The Glowing Edge

Category: Family

  • Hiking the Blue Ridge Parkway

    Hiking the Blue Ridge Parkway

    The Blue Ridge Parkway is 469 miles of gorgeous mountain driving and hiking that stretches from the Cherokee Indian Reservation in western North Carolina all the way up to the Shenandoah National Park and Skyline Drive in Virginia.

    Five years ago my husband and I started hiking the spectacular, sometimes challenging and always beautiful trails that line the BRP in North Carolina, and we fell in love with it so much that we’ve actually decided to move there in the next few years.

    How we do it…

    We haven’t tried primitive camping yet. We usually tent camp in a campground somewhere along the Parkway, then drive out to wherever we’re section hiking each day. We typically hit the road by 10 am every morning, and return around 5 or 6 pm. We’re not obsessive about stitching together every section (usually), although we sometimes want to do a particular stretch and we’ll work pretty hard to link the parts. I’ll get more into how we do that down below.

    Our campsite this year at Mount Pisgah
    Our campsite this year at Mount Pisgah

    We’ve learned a few lessons in our five newbie BRP hiking/camping years, and if you’re new to it too, maybe some of the things below will inspire you to go ahead and get yourself out there. A whole lotta incredible (and more than one unexpected adventure) is waiting.

    If you’re interested in the actual hikes we did this year, scroll on down.

    Meanwhile, here’s more additional info than you could possibly ever need… (more…)

  • How Ah Became a Movie Stah

    How Ah Became a Movie Stah

    Marilyn, move your (admittedly gorgeous) ass over. Some of the rest of us wanna play, too.

    Y’all, I had my first “real” author photos shot recently, and I’m feeling the need to step outside in my flowy white dress and find a street vent to stand over. But only if Jessica Arden Blakely is there to pose, light, and capture the photos. That woman is a photographic magician-genius, and I hereby proclaim myself her Number One Fan. Only not in a creepy Annie Wilkes way, you know.

    I emphatically do not love the camera. Oh, I fake it, that’s pretty much required, but I don’t love it. I barely tolerate it, and that’s only because I do love having a visual journal of the amazing life I’ve been privileged to be a part of. But whenever I see myself in photos, I’m like, ugh. Me. Sigh.

    For this particular photo shoot I had decided to… dum, dum, dummm: wear makeup. Another weird cultural practice I’m not familiar with. I mean, I have some — after all it comes in the most clever and curious packages! — but I rarely use it. I’m a “blush is enough” (and only on date night) (assuming I remember) kind of gal. I love makeup, just never learned to use it.

    And of course, I work from home; I don’t know which “smokey eye palette” goes with “no pants.”

    Lisa-11 sm
    The nerd glasses make me smarter.

    But for this shoot, I did it. It was a two-prong offensive (can we use fight metaphors? Because I find that helps.). First I asked my stunning co-author Sonja Foust — who had just had her own portraits shot by Jessica (they’re awesome), and her makeup looked fab. In fact, it regularly looks fab on her video channel.

    So first, she sent me some self-help YouTube links to review (this one, this one, and this one) and second, she told me to go get a makeover.

    After I carefully studied her links, my first reaction was: zOMG do I get to wear false eyelashes? Like, I had visions of Katy Perry and Jennifer Lopez (not Kim Kardashian; hers looks like Mr. Snuffleupagus’s), and yo, they come in colors, don’t they? This could be fun. Except for the excruciating pain of repeatedly poking myself in the eye and the high probability of super-glueing my eyelids shut. But hey.

    Sonja nixed the falsies.

    The makeover, however, she encouraged. So despite my terror of ending up looking like Cyndi Lauper in the 80s, I went to Ulta and sat myself bravely in The Dreaded Makeover Chair. And after some very polite questions — “Do you actually want your eyebrows that shape?” — I got waxed, primed, and wholly beautified. And spent a fortune, bitches; damn that shit’s expensive. But, all thanks be to Liza Minelli (I’m SO fixated on the eyelashes!) and Joan Collins (see what I mean?), it was worth it.

