The Lingering Effect of One Good Person

Great things are done when men and mountains meet.” – William Blake

I was eating dinner with Mr. D this past Wednesday night when I couldn’t stop looking at the pictures on my laptop. I have a no device rule at the table but Mr. D kept getting up to do other things during dinner. In his absence, I would flip to the next picture in the slideshow from Lou Whittaker’s obituary in the Seattle Times.

Lou Whittaker, a legendary mountain climber and guide, died on Sunday, March 24 at age 95. In my book, one of the most important accomplishments for a climber is to die of old age.

Lou and his twin brother, Jim, were sometimes referred to as the First Family in American Mountaineering climbing. These two incredibly tall (6’5”) and skinny kids from West Seattle climbed Rainier at age 16, and all the peaks in Washington by age 18.

Lou started Rainier Mountaineering Inc. (RMI) which was the only guiding service on Mt. Rainier for about forty years. When I first attempted Mt. Rainier in 1998, I signed up and climbed with RMI.

Jim started REI (Recreational Equipment, Inc.) and was the first American to climb Everest. Jim is still living.

The Seattle Times obituary captured the brothers relationship well:

“After his brother gained international fame for becoming the first American to climb Everest in 1963, Lou Whittaker — who had declined to join the expedition — said if he had, “Fifty feet from the top, we’d have wrestled there in the snow to see who’d be the first up.”

The Seattle Times

Which isn’t to imply that Lou didn’t do the big peaks too. He climbed Denali, K2, Everest, and more. But more importantly, he trained generations of responsible and thoughtful guides.

My friend, Phil Ershler, the first American who climbed the North side of Everest, trained as a guide with RMI.

As did Ed Viesturs, another Seattle boy, who guided for RMI for many years. Also he climbed fourteen 8,000 meter peaks, the world’s highest mountains, without supplemental oxygen and starred in the IMAX film about Everest released in 1998.

I never met Lou but I’ve climbed with and encountered at least 40-50 guides from his company while spending time on Mt. Rainier. To a person, they were helpful people who wanted to teach others about climbing, respect and appreciation of the mountains, and safety. They made the mountain a safer place by participating in rescues and maintaining marked routes.

More than any other accomplishment, and Lou had many, it is that company ethic that stands out to me. There is a whole generation of guides and mountaineers that will likely die of old age because RMI taught them how to be safe and respectful in the mountains. And tens of thousands of mountaineers who know how to handle garbage, waste, and their impact in the mountains because of the lessons taught by RMI.

Lou’s amazing summit pictures celebrate the high points in life. But I thought it worth also memorializing the long effort and incredible impact one guide and leader can have.

(featured photo from Pexels)

P.S. I love telling stories about the remarkable guides that I’ve met or climbed with and the life lessons they passed along. Here are some of my favorites:

  • The time that Ed Viesturs reached the central summit on Shishapangma at 26,273 (8,008m) feet climbing alone. He looked over the 100 meter traverse to the true summit (26,335 feet) and decided it was too dangerous. He had to return eight years later to claim the summit in a safe way.
  • The story of Beck Weathers being left for dead on Everest and Ed Viesturs and filmmaker, David Breashears, giving up their own summit plans to help Beck descend the mountain.
  • My friend, guide, and amazing climber, Phil Ershler who taught me about objective versus subjective risks.
  • The lasting impact Phil had teaching me how to walk lightly in the mountains and in life.
  • How I learned from Phil about how different things look on the return trip.

Fear and Courage

A man with outward courage dares to die, a man with inner courage dares to live.” – Lao Tzu

This was published previously on 3/22/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.


Before I left for three-hours the other day, I told my three-year-old son that his favorite babysitter was going to come hang out with him. Because he adores her, I was surprised at his answer and the vehemence with which it was said, “This is dumb. I don’t like her. No, you can’t go.”

It took me a second to realize that the last time I left him with her, it was for four days. I started to explain, “I’m just going to be gone for a few hours.”

He replied, “Mama, I’m scared.

As soon as he said he was scared, his mood changed from angry to calm. It’s like it popped the bubble of fear so that we could move on.

I said, “Right. I can understand that. But I’m not going on a trip. I’ll be back by lunchtime.

He said cheerily, “Kay. How bout this deal? I play with her and then we’ll have lunch.”

Deal.

“Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.”

