Moving on: I got home last night from my first grown-up vacation ever. Naturally, I decided to vacate to the place where I once lived and worked. And it was nothing short of glorious. After traveling day one, running around day two, and shooting an engagement session day three, I didn’t make the effort to pick my camera up the rest of the week. All I have for you is this:

And I took it this morning. In Delaware. I share it with you now because I missed this little mug while I was gone.

Besides for drinking out of Tracy’s mugs, you may wonder what I did with my time (after the first few days of craziness). I slept. I read. I slept a bit more and read a little bit more after that. I went shopping and bought a dress. Then I helped out at my church’s vacation Bible school. Then I sweated profusely. I sat on the lake, I cruised the lake, I read next to the lake. Did I mention I slept?

When I wasn’t sleeping or reading I was spending time with dear, dear friends. Most of my trips up there recently have been a whirlwind of catchupcatchupcatchup/howmanytimescanIrepeatthisbeforeIgoinsane. This time around, I had seven days to spend time with people and reconnect with my old community; I played games (and won, mind you), I made new friends and I laughed. I laughed a lot.

Words cannot express how good this time was for me; on top of all the necessary resting and laughing, I prayed. I surrendered. I reconnected with Jesus. If there were one theme to sum up my vacation, it would lie in the words of one of my favorite hymns:

1. ’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to take Him at His word;
Just to rest upon His promise,
Just to know “Thus saith the Lord!”

2. O how sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to trust His cleansing blood;
Just in simple faith to plunge me
’Neath the healing, cleansing flood!

3. Yes ’tis sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just from sin and self to cease;
Just from Jesus simply taking
Life and rest, and joy and peace.

4. I’m so glad I learned to trust Thee,
Precious Jesus, Savior, friend;
And I know that Thou art with me,
Wilt be with me to the end.

Refrain: Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him!
How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!
O for grace to trust Him more!

(Tis so Sweet to Trust in Jesus, Public Domain)

I’m not necessarily talking about dreams, hopes and aspirations; I mean daydreams. Most moments of my days have an underlying tone to them. A sense that I should be somewhere else, doing something else, communicating with someone else, etc. Sometimes these daydreams are more or less nudges from the Holy Spirit to remind me of other tasks at hand; when I’m miss-managing my time. Sometimes it’s selfishness, wishing that the task or conversation before me belonged to someone else.

Then there are times when I can’t imagine being anywhere else. When the tasks on my to-do list, the friends I’m eager to talk to, the random conversations that I have with myself fade away and I’m left with merely the moment.

Last week, I encountered such a moment. While in NY for a last-minute trip, I found myself tying the bow of a little girl’s dress. Just then, I caught myself searching my inner-being for someplace I’d rather be. And like catching a thief who walked away with nothing, I came up dry. Out of all the friends, locations, craft projects, comfy beds that I could dream up, I wanted to be nowhere else then right where I was. Tying that bow.

Time almost stood still for us: little “Brianne” eagerly waiting for my craftsmanship to put the finishing touches on her outfit, my fidgeting to make sure the bow was just right, the excitement that contagiously ran through her.

After years of hell, this wee girl was plucked out of the most horrid of circumstances and placed in the home of a dear family. That was two and a half years ago. Two and a half years of excitement, trials, pink dollbabies, prayer, frustrations, and joys all culminated into this very day: Adoption Day.

Honored, blessed and grateful to be a part of such a big day in this little life, I sat there tying a bow almost in tears.

I want to share photos and such from the day, but my dear, dear surrogate family hasn’t seen them yet. I’ll save them for a future post; for now, let’s enjoy the moment together.

I free fell for 5-7 feet, then pendulum swung for another 10-15. By the time I made it to the impact zone, my back was against the wall. Essentially I belly flopped, but with my back instead. I bounced once, then came back for a second impact. Both times, I hit my lower back, left shoulder and my head.