    I mean, I went home immediately and washed every smidgen of it off. The newly-waxed eyebrow shape remained, of course. But then I carefully re-did it all, in my own version. And it was… okay! In fact, I kinda…sorta… Yep, I definitely liked it.

    So after a paranoid Skype with Jessica, who would be photographing me IN MAKEUP, I was down to figuring out wardrobe. This was to be a real live photo session, y’all, not just some kinda snapshot one-off and done.

    So I chose my “wardrobe.” And what can I say; black does it for me. Actually, gray does it for me too. Would you believe I actually own 9 plain black shirts (and 7 gray ones)? Most of them are identical. But c’mon, I’m not a total fashion loss — I have a sparkly tank top that’s sort of…gray and black. With little bits of um, some other color, I forget which.

    Lisa-21-300
    Me in the sparkly tank at the abandoned warehouse.

    Black shirt and jeans, check.

    Black and gray and something tank, check.

    When Jessica got to my house (dawg, she comes to your freakin’ house) — which I had frantically vacuumed — she calmly approved my “wardrobe” and started looking around and nodding. She told me the house would work great, there were several spots to shoot in, and we were off and running.

    I’m sure she took photos of my dumbass “pose for the camera” smile, but she also repeatedly helped me to relax, and took photos when I wasn’t freaking out, and cracked jokes, and promised me everything was looking fabulous. She told me how to sit, where to stand, when to look where, and get this…

    We even drove up the street to the abandoned salvage store and shot a few photos there. Kewl, no?

    The whole thing took just over an hour and a week later I received a link with 25 amazing portraits. I barely recognize myself. And I’m thrilled. Now I have shots for my books, my websites and client work, my LinkedIn, and all the fun places I want to put a bio picture, too. I feel so totally legit.

    Need portraits?

    Want a zillion self-esteem points?

    Call Jessica Arden Blakely.

  • The Maker: Where I’m From

    The Maker: Where I’m From

    This poem made my eyes fill with tears when the Maker read it to me. Maybe because he’s the youngest, maybe because there were so many unexpected insights offered, line after line. I can’t decide whether it’s very twelve (years old) and boy (so much food!), or entirely, surprisingly, out of the boundaries of that sort of reckoning.

    Whatever it is, I find it rare and beautiful…

    Recaptured below with original spelling intact:

    Where I’m From

    I am from rich coffie, from

    busted paintballs to sizzling

    bacon. I am from calm scent to

    blasted remixes. I am from the

    faint russtle of leaves to the loud

    obnoxious alarm of five o-clock.

    I am from my bright red

    guitar, from soft flannel P.J.’s.

    I’m from juicy grapefruit to

    crispy bacon, from dry lips in

    the morning. I’m from crunchy,

    sweet, and yummy. Dark to light,

    bland to rich. I’m from down

    at the rock, from heartless school

    desks, to campfire chats.

    I am me.

  • DIY Ninja T-Shirt Headwrap (and Other Ninja Secrets)

    DIY Ninja T-Shirt Headwrap (and Other Ninja Secrets)

    The Maker is here to give you all the ninja secrets you need.

    I remember shooting this a couple of months ago, and being once again surprised at the stuff this boy keeps inside his head. I know, I know, YouTube. Still, for an 11-year-old dude, he impresses me.

    So. Click “play” and learn to make your silent secret ninja tee-shirt headwrap.

    And because the new video made me think of another he did, I’ve re-posted that one too, so that you can  find out how to do a ninja bow (both with and without a sword.

    But more importantly, you will uncover super secret hidden knowledge about any ninja fight you might find yourself in. Because unlike with normal people, there’s no ring, ropes, or bells. (Notice how I just made myself “normal”? That felt pretty awesome.)

    In fact, it’s terribly important that you watch the second video through to the end. Otherwise you could have your ignorant ninja head chopped off.

    I think.

    Maker-Ninja knows all. If you have ninja questions, please post them and I’ll implore him to reveal more of his hidden ninja secret knowledge.

    Image by thedalogs on Flickr

  • DJ Stepz

    DJ Stepz

    I was only vaguely aware of the rave scene in the late 90’s.

