Tag Archives: Slapshot

the dance.

31 Jul

“Trim.”

The whirl of the winch, the spin of the handle.

“Good.”

The sound of the waves rushing past, rapping the hull like a rhythmic drum verse; a pulse as we ride up the mountainous swell and surf down the other side, deep into its trough.

“Trim.”

Whoosh. Arms and hands a smear of gray as they spin around and around pulling in the ease on the sheet.

“Trim!”

“It’s me! I’m coming down, I’m coming down.”

A flap of the chute, a snap really, as it settles back into position. Full and bright. A parachute tugging its charge down a watery path.

“Trim.”

The early morning sun is starting to wake. She stretches her glittery rays up above her head tickling the high clouds and winking a soulful “good morning!” to the rolling waters of Lake Michigan.

The sailors pause a moment, faces angled to the east, embracing the golden warmth of the rays, drinking in the colors of the birth of a new morning.

A moment later, the chute, indignant that it be ignored in the face of a new day, signals its displeasure with a loud snap as it folds into itself.

Startled, the sailors return their attention to the roiling waters, the wind, the sway of their vessel.

“Trim.”

trim

winterspring/summer

25 Jun

A photo montage of life to date.

 

 

IMAG4909 1547933_10102406641992028_7080123173250864958_o 11148325_10102380061145258_7630543069608736727_n 11350538_10105195978469428_6563483739343756355_n IMAG5070 IMAG513111393239_10102384780083468_3635092641530995791_n 11427221_10102397686094718_4300506015271012068_n

IMAG5460IMG_20150522_104841

 

petrichor.

23 Jun

A soft breeze blows gently.

It caresses my hot skin as though it were silk, whispering through the quaking Aspens that stand sentinel off of my front porch. My skin erupts in a cascade of goose bumps as the cool air rushes to catch up with the heady barbecue smoke drifting from the grill next door.

Rain is coming.

Perhaps it will bring with it booming claps of thunder and bright shards of lightning, baring off of their clouds as though running from the rain itself.

Perhaps it will blow south to Breckenridge, or perhaps north to Steamboat, Lake Dillon and our Rocky Mountains doing their best to redirect the wind, the rain, the lighning, the thunder, and the clouds that are shrouding Red and Buffalo in a fog of a brooding Aegean blue.

I recently learned that the smell of the rain hitting the dry ground has a name, an identity of its own.

Petrichor.

Somehow, the word, Petrichor, takes away from the scent that punctuates so much of the summers of my childhood in the Midwest.

Summer has a mythical quality that, at least in my case, stems from childhood.

The excitement of long days on beach, the sand, dusty and hot, between my toes and the chilling waters of Lake Michigan making my feet, my hands, and my spine ache with cold.

The shrieks and cheers of summer nights spent playing “Kick the Can” with neighborhood kids of all ages, our own little block party situated in the midst of our neighbors’ bushes and trees, all within 50 steps of the can, itself situated in the middle of the street.

The chorus of halyards as the lines sing their song against the mast; the gentle rocking of the waves as the harbor softly recites a lullaby and lulls you off to sleep.

Ice cream, Chocolate Chocolate Chip, dripping down your cone, down your hand and up your arm; a secret salty, sweet smack as you discreetly lick the drip clean from your appendage.

Petrichor.

Though the word is bit scientific for me, the smell, the identity of the rain?

It means everything.

a glitzy girls weekend.

18 May

Guys, I am officially O.L.D.

I was in Chicago a week ago “sending Mer on her marry way” (aka Mercedes’s bachelorette extravaganza) and it has taken me exactly a week to feel like myself again.

A WEEK!

Last night I was in bed at 9:30pm and did not wake up until 8:00 this morning. Sorry to Ms. May as her legs were crossed by the time I finally lugged myself out of the cozy confines of my bed, but thanks for allowing me to catch up on some much need Zzzzz’s, I feel like a new woman!

