right then and there, on takeoff.

The tiny lights soon disappeared beneath dark clouds, and I marveled at what the moon looked like, hovering above it all. Cori and Tammy soon dozed off and left me to my thoughts. Left me to my purse full of more money than I ever had at one time. My suitcase stuffed with clothes and shoes, and the addresses of everyone I knew. I wanted to make sure I sent them a postcard... a real, true blue postcard from New York City. Heck, I even wanted to send one to myself, just so I could hold it in my hand when I got home and smile... knowing that I had really done it.

And true to the pilot's promise, the sun was rising as we started our descent over New York. I elbowed Cori and Tammy awake, and they leaned over to catch a glimpse out the window. We gaped at the miles upon miles of houses spread out beneath us... an unbelievable tapestry of lives being lived. I could fit my whole hometown in a few blocks of what I was seeing beneath me. 'And they don't even know I exist....' I remember thinking to myself. None of those people knew they were being looked at from high up above, by a 19 year old girl fresh out of her apple orchard existance. It made me feel suddenly so very small. Coming out of a community where I knew everyone... and they knew me, my sisters...my brother... my parents. I was truly anonymous. I was going to step foot off that plane and simply... be... me. A mysterious green eyed girl with a sparkle in her eyes.

The dreamer in me was thrilled.

The little girl in me was frightened.

The traveler in me was cool, calm and collected... and ready to face whatever came her way.

And so the plane descended down into LaGuardia, as I smoothed back my French braid and readied myself for landing.
I closed my eyes, and counted my heartbeats until I felt the lurch of the plane and heard the squeel of tires on the tarmac.

New York... meet Aimee. Aimee... meet New York City.


~*~To Be Continued~*~

When friends ask me where I was raised, I am always met with a mix of reactions. When I tell them that I was born in this sleepy little valley, and lived my whole childhood in the same house... within walking distance of my grandparents, they look at me as if I were a throwback from some bygone era. I see a flicker of jealousy in their eyes at times... these ones who were bounced from house to house with parents who never settled down.

Perhaps that is why my memories are so strong from those years. I was allowed to dig my roots in, to come to know a place as if it were another member of the family. The house lived and breathed every trial and tribulation that my family had. The orchard that surrounded us with bare limbs in winter, blossoms in spring and fruit in the fall....was like a barrier that held out the world. I had a freedom beneath those branches that few kids now will ever know.

1977, I was six years old and full of impish curiosity. Any given summer day would find me running between the rows of apple trees, my German Shepherd named Chinook by my side. We would race up the slope to a place I called the "Little Hill" - because it was the first of three hills near our house in the country. From there my home looked like a dollhouse, with the above-ground pool dotting the front yard. I would sit in the tall wild grass and listen to the bugs hum in the evergreens behind me. Even then I had a sense of awareness to me. I breathed in the scent of newly budding apples... the way the orchard sprinklers sounded as they sprayed the deep green leaves. I would lay back and watch the bald eagles fly in effortless spirals overhead. I would dig my toes into the fresh dirt of the gopher holes.

We would stay there for hours... Chinook and I. She would curl up behind me, giving me her soft furred side as a pillow to rest on. My mother never worried about me. She could see me from the kitchen and living room windows, if I stayed on the front side of the Little Hill... and I'm certain I looked like a butterfly from that distance, flitting and darting around. The backside of the hill was a mystery to me though. My mother warned me not to stray too far... and I tried my best to obey. But it was such a lure... to stare past the line of orchard grass where the evergreens stood tall. Sage brush and wildflowers grew thick, but there were trails. Trails that were easy for my little feet to follow.

Every now and then I would dare a run down one of these paths, pantlegs brushing past the bluebells and sunflowers. I had heard my father speak of coyote dens on the Little Hill, and my mind was full of ideas on what I might find if I were to slip inside one of these burrows. My wild imagination meshed fairy tales easily into the real world... and I believed I might find treasures hidden there by a coyote who was dazzled by sparkling jewels. Perhaps he would let me in, and show me where he scraped the dirt to hide his small fortune. Maybe I would keep it a secret, and the coyote would keep me in wealth like a princess for all my days.

With these thoughts vivid in my mind, I would come to the end of the trail. The hill broke away to a sharp dropoff, leading far below to the other side of the valley. I would sit on the red rocks and look across at the river cutting a blue stripe down the middle. If there were coyotes, I knew why they had chosen the Little Hill to live. It was the most beautiful place I had ever seen....

....but I never risked staying long. Only brief moments when I would hover in that world where I wasn't supposed to be. I knew enough to stay back from the dropoff. No doubt that was the only reason my mother didn't wish me to go there... but in my mind, there were other magical reasons why. Perhaps there was a cave to another world nearby... perhaps she was afraid I might be wisked away. In my innocence, it sounded wildly adventurous. I courted all of my fairy tale fantasies there... beneath the sway of evergreens.