    I knew it involved secret parties in abandoned or unused warehouse spaces, basements, and condemned buildings. Invitations were spread via word of mouth on the day of the event, and by that evening a crowd converged to rig lights, steal electricity, and cart in amps and consoles for DJs who would play electronic dance/trance music into the morning hours, so long as the cops didn’t find them.

    These clandestine events were heavily associated with club drugs like ecstasy, dancers wearing and using pacifiers (to assuage the need to bite, often experienced by ecstasy users), and lots of black lights and glow sticks. Raves got a fair amount of bad press for good reasons.

    The music seemed to have arisen out of the disco, new wave, and punk rock roots of the 80s — Depeche Mode, Kraftwerk, and The Human League, for example. But the sounds were evolving toward pure electronic mixes — think Daft Punk now — designed exclusively for dancing, rather than singing.

    And while all of that may have helped give rise to the electronic dance music trends and DJ stars (like Moby) of this decade, raves have most definitely changed.

    EDM has fractured into a wealth of interesting styles: Techno, House, Trance, Electro, Hardstyle, and Dubstep, just to name a few. The electronic technology has exploded, and sometimes the draw is just to be able to watch the DJ stitch together a dance mix on the fly in the club.

    There are of course monster concerts, with artists like Deadmaus (video below) who rule the arena circuit, playing from behind tables filled with mixers, computer monitors, and hundreds of cables.

    But EDM parties and raves have also become smaller, more intimate, and frequently connected to a favorite local DJ who is creating custom mixes both in advance and on the fly during parties. There are lots of venues that cater to the under-21 crowd, and are both drug- and alcohol-free.

    Here in NC, I’ve been increasingly aware of the EDM movement because my oldest son — whom I call The First — is making his name known as DJ Stepz.

    DJ Stepz getting ready for his gig at the Brewery

    He’s 16 years old, and he’s a dubstep DJ. He spends lots money from his summer job on tech, and hours up in his room building mixes and posting them to Soundcloud or Beatport, and linking them to his Facebook page for others to enjoy and remix.

    He’s had several gigs now, and has started putting together shows with other bands and DJs.

    It started because he naturally gravitated toward the job of creating the playlists and running sound for the Friday night youth group events at our church, but he quickly realized he could do more than just build playlists for parties.

    He downloaded some free remixing software, and taught himself to create mixes even before he had a controller. After some careful research, he invested in a Numark Mixtrack and posted his first mixes online. He started hitting up his dad and other musician friends (techhounds, all) for cables, amps, lights, speakers, and other equipment, and pretty soon he had a basic setup.

    He played the International Festival at his school, then played a set at The Brewery with some other DJ friends. Most recently he helped create and run a six-band/artist event (he had a set, of course) called Project Noize, which was probably the best-attended show he’s done so far.

    Stepz working the crowd at the Brewery

    Each time he agonizes over the mistakes and relentlessly makes plans for a bigger, better show next time. During his set at Project Noize, his power went out twice, not because of a breaker overload, but because of the configuration of his equipment (a not infrequent issue with EDM in general). He tracked down the problems, fixed them, and finished his set. I doubt he’ll have a similar problem next time.

    When I asked him what the most annoying thing about performing was, he was quick to tell me about carting gear, arranging power, and configuring the sound system. But his friends and fans build him up, he says. He likes it when they enjoy his sets. He also loves meeting other local and semi-local DJs at places like Southland Ballroom and Lincoln Theatre. (That’s me, btw, on the bottom right of the front page of the Lincoln Theatre website — weird seeing it every time I click over.)

    But more than anything, he likes it when someone hears his mixes and comes up to him to tell him that they would like to DJ, too. “And I try to tell them some of the things I wish I had known,” he says.

    Give it up for DJ Stepz! Go give him a “like” on his Facebook page. He’s an incredible guy.

    I could probably get you his autograph.

    Stepz at Project Noize
  • Lessons from a Tent-Camping Newbie

    Lessons from a Tent-Camping Newbie

    About ten years ago (more?) my husband got a Coleman 7 x 12 tent for free, in some kind of “be healthy” contest. He took the boys on an overnight to a nearby lake one year, then the tent sat in our garage, waiting.

