6-26 (this post is kinda old)
today while sitting in the relative luxury of an exit row, with my accordion (patsy)  perched selfishly above me occupying the space allotted for 2 rollaways, I attempted to write a new blog post.  I considered writing about some of the climbing which had taken place before my flight to the flatlands of corn fields.  There is still so many journal posts left un-transcribed.  Paragraphs should be created on 'girls week' in Pine Creek.  Sentences (at least!) could be pulled together about a few more east side solos.  Posts should exist that capture some of the simple glory of hanging with Jude and Flyzo in the woods with river dips for punctuation.  But alas, I am too much a 'here and now' kind of girl and writing about anything more than a few days in the past proved unlikely after a couple page doodles that mildly resembled my delta stewardess.  I wrote a few marginal notes about an outdoor toprope wall with the always game John in Milwaukee.  Summary; incredible how fun plastic can be when the attitude is open and the company is grand.  I was momentarily tempted to jot a few words about my sis's refreshingly quirky wedding, but knew the photos would speak for themselves.  I realized once again I was not writing about climbing, but instead about choosing the quality of what you do that makes it spectacular.  Choosing the 'what' becomes so much less important than the 'how'.  Despite my best efforts, I was once again, NOT writing about climbing.

I resigned myself to not publishing a blog post.

I picked up my clearly untouched (despite being purchased at a second-hand store) copy of Ayn Rand's We the Living.  At about page 213 I was forced to stop what had become a feverish reading binge and make the journey to the lavatory to relieve my abused and ignored bladder.  It was while waiting for a miniature elderly woman to vacate that I realized that the epic Ms. Rand was saying exactly what I had been feeling for a while.  Climbing is amazing in so many ways and it seems frustrating when trying to explain why it is what it is.  I get caught up in wanting you, my lovely reader, to feel some of the excitement, addiction and joy that is mine when I climb.  But here's the hitch (explained in the book in a few hundred words); so much of the greatness of climbing is that its MINE!  So inevitably, you will never quite 'get it', no matter how well I write.  So I will momentarily bask in the glow of selfishnish that Ayn so blatantly promotes... mine mine mine (like the seagulls in finding Nemo).  Luckily, I have photos so we can share some beauty anyway.  So view them!!!

http://s481.photobucket.com/albums/rr172/nickrueger/high%20peaks%20and%20flatlands/        (to see in full size)