George Adair

I think somehow I missed the memo about acknowledging fear. Growing up in a household with infectiously joyful and confident parents led me to assume they didn’t have any fears. So I’ve blustered through life without admitting my own.

One of the most ironic is that I have a fear of heights and yet I choose mountain climbing and rock climbing as hobbies and tried to just stampede over my fear. I remember a few years back doing a bouldering route at the climbing gym. These bouldering routes 12 -18 feet high and are climbed without ropes in a section of the gym padded with thick mats. I was on a wall that was angled out so I was climbing horizontally, my body almost parallel to the ground, couldn’t see what I was reaching for, and needed to shift my weight carefully to stay on the wall. I was in a position somewhat like I am in the photo below but I wasn’t smiling!

All of a sudden, I felt the full impact of my fear which amped up because I was five months pregnant at the time. I couldn’t move, my arms felt like they weighed two tons, I felt a heat flush all over my body. Then it passed, and I was 10 feet up, completely exhausted and wrung out. I managed to down climb a couple of feet and drop from there, landing on my feet and rolling tiredly onto my back.

I still climb – but not without acknowledging my fear before I get on the wall. It’s like saying “hello” on flat ground so I don’t have to greet it on trickier ground. I also didn’t climb again while I was pregnant. Regardless of all the assurances that babies in utero are fine being jostled, I realized it magnified my anxiety too exponentially.

This incident in concert with becoming more willing to be authentic and vulnerable have led me to understand that there is more room for courage once I let out my fear. That is to say, once I admit I’m afraid, it’s like a full exhale, after which I can take in a deep breath of courage.

“The perfect breath is this: Breathe in for about 5.5 seconds, then exhale for 5.5 seconds.”

James Nestor in Breathe

I bring up the perfect breath as described in James Nestor’s book Breathe because it has a spiritual connection. Nestor also notes that if we recite the Ava Maria or Om Mani Padme Om or the Sa Ta Ma Na (Kundalini Chant) – they all take about the same amount of time of 5.5 seconds.

That ties to the final element to expressing my fear that I’ve found to be at play – the spiritual connection. It isn’t until I own my vulnerability that I can receive help. Sometimes that’s from another person but more often it’s delivered in spiritual and mysterious ways. It’s the element I couldn’t see about my dad – that he didn’t seem to have any fears because he had so much faith.

“Our strength with continue if we allow ourselves the courage to feel scared, weak, and vulnerable.”

Melody Beattie

My lived experience resonates with Melody Beattie’s words. We can’t receive courage until we acknowledge that we need it because we’re afraid. Whether it’s taking on a bully, walking your authentic and individual path, risking to be vulnerable in a relationship, or any of the other million ways we need courage, I’ve found the relief comes much more quickly if we don’t muscle our way through but simply say, as my son did, “I’m scared.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Food Associations

You are the sum total of everything you’ve ever seen, heard, eaten, smelled, been told, forgot – it’s all there.” – Maya Angelou

My mention of our trip to New Orleans brought a lot of comments about trying the beignets there. Which reminded me that in addition to my favorite word associations, I also have food and drink associations for cities. Here are some:

Bagels in New York City

Pizza in Chicago

Baked beans in Boston

Rocky Mountain oysters in Denver

Irish coffee in San Francisco

Key lime pie in Key West

Arroz con pollo in Quito

Coca tea in Cusco

Momos in Kathmandu

Fish and chips in London

Prosecco in Venice

I’m curious if these match yours or what other ones you have. Tell me what’s good in the places you frequent!

P.S. for Mark from Mark My Words, I know I should put Cheese in Wisconsin – but I’ve never been to Wisconsin…yet).

(featured photo is of Miss O enjoying a beignet)

Photos of the Week: March 9

“In life, it’s not where you go, it’s who you travel with.” – Charles Schulz

We spent some time hanging around this week.

Hitting and catching things.

Before we headed out for an adventure.

Saw some cool things out the window (the first is the view from our hotel in New Orleans). The second is Mt. Rainier with Mt. Tahoma off to the left.

And saw some other beautiful flying things – from the Butterfly exhibit at the New Orleans Insectarium.

Which all adds up to the hug and sign of the week!