As soon as my body stopped swinging, my interpreter on the ground (Night in Shining Armor #1) called and asked if I was ok. I vaguely remember giving a thumbs up or something similar to let him know I wasn’t unconscious. Then I told him I needed to come down, to which he yelled for Pedro to lower me to the anchor for the first pitch. That’s where I was before, when I was belaying P-Diddy; where I took this photo:

As soon as I got back there, Night in Shining Armor #2 had come on to the scene. NISA#1 had been belaying him for a climb that was right next to mine. By the grace of God, he finished his climb just as I fell and was mere feet from the anchor I was being lowered to. He met me at that anchor and tied himself and I into it. Then he untied my rope, so Pedro could rappel down and tied me into his.

During this whole process, I was trying to help. I’m a sufficient climber; I know what a sling is and how to tie knots and how to loosen knots that have been fallen on. I didn’t want to feel helpless, but I was really just getting in the way. I couldn’t do anything except focus on how tired I felt and how much I didn’t want to throw up on NISA#2.

At one point in time, I even said, “I might throw up on you.” He graciously replied that that would be ok. He later confessed that me vomiting on him 60 feet in the air would have really sucked.

After he tied me into his rope, NISA#1 lowered me down and helped get me stable. NISA#2 came shortly after and we all introduced ourselves as we waited on Pablo to rap down.

When he arrived on the ground, I immediately had him feel the knot on my head, which was HUGE. Then, he made an observation that made me immediately thankful for multiple things. He said, “you got that knot through your helmet.” Through.my.helmet. This is what it looked like after I ran it into a mountain twice:

I was, and still very much am, thankful for this helmet. Without the foresight of Pedro, without the purchase that at the time seemed frivolous, without this helmet on my head I would have smeared my brains all over the rock. I would have either ended up in a coma in a random, NY hospital or singing praises to Jesus in Heaven. I am thankful for those Nights in Shining Armor willing to help a confused girl down off a cliff. I’m thankful for Peabody’s willingness to lay the rest of his climbing day aside and take care of me.

That was about the time where I decided to send my mom a text message alluding to my fall and letting her know that I was fine. Alive. I suppose I sent the text so she would be forewarned when I told her 4 hours later I was driving home. I threw my phone back into my bag and went to lay in the hammock that was graciously provided for me; Peter Parker had to climb back up and get all the gear I left.

My mom called, left a voicemail and texted me four times.

When I finally called back, she was sufficiently nervous. She works in our local ER and sees all types of crazy stuff; apparently head injuries are a big deal. Over the phone, we discussed how I was getting home, etc. I told her I didn’t feel comfortable driving, but we weren’t scheduled to leave for a few hours. I had hopes that my brain would stop swelling by then. Or something like that.

While I was hanging out, I took a few photos of the carnage. And honestly, these are pretty easy on the eyes compared to how the late-blooming bruises affected my body.

My arm:

Pretend a big, blue and yellow ring lies around my elbow. That’s how it looked a few days later.

And my wrist:

This is grade-A rock rash. It comes standard with most climbing; you mostly see it on knuckles though.

There’s also rock rash on my tailbone and a lovely bruise there too. For the sake of modesty, however, there are no photos.

And for that, you can be thankful.

After the gear was cleaned up and packed away, Pedro and I discussed our afternoon. He, by the grace of God — yet again — had gotten a ride down to The Gunks with some acquaintances. I asked if he wanted to drive me home in my car, and he being the logical one, asked how he would, in turn, get home himself. I didn’t know. And I blamed the silly idea on my concussion.

Seeing that we were done climbing for the day, the only logical thing to do was to move towards the car. As we were hiking out, Pumpernickel mentioned his parent’s house. Knowing his folks well, this was a possibility that ran through my mind too, but it would also involve me staying the night and driving home the next day. And I had plans.

Then he said the golden words, “If we leave now, we can make home in time for dinner.”

Yep. I’m sold.

To read that part of the saga, check out this post.

And to sum up this ridiculously long story, my head is recovering slowly. Two weeks later, the bump and sensitivity is still there, but decreases every day. I felt like I got hit by a Mac truck for a while, but that too is receding slowly. My rock rash is losing the scab, which makes it really itchy. I’m sure people think I have poison oak or something weird.

