placing her tender parts over a cactus in the middle of the night

JCK is engaging in derring-do this coming weekend. She will be out. In the open Air. Outside, under the stars. Sleeping on the ground. In something called a tent. Yes, she will be partaking in what people call...family camping...in the desert. Oh, the wonder! The adventure! The...what if it all goes awry?!

Camping is not something that instantly appeals to JCK. No...JCK's idea of a weekend outdoor adventure is akin to having a day hike with a picnic of assorted cheeses, bread and wine. Perhaps a waterfall, after a couple of hours hiking at a leisurely pace. And then the finish... a night in a cozy bed at a B&B, if not the return to her lair. At her age of ripeness, JCK is picky about her sleep, what she is sleeping on, and who she is sleeping with...

JCK has a few fond memories of camping as a child. Her parents owned a Volkswagen camper, and she remembers the hammock strung across the top, and the fold-out bed. The table with one leg, and the bright orange curtains.

In Junior High, JCK camped with friends in the Cedars of Lebanon. She remembers waking up in the cold dawn, climbing lots of Cedar trees, and the smell of coffee that she didn't yet drink.


Later, in her Turbulent Twenties, she attempted camping with friends, and the occasional boyfriend. Often there were dramas...couples fighting around the camp fire, keys locked in vehicles, a bit of overindulgence of alcohol, finished off with a case of poison ivy where legs meet ass...

This family camping will be new. It turns out there are lots of people who do it. And, who think it is Fun. JCK wants to be like these frolicking family camper aficionados, but she is frightened. There could be scorpions or snakes slithering about. Worst of all, she might not be able to sleep...

JCK is surrounding herself with friends who have experience in this unknown called family camping. They will be in it together. They do it all the time... She has borrowed sleeping mats, and pans, and dishes, and a lantern.

JCK's daughter is a bit like her. She has many questions about this adventure called...camping.

GIRL: Will there be bears?

JCK: No, there won't be bears in the desert.

BOY: SNAKES!


JCK isn't that worried about snakes. She's more concerned about dropping trou, and placing her tender parts over a cactus in the middle of the night.

JCK knows that her children will love it. They will run around with their friends, intent on exploration, and enjoying a different kind of freedom. JCK loves the image in her head of her dirt covered children, their white teeth bright in smiling faces. The scent of smoke in clothing, cheeks pink from windy days. Families sharing meals. Laughter and s'mores.

It is wildflower season in the desert. It will be glorious! It will be 2 nights and 2 days. JCK can do it! And, secretly? JCK's getting a little...excited. But, she might need her own private stash of chocolate in the bottom of her sleeping bag... just for emergencies.

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The curse of the New Year's Resolutions

Last year JCK decided to take a stand. She was tired of being bullied and prodded into making those infernal New Year's Resolutions. You know the ones. Yes, those ones. The ones that die a quick death as soon as they are uttered. JCK likes to call this...The curse of the New Year's Resolutions.

So, JCK being a bit smug and secretly mocking all those around her who earnestly declared their 2010 resolutions, decided to have a resolution...to have NO resolutions. JCK likes to feel that she is different. Even if it doesn't get her anywhere.

Sadly, JCK and her vainglorious stand of NO Resolutions didn't lighten her load. Instead the juicy juice thrill of not having the burden of New Year's Resolutions faded out with a whimper. Sometime in mid-spring.

So, this year JCK is going to join the masses! The masses of Do-Gooders who desire personal change. Who yearn to reinvent themselves, if not the world, with their resolutions. Yes! JCK will clutch those resolutions, once she makes them... to her wildly beating heart. This time...this time, she will NOT bow out.

JCK also surmounts that perilous cliff side perch of the number Five uh-OH! this next year...2011. September comes around fast when you're edging toward one of those Big 0 birthdays. And, unfortunately for JCK, time moves forward not backward as she might wish.

Will JCK follow in her, much older by 4 years, husband's footsteps? Will she traverse the Grand Canyon for her 50th birthday, rim to rim in one day? Sadly, NO. The only rims JCK believes in peering into are the rim of a box of chocolates and that Jack O'clock whiskey glass...

But, JCK believes in physical challenges! Yes, she does! JCK envisions for her 50th birthday...sitting in a Paris cafe, eating stinky cheeses and fresh bread. She will be wearing a chapeau tilted over one ear, just so. And her golden, red or brunette locks will gently stir as she turns her head. Wig makers abound in Paris! She will walk by the Seine, stopping to jot down poetry. And when that gets too exhausting, she will nap without mussing her hair.

After she leaves le France, JCK will pop over to Scotland to see a manly man in a kilt...just once. Or twice... Hell, JCK might be so distracted she'll play peek-a-boo THREE times

*****************YOOO HOOO...JCK!?

Ahem! AHEM!...Oh, Yes! The New Year's Resolutions! Please stand by as JCK ponders this awesome task. It may take some time...


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And you, dear reader, what are your resolutions for 2011?



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Painting "Last Ride" by Chuck Gumpert.

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No witness to her pain

She runs as if her life depends on it. Feet pounding the solid pavement, sure footed, a familiar refrain. She has done this before. Many times. Except...what is different about this run is the ending. The finish. But, that comes later. For now, she can only face this moment. When the only thing, the only thing she can focus on is her breath.

She is breathing. For that she is grateful. And for other things. That her feet can still fly under her. That her arms move by her side in tandem, a rhythm as familiar as her heartbeat. And then she notices the quiet. No sound. A silence pierced only by her ragged breathing...in and out. Something is off. What is it?

Her lungs are on fire and her legs have grown heavy. Arms flailing at her sides...like a swan with broken wings. She pushes ahead through the mist. It's just around the bend. Just...there. She sees it now. The homestretch. The grand finale. Her body hurtles across the finish. It is then, bent over, trying to catch her breath that she notices what is different this time. There is no one here. No one to greet her. To throw a warm towel across her back or fling their arm across her tired shoulders. No witness to her pain. She sinks to the ground, welcoming the sharp rocks biting into her knees. She huddles there and begins to rock back and forth. Yes, she is alone. Utterly alone.

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Hestia's Kitchen - painting by Chuck Gumpert.

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