Chinook and I would break into a run through the tall grass once more, crashing back into the land that was approved for me. Apple trees shaded the sun and we ran in the cool shade, dodging orchard sprinklers all the way home. Perhaps mom knew of my excursions beyond the boundaries.... but she never said anything. She would simply smile as I would bound up the steps in the front door, holding a bouquet of bluebells, sunflowers, and wild asparagus as a gift from my little excursions.

In these small allowances, she fueled my passion for adventure... not in the ways of extreme sports and costly treks around the world, but journies of the heart and mind. Adventure of the spirit, and appreciation of the quiet places tucked up in the mountains, away from the rest of the world. Secret places, where evergreens whisper of Coyote Princes and their wealth of diamonds, ready to share with those who believe.

A detour from my daily stories. If you've just stumbled across my blog, you may want to scroll down a bit...and find something with more meat to it. *grins*

I have this little obsession with layouts. As you can see, I've redone mine... -again-. I spent hours yesterday sorting this one out, and there may still be a few minor adjustments, but for the most part.... I am pleased. Let me know what you think of the results!

This layout actually suits my tastes perfectly. I have a thing for old postcards and letters, and it is from my collection that I chose these to scan and make into a template. I think the reason I adore old handwritten things (including diaries, which I have a couple that I have collected) is that I can so easily imagine the lives that they were from. I suppose it is the voyeur in me that marvels at reading something never really intended for my eyes.

This leads me to one of my absolute favorite book series: 'The Extraordinary Correspondance of Griffin and Sabine', by Nick Bantock.


Incredible books, not only for the story, but for the artwork that went into creating them. The story is told through letters, which you can actually pull out of an envelope and read. There is no typical 'text' in these books. You must follow the story through the maze of letters and postcards printed directly on the pages. I have first editions of all these books. CNN ran a piece on the author, Nick Bantock... for Valentine's Day last year:
CNN Interview with Nick Bantock

Now I peruse his website and drool for the art that he has on sale. If I had money to spare, I would immediately make a purchase of something that he has created. In fact I'm gazing at this gallery and wishing I had an afternoon's worth of Superstar pocket change...because I would buy every single one of these to place in a huge black matte frame for my living room. It would sit directly above the old book case, where the heavy ironwood elephants from India stand...and the collection of original Charles Dickens stories reside.
If I had a million dollars...

So if you haven't heard of these stories.... check them out. The books are pieces of art in and of themselves, and besides....doesn't everyone need a bit of mystery and adventure in their lives, even if vicariously?

"You cannot dismiss a muse at whim..." - Nick Bantock, 'Griffin and Sabine'

Barbie Goes Ballistic

I was wandering through the toy aisle of a store recently, and caught myself grinning from ear to ear as I spotted the Full Size Barbie Head for sale. You know the one, with stylable hair and a face just waiting for makeup. I had the original Barbie Makeup Head... and it met an end even Stephen King would be proud of.

It was 1980, and I was home one night with my brother while the parents spent an evening away from us little hoodlums. He was nine years older than me, which meant I was usually the focus of his tormenting tricks. Oh, we had our good moments. Quietly laying on the living room floor playing a monstrous game of Risk... sitting at the dinner table squeezing that night's menu between our teeth to see who would gross out first. This would soon collapse though, as one of us would inevitably get triggered into a wild frenzy of sibling rage, and we'd end up in a dogpile on the floor, screeching and wrestling until one of us got tired. Usually me.

This night was different though. Brother decided he was going to do something against the parent's wishes while they were gone...and watch The Exorcist. This was back in the day when BETA machines were as big as lawnmowers... and it was a big deal to take up an evening watching a movie. I was NOT happy...because this meant he was going to hog the only TV with something I wasn't about to watch. I had enough trauma in my life simply from looking at all his KISS album covers!! And most importantly, I knew Mom and Dad would kick his butt if they knew he was going to watch that. So of course...this gave me fuel to climb the stairs to my room and plot the worst kind of revenge their is. Smited Sister Revenge.

I knew my brother was, in all reality, a big chicken. I knew the movie would give him the willies so bad he would have a hard time getting to sleep. So, I made it my mission to make CERTAIN he wouldn't get any sleep that night. I sat down on my bedroom floor, gathered my Barbie Makeup Head, along with all the hand-me-down makeup my mom had given me...and I set to work. That Barbie never had such a makeover. Mary Kay Hell. Huge fiendish red lips, wicked dark blue eyes.... hair ratted beyond recovery. I took my time. I wanted to make sure Barbie looked nothing like her sweet, pink bubblegum self. I wanted her so ghoulish and horrifying that even a glance would send my brother's bladder into ...well... bladdiac arrest. When I was done I held the head aloft. Jack Nicholson could do the moment justice: Herrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeee's Barbie!