And the helmet?

Helmets like this (or all helmets, I think) are only graded for one big hit. Mine wasn’t even 24 days old when it was forced to retire. I was planning on polling your input and scheming a way to destroy it, but donated it instead.

An EMS guide wants to use it as an object lesson when he teaches folks how to climb.

Apparently the number one preventable climbing injury is a head injury.

The number two? Rappelling of the end of your rope.

Pedro called to confirm/discuss the details for a last minute endeavor: climbing at The Gunks. Upon discussing the whens, wheres and hows, he mentioned I should buy a helmet. When I lived in New York I had 20 helmets available to me at any given time. Now that I live in boring Delaware, I must fend for myself.

The Gunks, Pedro explained, are swarming with climbers every day. Many climbers + loose rock = hazards. Helmets are a great way to protect one’s noggin from getting nailed with a rock someone threw out of their way and never yelled the code word for flying rock (it happens to be “rock!”). Or maybe they yelled the code word, but because of the quantities of climbers around you, you can’t tell where it’s coming from.

I digress. I needed a helmet. On the subsequent Saturday, I stopped at my local EMS to pick one up. And I fell in love. Best.helmet.ever.

Sunday, I arose from my slumber at 4:45am — this is what the outdoor culture calls an Alpine Start — and was on the road by 5:30am. I made it to The Gunks by 9:30(ish) with coffee for Pedro in hand.

And at this point in time, I bet you’re all wondering when I’m going to get to the actual story — the one where I ran into 260 foot mountain? I’m getting there. Here’s a photo to appease you.

While we were racking up, I was given the camera. This was my view for most of the expedition — belaying Pedro.

We were climbing a multi-pitch climb, trad, with Pedro leading. This essentially means that Pedro climbed first, placed protection on his way up, found a resting point and anchored in, then I climbed after him cleaning that protection as I went all while relying on his anchor.

Your local Public Service Announcement: Climb with people you trust. Trust your climbing partner.

I would trust Pedro if he told me jumping motorcycles like Evel Knievel was a good idea. Which is essentially how I ended up falling; following his lead. You see, Mr. Pedro is a solid 12 inches taller than I. Me? I’m 5’4″. Pedro? Yeah he’s 6’4″. Things that are easy for him to reach are impossible for me to even think of.

The tale you’ve been waiting for: Pedro led the first pitch and anchored in about 60 feet above the ground/me. From there, I climbed up to meet him and anchored myself in. Then he climbed the second pitch, which led him over two overhangs, all while I belayed and took photos (see above and below).

Without explaining the difference between 5.6 and 5.8 and 5.11, there are different grades to climbing levels. As you would expect, your climbing skill level reflects the intensity of the climbs you’re consistently successful on. For now, we’ll call those levels Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced and Expert. Pedro is an advanced climber, I was an intermediate climber six months ago; on the date of our expedition I had probably regressed to a “high beginner”. Because of the difficulty of climbing trad outside – and to level the playing field a bit – we were working on a beginner climb that day.

Until, that is, we went left instead of right. All of a sudden we were on an intermediate climb; a skill level my limbs haven’t seen since December. Which is essentially how I ended up falling.

Here is the section of rock that will become the focus of the rest of my tale:

You can see below the protection I was to clean as I followed.

Pedro led towards the left and over this (below) overhang and continued to climb until he was about 90 feet above me. At that point in time, we could not see or hear each other. Thanks to the tons of rock between us and the busy highway behind us, we relied on feel for the duration of the climb.

I attempted to draw a diagram to explain how the climb “ended”.

Since we could not hear each other, the only thing Pedro knew to do was to keep the rope tight. As I climbed from step 1 to step 2, I felt secure and confident. As I tried to climb over that huge overhang, I started to wear myself down as I failed and failed. The handholds that The Man mentioned when he climbed it weren’t there (they were approximately 12 inches outside of my reach).