Finding the Rhythm

When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea, and the sea drowns them out with its great wide sounds, cleanses me with its noise, and imposes a rhythm upon everything in me that is bewildered and confused.” – Rainier Maria Rilke

On my first mountain climbing attempt, a guided climb of Mt. Rainier in the summer of 1998, the lead guide introduced us to the poetry of Robert Service. Whether you or not you like his poetry, he delivers a cadence that I found helpful in keeping a climbing rhythm:

“There’s a race of man who won’t give in
A race that can’t stand still.
So they break the heart of kith and kin
And roam the world at will.”

The Men Who Don’t Fit In by Robert Service

Climbing depends on a steady pace. If you go too fast when roped to your teammates, you create too much slack ahead, and end up pulling the climber behind. If you go too slow, you create drag on someone else. When climbs would get tough, I’d recite the poems in my head and it would regulate my head, heart, and feet.

Thought I don’t climb any more, I still find evidence of pacing in all of the rest of my life. At work, knowing the cadence of team meetings helps to know when we can address issues. At home, rhythm is such a large part of how my little family stays stable. The waking up, eating breakfast, packing lunches, off to school rhythm is the cornerstone of our weekdays. When we get out of sync, it’s like a band that’s lost the beat.

Miss O recently learned to play Ode to Joy on the piano. When feeling like she wants to show off her mastery, she plays it somewhere between double and triple time. Played like that, it quickly becomes Ode to Indigestion.

I’m thinking of all these examples of rhythm and cadence because of an incredible podcast conversation that Vicki and I had with Edgerton award winning playwright, Jack Canfora. As a playwright and trained Shakespearean actor, he thinks a lot about cadence in writing. But for him, it extends beyond the theater. It applies to humor writing and essays as well.

Jack describes himself as a rhythmic writer. I’m thinking of You Make a Mean Salad as an example of his writing and humor. Or perhaps it’s best heard in a play. Step 9 is available as a theatrical podcast.

Thinking of my own writing as someone who tends to extended sentences, I have a lot to learn about calibrating sentences from Jack. Here’s a clip from our podcast where he talks about how Shakespeare balances sentences.

If you’re in the mood for a podcast, listen to this one. It’s got a great rhythm: Episode 56: Master Class In Creativity with Jack Canfora – Part II or search for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Apple, Amazon Music, Spotify or Pocketcasts.

Links for this Podcast episode:

Jack’s website: Jack Canfora | Playwright | Podcaster | Writing Coach

Jack’s Online Theater Company: New Normal Rep

Jericho by Jack Canfora on Amazon

Jack Canfora on Instagram and Twitter: @jackcanfora

Other podcast episodes featuring Jack:

Episode 4: Why Theater Matters

Episode 55: Master Class in Creativity with Jack Canfora – Part I

From the hosts:

Vicki’s personal blog: Victoria Ponders

Wynne’s personal blog: Surprised by Joy

Vicki’s recently released book: Surviving Sue

Wynne’s book about her beloved father: Finding My Father’s Faith

(featured photo from Pexels)

The Feeling of Community

The deep irony, in order to be social, we first have to be individual.” – Nicholas Christakis

This was originally published on 2/16/2022. Heads up – you may have already read this.


When I was climbing mountains, I’d regularly sign up for a guided climbing trips, sometimes with a friend and sometimes by myself. It was a great way to travel and also get to climb a mountain or two. Typically we’d all converge in a meeting place and do the initial meet and greet and then go from there.

The groups of people that would come together were always interesting. I’m thinking about a particular climb of two volcanoes in Mexico. We all flew to Mexico City where we met our guides and fellow climbers before riding in a van to the base of Mt. Ixtacchuatl for our first climb.

The group was mostly Americans but otherwise there wasn’t an easily defined demographic, not gender, education level, personality type other than love of mountains.  On this particular trip, there were very outgoing people like my friend, Jill, and man named Trent who loved to talk and help anyone with anything. Most of the group was like Paul from Greenfield, NY who was really nice to talk to but more reserved about initiating conversations. There was our guide, Phil, who like to just spit out wisdom or quips in one line but not talk endlessly (e.g. “Watch out Jill, that guy has more moves than an earthquake.”)

As we went around doing introductions, one man named John stated very clearly, “I don’t like people. I’m just here to climb the mountains.”  Which was fine because that’s what we were there to do.

We summitted the first mountain, Mt Ixtacchuatl (17,338 feet) on October 31 and then headed down to celebrate the Day of the Dead in Puebla. After a day of rest, we started up our second mountain, Mt. Orizaba (18,491 feet).