Anyway, our girls weekend in the Windy City was everything a girls weekend should be, and more. Mer had no idea what was in store until the activities unfolded one by one and watching her eyes light up as we began each event was priceless. I have never been a fan of bachelorette parties (I know,I know, what chick doesn’t like all the glitz and glam associated with a “bride’s final fling”?) as they generally bring about the worst kind of nasties in the girls involved; someone always cries, someone else always gets too drunk and tosses her penis-shaped cookies, and there is always unnecessary drama when it comes to the planning. And while last weekend’s shindig consisted of lots of penis-shaped confetti, sparkles, champagne, and toasts to the bride-to-be, I was shocked to come to the realization that the entire weekend was A BLAST. There was no drama, we didn’t break the bank, Mer had the time of her life, and the amount of giggles heard throughout was endless.

Mer has a total of three bridesmaids. Myself (Mer’s bff from the mountains), Kait (Mer’s bff from middle school), and Sara (Mer’s bff from Purdue) and other than an endless string of emails churning back and forth between the three of us, the bridesmaids had never met before this weekend. The entire weekend consisted of the three of us showering the bride (as well as my fab parents who hosted us on Slapshot on Saturday, thanks mom and dad!) with our love and excitement for her future. And the cool thing was, even though we had all, with the exception of Mer, just met for the first time upon our arrival in the city, it felt like we had all known each forever by the time we went our separate ways on Sunday afternoon.

Here is the complete agenda, along with a couple of thoughts on the activities.

Friday

Lunch: Giordano’sin my mind the first place prize for the battle for the best pizza in the land will forever go to Giordano’s.

Dinner: Siena Taverndelicious food, flavors were well-developed and diverse, though not a bit overpowering. The four of us split the grilled octopus appetizer, the burata appetizer, the Carne Pizza, and the Roasted Carrot Tortellacci. We probably could have ordered an additional pasta, but because of our pizza lunch we were fine with the above. The only downside to me was that the staff was a bit uppity and seemed to think that the patrons should feel lucky to be eating at Siena Tavern. Being that three of the four of us also make a living in the service industry, I do not appreciate being made to feel as though I am putting the staff out by being asking them to serve me. 

Post-Dinner Activity #1: Drag Show at The BatonOMG. This was an absolute riot and the perfect way to set the stage for an easy-going girls weekend. Tickets were $17/person and Sara did all the legwork to order them in advance. There is a two drink minimum and they make the drinks strong, so be sure to order a water with your beverage! 

Post-Dinner Activity #2:  Howl at the Moon, live music and dancing?! Always a good way to end the night!

Saturday

Activity #1: Silks Class via TSNY, ChicagoI was a bit wary of this activity prior to our arrival as my upper-body strength is similar to that of a noodle, but I absolutely loved every minute of it. We learned four tricks and it was a great way to start the day, as you got a bit of exercise in, plus it made for great photo opps. If I still lived in Chicago, I would definitely sign up for additional classes. 

Activity #2: “BYOB Cruise” on Lake Michigan. Originally we had talked about booking a boat cruise out of Navy Pier, but when my dad offered to be our Captain aboard Slapshot, the girls and I happily jumped aboard. 

Dinner: Union Sushi + Barbeque Bar, loved the hip, yet casual vibe. Delicious rolls and snazzy drinks. We shared the Beef Filet, the Prosciutto-wrapped Scallop, the Cauliflower, and the Squid from the bbq bar and then ordered four sushi rolls. It was perfect, though I loved the beef filet and squid, so I probably could’ve ordered another of each 🙂

Activity #3: Bye, Bye Liveran improv drinking show that pokes fun at the bar/drinking culture in the city, complete with drinking games. Hilarious.

Sunday

Breakfast: Bub Citynot impressed. Found bones in my breakfast sandwich (Sausage, Egg, and Cheese Biscuit Sandwich), service was terrible. The bartender and our server seemed like they were completely disinterested in being at work and the bartender was sucking down her Starbucks like it was nobody’s business. Won’t be back, which is unfortunate because I had heard great things prior to my experience.