What I wanted to do was traverse left more, towards the “easier” part of the overhang. Since Pedro was tightening down on the rope, I didn’t have the ability to move that far away from the next anchor I was supposed to be cleaning. So, I yelled for slack. And yelled. And yelled. Almost exhausted and virtually in tears, Night in Shining Armor #1 came to my rescue. I couldn’t be heard from under the rock-overhang, but a guy on the ground could.

Finally, through my very tiny interpreter, I got enough slack to traverse further left and place my body level-with and 6 feet away from my next anchor (see above, step 3). I went to make the crux move and found no hand holds. By that time, I was really spent physically and stepped back down. After a few minute’s rest, I tried again and lost it. I lost my footing. I lost whatever my hands were holding. I lost my balance.

Here’s what happened:

I free fell for 5-7 feet, then pendulum swung for another 10-15. By the time I made it to the impact zone, my back was against the wall. Essentially I belly flopped, but with my back instead. I bounced once, then came back for a second impact. Both times, I hit my lower back, left shoulder and my head.

And that’s how I fell.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of my saga which may or may not be titled: How I almost threw up on Night in Shining Armor #2.

Y’all are probably in stitches wanting to know the details. And also wondering why my phone-facebook-statusing-skills are sub-par in the spell-check category (hint: the answer lies within the status).

However, today is not the day for a detailed rundown of what happened yesterday, fifty feet in the air. Today, I discuss today. And your mom’s mascara.

After the mishap, I wasn’t fit to drive the 3.5 hours south. Something about nausea, my inability to control the level of my voice, and lack of desire to do anything but stare at the ground. Through a series of events that need a diagram to explain, my climbing partner was able to drive me in my car up to his parent’s house 3 hours north. Whom we surprised by my visit and desperate need to stay the night; all this just in time for dinner.

Said parents have opened up their home to me before, and we’ve already spent numerous hours enjoying each other’s company; me showing up and needing a place to lay my oddly misshaped head was no big deal. I was in no way uncomfortable with being there (nor why I was there). I embraced it wholeheartedly as a much needed vacation. Except for one thing.

I didn’t have a toothbrush.

Or a change of clothes. Or a hairbrush.

I did have deodorant. But nothing else other than what was on my back (which, mind you, had just been rock climbing).

After a lovely dinner and some time surrendering my beaten body to the coziest couch ever, I was loaned a set of PJ’s and given a warm bed.

I was also given a toothbrush.

This morning, after watching a large family get ready for the day, I was loaned a Bible, which I gratefully took and enjoyed some time reading. And respiting.

Yep. I know respite isn’t a verb. Go with the flow.

As flexible as flexible gets, I spent the morning with Mama Whit. After she loaned me her mascara, we went shopping* and enjoyed a lovely lunch together. Instead of cleaning her kitchen and doing a million other things that busy moms are in charge of, she took her morning and enjoyed it with me. On top of all the yummy food and the warm bed and the mascara, I’m especially grateful for the encouraging and edifying time spent with her.

Considering the circumstances, I’ve been incredibly blessed these past two days. After watching the climbing community act like family, I was graciously cared for by my friend and his family. And I would do it again in a heartbeat. Minus the concussion, rock-burn and large contusions that grace my body at the moment.

More on the mishap soon. I’m waiting on the official photos. (-:

*This post could also be titled: I fell off a cliff then bought a dress.

Hung out with this girl:

In an long-overdue endeavor, I drove to Philly for the day to see the BFF. Since the weather has been moderate ’round these parts, we beboped through the city all day: used bookstore in Old City, Liberty Bell, that one really random clothing store Center City that sells immodest clothing and really cute shoes,  Rittenhouse Square, back to Old City where a cute guy thought I was checking him out but I was really just looking at his dogs, back to Center City where we became immediately thankful for the bomb squad, dinner with the office of Governor Rendell and back to Old City again.

It was great. Great conversation, great food, great urban hiking.