After being dropped by trucks on the mountain, we spent the evening in a hut. At this point, we’d been together as a group for about 5 days and we were having a great time and working together pretty well as a team. The guy that didn’t like people was a very good climber and mostly stayed to himself, grabbing his share of dinner and finding a quiet place to eat it.

Around midnight, we got up from the few hours of rest we’d gotten and started preparing for our summit attempt in the dark using the light of our headlamps. We climbed steadily in the dark for about 6 hours until we reached an exposed couloir. We paused as the guides tried to get some ice screws deep enough into the fractious ice to secure our trip across the steep gully. Eventually we realized that the conditions wouldn’t allow us to cross safely over that part of the mountain and our summit bid had ended.

As we sat on the mountain watching the sun come up in no hurry to get anywhere, John, the climber who didn’t like people, pulled off his boot and found a Payday bar. He’d put the candy bar in his boot while preparing in the dark and then forgotten to take out. After being climbed on for 6 hours, it was shaped like an orthodic. He pulled it out, showed it around and we all had a good laugh alongside him as we imagined the journey of that candy bar. Even John enjoyed for that moment being part of a group that understood the crazy things that happen on a climb.

That particular event created an idea of community for me. One where we don’t have to all be best friends or come out of our comfort zones but can still enjoy the camaraderie of a shared experience focused on a common interest.

(featured photo is mine of the group leaving the top of Mt. Ixtacchuatl)

I’m Glad You’re Here

When you love someone the best thing you can offer is your presence. How can you love if you are not there?” – Thich Nhat Hanh

We were sitting in the family room of the small AirBnB cabin we’d rented for President’s Day weekend when I heard my four-year-old son, Mr. D quietly say to my friend, Eric, who had joined us. “I’m glad you’re here.”

It’s a sentiment that I’ve heard both of my children say on different occasions, locations, and to different friends. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad we’re here.

It’s completely unprompted by me and I’ve never noticed them saying it at the moment of arrival. Usually it’s uttered calmly in genuine camaraderie for an adult that has shown up – physically and emotionally.

I find it to be one of the most remarkable compliments a kid can give. After all, at ages eight and four, they aren’t in charge of where we go or who comes along. But when they find the presence of another person to be comforting/fun/engaging/stimulating, they say so. Genuinely.

Upon reflection, it’s another thing my kids are teaching me. To know when I’m happy to be somewhere and in good company, and to express it.

So, dear blogging friends, I’m glad you are here. Thank you for reading.

ON A RELATED NOTE: Vicki Atkinson and I were lucky enough to talk with Edgerton award winning playwright, musician and author, Jack Canfora on the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast episode released today. Part of the conversation is about how our writing is one way we show up. It’s a delightfully fun and interesting episode, please listen! Episode 55: Master Class in Creativity with Jack Canfora Part I. Also, there’s a bonus video clip in that linked post.

Failing Well

Take chances, make mistakes. That’s how you grow. Pain nourishes your courage. You have to fail in order to practice being brave.” – Mary Tyler Moore

Last weekend when we were in Leavenworth, WA, we went to an adventure park to ride a roller coaster. Or maybe I should say a roller-coaster-ish kind of ride because the cars were individual and the driver could apply the brakes as much as they wanted. Another clarification: by “we” I meant my kids rode with my dear friend, Doug, because I’m an endurance person, not a speed person.

Now that I have all those caveats in place, on with the story.

Eight-year-old Miss O had no hesitation and climbed right in to ride with Doug. Talking with four-year-old Mr. D about it, he was clearly torn. He didn’t want to do it. And then he did. He flip flopped a couple of times. Since I was pretty sure he’d like it, I was trying to figure out how to nudge him in the direction of trying it.

But even though Miss O didn’t hesitate on this challenge, she and I had just been having a conversation about failing when it came to learning to ride her hoverboard. She asserted that life was easier for me because I never failed. I told her I fail all the time which is why is doesn’t faze me much any more. In fact, I rarely think of it as failing but just as a step towards the next thing I need to do.

On the drive to Leavenworth, I’d been listening to the Ten Percent Happier podcast, The Science of Failing Well where Dan Harris was talking with Amy Edmonson, a professor of leadership and management at the Harvard Business School. She had three points that stuck with me about taking risks:

  • Make the risk as small as possible: This point reminded me of gambling – make a bet but don’t put all your chips in.
  • Have a hypothesis: Know what you are trying to test or prove
  • Learn from the attempt: Use the experience and hypothesis to extract information for the next thing you might try.

