Forbidden Kisses

Forbidden Kisses

Gliding over the rippling lake

Two kayakers embarked on separate paths:

 One seeking that which was lost,

One exploring to find something new.

With each paddle stroke

The kayakers arrived together

Their voices danced upon the water

Discovering the steps of the other.

Their worlds were not one,

An orthodox Jew and Christ follower.

Two who loved the same God differently,

But were strongly drawn together.

Deeply they wanted to bridge

This religious chasm of the ages

And discussed their differences

And reveled in their similarities.

Then the explorer had to climb

A daunting mountain that called to her

And the other gave her a gift of love:

A forbidden kiss in his world.

While climbing the mountain

She shared her story about this kiss,

And God sent her favorite bird

To the one she now adored.

Entering his world for the first time

The Black Phoebe beckoned his gaze

This lost realm of God was revealed

And his heart was open to it and her.

When she returned the two were one

Upon the glistening, rippling lake

And amongst the singing birds

Sharing more forbidden kisses.

After each kiss the world was silent,

It veiled these lovers with awesome stillness

For God had brought together

These two to become one.

P.S.  To my blog readers:  If you want to support a struggling math/engineering teacher and author, please buy my first book, "The Romance of Kilimanjaro," soon to be followed by my second book at:  https://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=9781613464960         Thank You!

Preparing to Climb Mt. Shasta

    Strangely enough, I could not find an REI climbing trip up Mt. Whitney, the highest California mountain that has been the only mountain that I could not summit.  So I booked a trip to climb Mt. Shasta instead.  My parents and former high school mountaineering instructor had told me stories of climbing Mt. Shasta scores of years ago.  This mountain intrigued me, but never really beckoned to me like Mt. Whitney.  Now it was this mountain's turn to try to turn me back with its fiercely high altitudes, unique weather systems, and snowy glaciers.
    Training was a challenge.  I have arthritis in the arch of my foot now.  I didn't have that when I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro.  Running 3 and 6 miles each week was out of the question, so I racked my brain to figure out how to get weight onto my legs and my heart rate to run high for prolonged periods.  Rollerblading was my solution.
     Rollerblading is low impact as long as there aren't any falls.  The new brake system of the rollerblades versus rollerskates doesn't make sense to me.  When I started rollerblading, I'd just run into nearby grass to stop.  Later I developed grabbing the poles with the buttons to cross the street to stop while I waited for my turn to cross.  I actually only had one bad spill, but I softened my fall by grabbing the sign with the neighborhood's walking trail map on it.  The sign left a bruise on my forearm, but I didn't get hurt otherwise.
     So I raced down the long, flat roads of Gold River, CA building up to 8 miles an hour for an hour a few times a week.  The plastic boot of the rollerblade held my arthritic foot solidly in place like a cast, so I wasn't restricted by my foot.  The lateral movements to propel myself built up my hip muscles which I'd need for stabilizing a 45 pound backpack in uneven and windy terrain.  The only issue my body had with that training was a little knee pain in one knee.
    Other ways I'd train was biking 22 miles along the American River bike trail to Lake Folsom and back.  It had hills, lots of people, beautiful scenery, and no cars.  Any stairs that I climbed I double stepped to build my climbing muscles.  I packed my new backpack a few weeks early and added a few heavy books as my back and hips became accustomed to carrying weight while I hiked.
     Unfortunately, my summer hiking boots weren't supportive enough for my arthritic foot, so I'd have to massage my foot with Aspercreme afterwards.  Each time that I'd  hike 7 miles with my backpack, however, my foot hurt more.  My hopes of climbing any mountain again started to fade, but I remembered the stiff plastic boots that I used for ice climbing in Alaska and hoped that the rental double plastic boots would freeze my foot inplace like a cast, too.  Then my arthritic foot would be out of the equation.  Fortunately, the rental double plastic boots with crampons were like casts.  My foot never was an issue during my mountain experience.

     Mountains have a way of giving us a hard reset, so we can understand ourselves better and what's important in this world.  If we're listening, we might even hear God during the silence of mechanisms while we journey to the summit.  Climbing high mountains is a tried and true path to inner revelation.
     Climbing mountains also is a mental challenge.  Can we keep our thoughts focused on the summit and away from the hours and hours of toil, effort, pain, and nagging fatigue?  Can we overcome the voice that tells us to give up---that this is a ludicrous act?
     Trepidation filled me as I packed my backpack over again in the Cold Creek Inn hotel room the night before.  Would I be able to find everything in a new backpack when I needed it?  Would I be the slowest climber?  Would I be left behind during the summit attempt?  Would I get altitude sickness?  Would my body let me down?
     The Diamox that I took three times a day for a few days before my climb kept making my throat almost swell shut.  It also made soda taste awful!  I hoped that the swelling throat side effect would stop once I got on the mountain.  Fortunately, it did.  Other climbers told me that Diamox makes all carbonated drinks taste awful, so that reassured me that my body was reacting normally to this altitude sickness drug.
     When the morning arrived where we met our climbing group, I was still filled with trepidation.  I coached myself, "It's the journey that's important.  It's better to try and fail, then to never have tried at all."  Then I walked out to the group of highly fit people---mostly men and four women.
      Our guides had us empty out our backpacks in the Cold Creek Inn parking lot.  I knew that good guides would do this.  They were responsible for our well being and our success.  They needed to rid us of useless weight and make sure that we had appropriate gear for snow camping and high altitude exposures.  Amazingly enough, they took out a pile of my clothing.  I was thrilled at losing more weight. 
      Backpack weight reduction was a major priority to me.  I'd tried desperately to reduce the backpack's weight on my own, knowing that I had to keep it at or under a third of my body weight---43 pounds.  My 49-year-old body just couldn't handle more than that anymore.  I even purchased airline plastic containers and only took two days of toiletries.  Neutrogena had facial wipes for cleaning my face at night and in the morning, and I used panty liners to keep my underwear clean. 
      Food weight was a huge concern, too.  I studied all the sports bars and picked the ones with the most nutrition and calories, and least weight.  Cliff, Luna, and Power bars were the winners.  Eating tasty food wasn't the plan.  Eating calories constantly to make it to the summit was the plan.  I did have dried mangos and Lindt and Hersheys chocolate bars which were my small bit of tasty heaven for three days.
     After we repacked our backpacks, our four guides split us up into two groups of 8.  All the women and men older than 30 were in our group.  The manly, young bucks were in the other group.  That worked for all of us.  Going at a pace that's too fast leads to defeat.  Mt. Shasta requires us to know how to be at our best to be able to reach her summit, especially when raw, youthful health has long passed us by.