Then I went to church. And loved it. Which has been hard to come by these days. Church hunting was starting to take its toll on me more than job hunting. I have longed for a community since moving down and have hopefully found one. I was blessed yesterday by the pastor’s sermon and equally blessed by the people I met. I’m looking forward to settling in and getting involved.

I wish I had taken more photos for y’all, but alas. I kept the camera in my bag. Sometimes being a city girl turned country girl back in the city again makes me a little nervous.

AND IN OTHER NEWS: I’m thinking about doing another “Photo a Day” project starting in February. This time it’ll be a photo a day with my crappy camera phone. What do you think?

I need schooling to use my camera phone, apparently. This is what we ended up with:

Whoever thought that the zoom button and the capture button should be one and the same disregarded one thing: self portraits of the clumsy-fingered.

Things have been a bit quiet here. And for good reason; I went on vacation. A vacation from my “vacation”, if you will. I took a road trip up to Central New York for a bit of reunion. I spent four-ish days with dear friends.

This is from just after a lovely overland hike, complete with trees covered in snow:

This is what happens when the girl with the camera gets sassy:

I didn’t take many photos; I spent most of the time enjoying my friends without the pressure of capturing the memories in data-form. We hung out, we hiked, we cross-country skiied, we prayed, we witnessed miracles, we celebrated the dawning of 2010 in a truck, we celebrated Texan 2010 an hour later, we lit a Christmas tree on fire.

And it was great.

The story: This is a first for me. Peers have had babies before, but they were just peers. Amy is a best bud. So, to be honest, I had no idea what to expect when it came to adding another to this family that I love so dearly. How was I going to feel about this new life? Would I hold it in high regard as I would one of my own, or would I see it as a distraction — merely something new to the mix of ‘X ‘n Amy’? These were the questions floating around my head until Mr. & Mrs. Soontobeparents asked me to assist with the labor and delivery of their little girl. Um…yes, please?

So, at 4:30 in the morning, on October 20, 2009 I got a phone call. Hospital. Labor. Cm’on down. South, I drove (an hour, btw) and arrived to find Amy in back labor and Keith as serious as serious gets. After a few contractions, I was given a job. Praise the Lord. I don’t think I could have handled just watching it all much longer. A few hours later, after much pain, yelling, caressing of hair and gentle suggestions to breathe, Tuscany Grace graced the world. I sobbed. Seeing that blue baby covered in that cottage cheese stuff (sorry guys!) was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. After giving birth to her toddler (um…she’s huge), Amy was wisked away to the OR to get “cleaned up”. I cried some more as I watched the nurses clean Tuscany and listened to Keith call the family. It was the most emotionally rewarding day I have ever experienced; who knew that such joy could come from hours of such anguish?

I used to think proud aunts and uncles were odd. “It’s just your sister’s baby, get over it,” is what went through my mind when new photos of babies and toddlers and small children would be shown on cell phones. But I get it now. She’s not technically my niece, but she might as well be. I helped bring her into this world.

So in honor of my Belong to the Day Facebook page and a revamp of the photography website, here is Tuscany Grace. Pre-natal and post-natal.

One of the things she continually tells her clients is to “smile with their eyes.” And as silly as it sounds, I decided to give it a whirl with my particularly stoic subjects. The results? Liquid gold. Or verbal gold. Or photographic gold. Take it as you will. I have seen consistently awkward people become instantly photogenic. J-Star, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. srsly.

Example? Teenage boys. They are way too cool to smile and need a little coaching. The left is pre-smilewithyoureyes. The right is liquid gold.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure/privilege of photographing a family that rests very near to my heart. Tracy has been my discipler/mentor/best older sister for three years. Her family has brought me in time and time again as one of their own. When the time came for me to move on from the Hood, I decided I wanted to R&R in town for a few weeks. It was naturally expected that I would stay with this amazing family.

Tracy and I looked through all 1,066 photos last night and narrowed it down to 294 (I over shot, I know…). This morning, I showed those 300 photos to her youngest. When we got to this photo, I asked him “what were you doing there?” His response made me double over in laughter. “I was trying to smile with my eyes!”

goof.