18812_10102320022967248_2013731012071550441_n

603743_10102318881714328_7326137069832158217_n

11258318_10102321376220318_7221842440123972505_o

perfection to a fault.

9 Feb

I struggle from this weird tick. A tick, that until the last year, I always thought was a secret tick; a tick that others couldn’t see and thereby, couldn’t judge me by.

Alas, it seems that my “secret” tick is not so secret these days.

That tick, this silly cause for unnecessary stress and disappointment, is known as perfectionism.

It never occurred to me that my friends, my colleagues and my bosses could smell it on me, the way a dog knows what you’ve had for lunch and can sense that you are afraid of him.

I always thought that I was sneaky enough that I could hide it behind a veil of a false sense of relaxed, laid back leadership; that things like missed sellouts, a dirty house, not even dirty…a lived-in house, and a bad hair day didn’t bother me.

But the truth is, they do.

A lot.

Instances such as dirty dishes left in the sink for two days, a “miss” at work that is merely a learning experience in most people’s eyes and burned pancakes are the sad causes of true “I feel shame” moments.

I always knew that I was particular about how I held myself in public and how others viewed me in the workplace, but it did not occur to me that I spent an inordinate amount of time ensuring that all outward facets of my life were “perfect”. I mean I know full-well that I am far from perfect, but I was under the jaded impression that others thought it was effortless.

Today, as part of an extended leadership training class through Vail, I received the results of a review that consisted of my peers, direct reports and members of upper-management scoring and commenting on my performance over the last six months.

All-in-all, after reading everyone’s comments I felt far more “warm fuzzies” than I expected towards most everyone that reviewed me; but it was brought to my attention that those that work with me on a daily basis, heck, even those that just work with me from afar, see right through my facade of perfectionism.

Comments such as “could take more risks”, “seems to be afraid of making a mistake” and “tends to get impatient when others don’t catch on quickly” punctuated the “opportunities” portion of my review. None of them necessarily negative, all of them perfectly constructive.

As I mulled over the comments, I began to link aspects of my personal life, the fun parts outside of work, to the thoughts of my colleagues. I was impatient because someone wasn’t completing a task in the time I had allotted them in my head and I am a bit skittish towards taking business risks because I don’t want to make a mistake that might disappoint those that look up to me and those that I look up to.

I began to realize that the people I work with know me far better than I knew myself. That they saw the far-from-perfect Me and were rooting for that Me to succeed and be the best Me I could be.

It was the perfect revelation. A perfect way to focus on bettering myself at work and at play. And starting tomorrow, I am making it my mission to let down that facade and give way to the imperfections that punctuate life and all its twists and turns.

Cheers to messy hair, dirty houses, brown shoes and a black belt and mistakes that I can and will learn from!

on the cusp.

15 Aug
The wind blows through my sun-drenched hair, tickling my scalp and sending chills spidering down my spine. 
 
Unlike the hot summer wind, full of water and the chirps of birds, this wind is crisp, cool. Full of the heady scents of grass and dirt and leaves. 
 
I shiver, thankful for the oversized Slapshot sweatshirt and black leggings that have become my after work, before bed, uniform as of late. 
 
The wind blows again, sending the freshly fallen leaves swirling around me as though I was stuck in a snow globe, and I am transported back in time. 
 
Back to high school as I dash down the turf, skirt flying and sticks clashing, at a field hockey game against Lake Forest, our biggest rival.
 
Cool evening walks to The Noodle, under a canopy of leaves tinged with the briefest hint of yellow.
 
Reclined and wrapped up in a blanket watching the city lights twinkle and sway to the motion of the boat as the last fireworks of the season thunder and sparkle off of Navy Pier.
 
Bobbing for apples, carving pumpkins and drinking spiced rum and hot apple cider at “Fall fest” with the people that shaped my adult life.
 
And Saturday morning marathon training runs on the lake with the strongest girl I’ve ever known, the dreamsicle orange sunrise illuminating the skyscrapers so they mimic the yellows and ruby reds of the oak leaves.
  