P.S.  To my blog readers:  If you want to support a struggling math/engineering teacher and author, please buy my first book, "The Romance of Kilimanjaro," soon to be followed by my second book at:  https://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=9781613464960         Thank You!

My Adam

     The river of life is so unpredictable, but it flows to God's kismet.  Along the way are so many forks, so many eddies, so many rapids, so many revelations, so many tears, so much beauty, so much love.  As I paddle along, replacing an occassional paddle for my loved ones, I find at times that I am left to journey unaided by my Adam---my partner in life.
     Returning from the ICU in San Diego, I realized that I needed my Adam, but I had none.  I cried out to God with the tears that had not stopped from almost losing my son, "Where is my Adam?  Where is my Adam?"
     Long ago I decided that if I should ever have to kayak alone again that I would just do that which I love to do and be whom God intended me to be.  Only then would I find my true Adam, who will find me.  In my dreams he has always happens upon me.
    Mercifully, I have been found by my Adam while paddling alone on May 30th.  In the distance I saw him and kept my distance and carefully watched.  Lake Natoma's waters were high, so I kept an small island between us while I studied him.  He paddled parallel, but about 50 yards infront of me.  To me he was just another kayaker to study until I saw him stop and stretch his arm.  Was he waiting for me to catch up?  How sly!
    Angling my kayak to narrow the distance between us, I continued my normal rhythm while continuing my study of this man.  His appearance was not pompous, not threatening, but gentle and endearing.  I felt safe, so I allowed myself to be near enough for him to talk to me, and he did in an Israeli accent.
    We paddled closely together for over an hour.  He showed me his route that he always likes to take. He was like me, someone who likes patterns.  He was like me, a person who makes friends with strangers.  He was like me, an intellectual.  He was like me, a lover of music. 
     After awhile I explained to him, "I can take care of myself for the rest of my life, but I'd rather share my life with someone."
     He quickly responded, "I was meant to have a partner, as well."
     As we parted, he asked me for my e-mail address, and he told me his.  I never needed to remember his, even though I did.  His e-mail awaited me, "Hi, was a pleasure meeting you, even the setting was beautiful :-)."  Then he added video links of the concerts that he gives at his home.
     While watching the videos, I saw his eyes for the first time.  We both had worn sunglasses and hats, so we really didn't know each other's face.  During the video he said, "Hello!" to his mother in Israel while introducing the Asian Indian band in his music room.  How adorable!  He is a man who loves his mother! 
      A few days later we decided to meet at the walking bridge at Sunrise to ride our bicycles together along the American River bike trail.  We waited for each other at different bridges.  Fortunately, I texted him that I was at the bridge, and he soon joined me at the Fair Oaks Bridge, my version of the Sunrise walking bridge. 
      He remarked when he saw, "This is like the movie where two lovers waited for each other at the wrong bridge!"  Then he added that he was glad that I was little.  He didn't know how tall that I was, since we were sitting in kayaks.  He's only 5'-7".
      Then we set off for Lake Folsom.  Upon reaching the lake he brought me over to some shaded boulders where we could talk more.  We didn't look at the lake much, because it was the first time that we saw each other's eyes---when we took our sunglasses off.
      His brown eyes showed me his gentle soul---a soul that loved God.  Could this be my Adam?
      Two days later he texted me, "Good morning.  I will attempt to watch the Venus Transit around 5pm, would you care to join me?  next one is in 2117...so weigh your answer carefully. :-)"
      Of course I met him to watch this once in a lifetime celestial event.  He was so happy to see me and led me to a bench in Jan Park, a natural park surrounded by homes that were hidden.  My Israeli friend explained that he had helped organize the neighborhood to buy this park and build it. The more that I learned about this man, the more that I adore him.  Then he handed me dark glasses to wear, so that I could look straight into the sun and see Venus moving slowly acrossed it.  It looked like a dark spot. 
     When we said our "Goodbyes" after walking around the park, he gave me a large piece of agate formed from petrified wood.  It was extraordinary in tan colors, flow, smoothness, and sharpness.  He had found it while doing a geological study of a development.  This stone was such a precious gift, because he gave me what he loved---stones!  He added, "We've met on the water and the land, and now we've gazed up to the heavens together.  When someone asks us where we were during the Venus Transit, we have this story." 
      Later he sent me this video of the park.  He choreographed pictures of the beautiful oak trees, fields, and wild flowers to clasical piano music---all that I love!  Tears came to my eyes.  I was so happy to have found my Adam.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZap6f7KW6g

P.S.  To my blog readers:  If you want to support a struggling math/engineering teacher and author, please buy my first book, "The Romance of Kilimanjaro," soon to be followed by my second book at:  https://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=9781613464960         Thank You!