Moving on ...

Today, I'm never going back to Pittsburgh. There, my circle of friends whom I love very much remain the same while either I've changed, I'm changing, or I'm desperatley trying. I'm keeping busy; I'm trying new things. I'm thinking about what we're going to do -- we is me and Cody. The coffee pot will be ready for morning ...

Take it as it comes ...

I checked my phone as I was walking out the door. It was a 412 area code I didn't know, probably an ex-landlord or that Oakland dentist who continues to claim I owe him $50 a year later. So I didn't answer. And, beside, plans for the night didn't include a phone, my wallet, or my keys. It's funny, any friend in this world, I could "brag" about my latest, best cold weather camping experience -- a low around ten degrees and about an inch of snow fell -- but not to you. You're the friend built of Canadian-born bones; my night was another day at the park. So, boo, let my have mine! Cody shivered all night long and, as advertised, my thirty-degree bag wasn't quite warm enough at ten degrees (I still have the same bag as our moons ago Point Park adventure ... a dream to spend the night ruined by the cops). But I made it through the almost sixteen hours of darkness, mostly falling asleep in what felt like five- and ten-minute increments (no phone meant no sense of time, the way the woods are supposed to be). I woke up and quickly made some tea on the stove, packed up all my gear, all of it frosted-over, and slowly walked the two miles home down the snow-crusted fire road, proud. When I worked in Glacier I was only living in Montana, I wasn’t living a Montana lifestyle. I may as well have lived in a frat house with a view. I'm making up for that lost time now. This weather is brutal and awful, but it ain't going to be warm for another five months, so I better embrace it. Fuck it. Thank you for your message; it reminded me of another time. Looking back, I feel like I spent most of that summer on a Rock Room bar stool, every five seconds glancing out the always-open door, looking for you to crest Herron Avenue, sweaty and out of breath ... my vision of you. You were always bound for it, this.

Record lows ...

The thermometer barely survived Monday night -- the mercury dropped to -21. Today a balmy 11. The fucking snow blows around like a Sahara sand storm, gritty and granular. I texted a friend last night: "Hey, man, this sucks! I don't want to ice fish! I'm no Inuit!" He responded: "Then you better get In-uit!" Oh, the mistakes we make ... the pride God punishes us for ...