And for a second I’m there.
 
Home. 
 
Chicago.
 
Fall. 
 
fall

chicago yacht club race to mackinac.

19 Jul

It’s not often that I feel homesick for the Windy City.

I am very lucky to live in an outdoors(wo)man’s paradise; in a little apartment nestled in a lush green valley, that’s cradled by tremendous 12 and 13,000 foot peaks. Heck, my humble abode even boasts a bubbling creek in the backyard and I often eat breakfast on my deck with the hummingbirds, as they zip in for a taste of the sweet nectar in my cheery red hummingbird feeder. On my “weekends”, I hike 14ers, hang out at the lake, and venture through the woods for a glimpse at the wonders of Summit County’s mammoth rock walls and brightly colored wildflowers.

But this particular week always pulls at my heartstrings and makes this homegrown midwesterner second guess her decision to move away from the great city of Chicago. You see, it’s Mac Week. The start of the Chicago Yacht Club’s Race to Mackinac, a 333 mile (289.4 nautical miles) regatta starting at the Chicago Yacht Club and finishing in the confluence of Lake Michigan and Lake Huron off of Mackinac Island, Michigan.

For freshwater sailors, the Mac Race is the pinnacle of their year. Crews spend the majority of the spring and early summer training for this 333 mile dash up through the deep blue waters of Lake Michigan. A dash that can be as quick as 24 hours and take as long as 80.

In our family, the legacy of the Mac Race began with my Dad, well actually with Blair Vedder. An avid sailor, Blair taught my dad to live and breathe the ever-changing winds of Lake Michigan, to be enamored by the cold fronts and summer storms that roll in off of the temperamental lake, and how to read the sails and the rocking and rolling of a hull like the fluidity and rhythm of his own body.

The Mac is a test of patience, a challenge of the wits, and the best adventure a boat lover can experience. The race is highlighted by moments of adrenaline fueled drives to survive; where the excitement that’s pumping through your veins is all that’s keeping you alert and moving lightening quick on a deck that’s pitching and bucking like a bronco stung by a bee. There are other moments (sometimes days) of extreme quiet where you crave a bit of movement in the air. Just enough to see the speedometer reach 0.01 knots and if you hit 1.00 knots, a round of cheers ring through the quiet air from your fellow crew members and the boats drifting around you. The race is punctuated by the scent of pines trees wafting through the air as you make your way down the Straits, the feeling of elation as you cross under the Mac Bridge, breakfast with the sunrise, and dinner with the sunset.

Sailing and boats have been part of my life since I was just a few weeks old. I’ve spent nearly every summer enjoying the cool spray of Lake Michigan on my sun-warmed skin. I’ve fallen asleep to the soothing rocking of Slapshot as she settled comfortably into the deep waters of Lake Michigan with her shrouds singing a calming lullaby as they rang against the mast. And I’ve completed the Mac Race three times. And while I love the cool summer air and scent of the Earth as I hike through Mother Nature’s masterpiece, my summers on Lake Michigan are never far from my heart.

Fair seas and following winds to all the 2014 Mac racers out there. To the crew of Slapshot, I have a brown drink on order for your finish.

Track Slapshot’s progress here! Boat name Slapshot 124

mac 14

The Shameful Sheep

shit storms, shame, and stories that make you cringe

wellfesto

hacking health, designing life

Where's my backpack?

Romancing the planet; a love affair with travel.

Jeep Accessories

Latest Jeep News

denverspeax

The low down on what's good in Denver, CO.

The City Girl's Guide to the Wild West

Taking Summit County one ski hill at a time!

Swanning Around

[Verb] swan·ning - to wander around aimlessly in search of pleasure

Peaks and Passports

Chronicling my adventures in the Vail Valley and beyond...

oahuhiking

Oahu hikes

The Neighborhood

Society online's creative conscious.

Myblog's Blog

A topnotch WordPress.com site

Girly Camping®

It's Not Just For Boys...

A lifetime's exploration

A photo-diary of my travels and top tips for each location