I think a lot about what creates confidence. What my parents did to create kids who are willing to try hard things because for all the differences between my siblings and me, we are all game to take on new challenges. So I’ve tried to figure out how I can do the same for my kids. While there’s much that remains a mystery to me, what I’ve identified is that my willingness to try and fail might be the single most defining characteristic in the arc of my life.

So, I told Mr. D he didn’t have to do it. But if he did, he only had to try one ride, Doug could go as slow as he wanted, and that I thought he’d like riding in a car on a track. When it came to his turn, Mr. D was a little nervous but resolutely game. Until I greeted him at the exit ramp, that is. He rolled back in with a huge grin on his face!

He had so much fun that he learned he wanted to do it again. And the second time he went up with his hands in the air.

Life is a roller coaster and I’m glad that I continue to ride. The metaphorical kind at least.

(featured photo is mine)

(quote is from Real Life of MSW blog: Being Brave)

Maniacs

Faith gives flight to the imagination.” – Lailah Gifty Akita

The other day Cooper (the dog) had a play date with a neighbor’s puppy, Ziggy. Four-year-old Mr D. heard me say to the pups, “What are you two maniacs up to?

And Mr. D fell in love – with the word “maniac.

We were at the store a short while later and he yelled from the other end of an aisle, “Mom, call me a maniac!

And he sometimes greets me, “Hi Mom. You maniac!

It’s a rule in our house that we don’t call each other names but maniac seems like a term of affection to me. At least, I was saying it affectionately when I used it on the dogs.

So I looked it up in the dictionary and found that the informal definition matched my liking: An obsessive enthusiast (from Oxford Languages).

As I mentioned in My Love Affair with Words post, the word enthusiastic or enthusiast always reminds me of my dad since it comes from the root, en-Theos or “with God.” I’m at my best when I leave my logical nature and go with the flow of God, life, and the Universe.

So, yes, call me a maniac. On fun days, I have a whole houseful of them!

An Adventure

Jobs fill your pocket, adventures fill your soul.” – Jaime Lyn Beatty

Last weekend I took my kids to IKEA. I had to borrow my brother’s truck to do it. When the kids and I joined up with our family and friends later that day, and were sitting out on the stern of my brother’s boat to watch the Blue Angels, my sister-in-law commented that she couldn’t believe I took my kids with me. She said she gets stressed just going on her own. My friend, Eric, chimed in with a good-natured smirk, “She thinks of it as an adventure.

Bahaha (I’ve gotten that laugh in writing from the delightful blogger and Cheryl Oreglia). But hey, he might have a point. I had the itinerary completely mapped, and packed a snack for each break. There were even ropes involved. It might not be a mountain climb, but it had some of the same elements.

I don’t know you all, but there isn’t anything like a project from IKEA to make me feel completely stupid. I say that even though I really love putting things together. But that first page, the one where you have to start assembling, and are looking at a wordless page indicating three or four parts from the dozens strewn around, and six or more screws, bolts, barrels, and dowels from the hundreds? Well, ugh!

Invariably, I do something wrong. Usually right out of the gate. This time it was to put those short wooden dowels in the wrong holes. And because I often get am racing to “completion,” I like to do it systemically, and did it for all the boards on the page. Then to make sure I was extra diligent, I hammered them in. Only to find out on wordless page number two that was wrong.

There was no way I found to get the dowels out, not pulling, or using pliers, or trying to make them cold in case the wood would contract. I had to drill them out. As I sat on the floor of Miss O’s bedroom with sweat running down my face and her loft bed still in pieces around me, I had to face that I was already on the wrong path, and had to go back to step one.

Huh, not entirely unlike a mountain climb after all.

Eric’s remark, even though delivered smirk, might have been right on the mark. It’s reminded me that of the adventures I’ve been on, they have all come with hard moments – and also learning and growth. The other thing they’ve all had, whether I’ve made it to the top or not, laughter, the satisfaction that comes with trying, and joy.

Last weekend I took my kids to IKEA. We got a loft bed with a side of adventure. Not a bad deal….

If you have a moment, please check out my Heart of the Matter blog post today about happiness versus joy: Good Mood of the Soul.