Finally, I heard him climbing the stairs. The movie was over, and his namby pamby self was going to slink past my room and hide away in his. Which, actually was the scariest room in the whole house. The closet had a door inside of it that lead directly to the attic... ( and attics, as we all know, breed demon hordes of fanged hounds that come out at night and eat whatever appendages are hanging off the side of the bed.)

I prepared my costume. My mom had given me a long flowing cape which was usually my Sheena, Queen of the Animals outfit, but tonight it was going to play a different role. I stood in front of my mirror and placed Barbie's big ole' head on top of mine, balancing it there by the oval makeup tray wrapped around her neck. Then, I carefully wrapped the cape around the makeup tray, completely hiding myself within it. I peeked out and saw that it gave the illusion of a freakish head perched on tiny little shoulders, standing about five feet tall. Perfect!! I got my Holly Hobby flashlight from my toy chest, and flicked it on. Shining it up as best I could to Barbie's face, I had to hold back a snicker of pure wickedness. I was about to pull off the best prank ever of my childhood.

I slowly peeked out my door to make sure his was shut. Sure enough, it was... only the faint light of his neon Rainier Beer sign shining through the bottom crack of the door. I tiptoed so quietly out into the hall, and poised myself. Cape drawn, flashlight held just so, I could feel my heartbeat thudding in my throat. This was so exciting it was almost scaring me. Was it possible that I, the pipsqueak kid sister, was about to pull a fast one on her big brother? I was about to find out....

I drew in a long breath, gathered up my courage, and then bolted down the hallway full speed, kicking his door in with one swift shove. When it pounded open, I let out a banshee scream worthy of Friday the 13th...... and my brother launched up off his bed like he'd been shot in the ass. In a split second of throaty screams( his AND mine )....he shot across the room and decked my Barbie head so hard that it flew into the corner and smacked the wall. We fell silent then, him holding me by the scruff of my cape, me with a gaping mouth wide open as I stared over at Barbie. Her face was completely concave, leering at us both with those chlorine blue eyes. I slowly looked up at Brother, and he looked down at me, and I couldn't help the victorious grin that peeled across my face.

He was white as a ghost as he gave me a shake. "Don't EVER DO THAT AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You scared the CRAP OUT OF ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Heheheheh. I wouldn't have to. I triumphed for all 9 year old girls everywhere. And down to this day he still has to admit it. Watch your back, Brother-mine...or Barbie's gonna go Exorcist on you!!!

It is strange that the end of one year and the beginning of the next will spur on so many emotions... so many thoughts. Perhaps it is simply that humans must measure everything with a start and finish that we feel the need to reflect on what was, before we can consider what will be.

That being said, the things I chose to remember are tiny little pinpoints in what has become my life. They didn't even occur in the past year... past decade for that matter. What my mind brought to the surface today were the long winter days spent as a freckle faced girl, raised in the middle of a vast apple orchard.

It wasn't unusual for the snow to build up several feet deep, so it made my treks through the front yard more like sojourns through a vast tundra. How many snowmen came to life by my hand? How many snowwomen for that matter, with buxom blobs of snow patted to their chests to make the distinction. I had to smile as I watched the storm today, blanketing everything in sparkling white. These were the days that were cherished.

One memory in particular was of the habit I had of wanting to play in the snow at night, especially when the big snowflakes were falling down out of the sky. I would push my way through to the furthest corner of the yard, where the houselights would barely break through the dark. It was there that I would spread my arms wide open and fall back - just like the game of "Trust" I used to play with my friends, only this time...it was only the cushion of snow that would catch my fall.

I loved the feel of it packing in around me. Of course, Mom always made certain I was bundled up enough to survive an Alaskan blizzard, so there was no cold. So I would lay there, staring up into the darkness....watching snowflakes come down from high above. The lights from the kitchen were just enough to illuminate the snowfall as it came down over the yard, making it almost impossible to look away. Hypnotic... if I laid there long enough, I lost awareness of everything else around me, and could trick my senses into actually feeling as if I were in a blissful freefall through space. The snowflakes were stars drifting past, and I was somewhere loose in the universe - in my own quiet world.

No thoughts of wars and earthquakes....death and destruction. It was an innocent selfishness, this winter daydream. My world was a small bubble, then. Trust was a rich commodity... as was the wish to travel the world, as freely as I laid in the snow traveling the universe. To learn and appreciate every facet of it.

Sometimes it pays to revisit that place, before looking ahead to what the year might bring. To close my eyes and imagine the snow falling all around, and to know that the cocoa will be waiting for me when I finally climb the stairs and disappear into the house, leaving the snowmen outside to face whatever ills the night might hold.