    So we decided to tent camp in the NC mountains last week, you know, since… we have a tent! And the two younger boys were going to be in summer camp for a week. Plus we figured it was cheap. And hey, we’re cheap! Match, match.

    And that’s pretty much where we began. We had a tent. No other camping experience or gear.

    I told a friend, who politely suggested we’d need more than just a tent for a week in the mountains, so I stopped by his house and picked up a Coleman stove and a giant bin of miscellaneous camping stuff (Thank you, Bazers). I put those in the car, bought an air mattress and some pre-packaged foods we never normally buy (yay for Jello cups! yay for Vienna Sausages!) and we headed out, armed, ignorant, and dangerous. Just like that.

    We camped all week at Hanging Rock State Park near Danbury, NC. Any park with three mountain tops and five waterfalls within hiking distance is awesome in my book. And regarding tent camping, here’s what we learned.

    1. Never camp near a bath house.

    We were there 5 minutes when we realized that everyone — and by this we mean crazy people from the deep south, camping with their six kids, all of whom converse normally at the top of their lungs (i.e., “Edgar, whar’s mah beeel-fold? Did yew touch mah beeel-fold? Cause I don’t wont yew touchin’ my beeel-fold! That’s what’s got mah cache innit and I don’t wont yew messin’ around with MAH MUH-NEY! EDGAR! ARE YEW LISTENIN’ TAH ME??) — is camped near the bath house.

    It only cost us $10 to switch to a campsite a quarter mile from the bath house, out of sight, and more importantly, out of earshot, of any other campers. Best $10 we spent on our entire camping vacation.

    2. Bears make camping more work.

    In NC we have bears. You can’t leave anything with a scent (including toiletries, canned items, etc.) out on tables or in your tent, ever. So we faithfully packed our stuff away in the car after every single meal, dumped our dishwater far from our site, put our trash in the bear-proof bins, and worried about spitting our toothpaste in the woods. And we slept fitfully the first night, waiting for ursine judgement day.

    3. Food eaten on the trail is the greatest food you can ever eat.

    We hiked every trail at the state park, some of them twice. On the first day we climbed up to the first mountaintop near us (see picture above), popped open a can of Vienna Sausages and ate as if starved, gazing off the edge of the world. I had no idea Vienna Sausages on saltines were so ambrosial. Jesus must love these things. But then we ate cheese sticks and applesauce on top of another ridge, and had peanut-butter roll-ups on top of another mountain, and I realized it all tasted so good because we were so ravenously hungry.

    On our last night camping we drove into town, bought a bag of ice and two ice-cream bars, buried the ice cream in the bag of ice, and hiked (quickly) a mile out in the steamy dark to a quiet little spot by a stream on the Mountains to Sea trail we’d found earlier in the day. We spread out a blanket, turned off our lantern, unearthed our ice cream bars, and ate them under the stars. It was ridiculous and romantic, and the ice cream was too soft and drippy and it was wonderful.

    4. Hiking in a downpour can still be a great hike.

    We were brave, we were intrepid, and I wasn’t about to let a summer storm keep me off the trail. We donned our silly garbage-bag ponchos and took on a serious mountain trek up a rocky, boulder-strewn trail to a beautiful ridge-top. It was like hiking in the middle of a rushing creek-bed; we couldn’t get out of the stream that was our path because the underbrush was so incredibly dense, so we just said hell with it and forged ahead. It was hot out and there was no danger of hypothermia, we were soaked but had good thick wool socks and sturdy boots, and there was FOOD (and water, of course) in my backpack.

    Just as we made the top, the rain quit. We stepped out on this huge rocky outcropping and gazed down into a freshly-drenched valley; the sun came out and we felt like we were in on some great miracle of nature.

    Lance was standing on the edge looking down when I happened to see a freak fork of lightning arrow down about a hundred yards behind us, and a giant clap of thunder made us both hit the deck, terrified. Once our hearts began beating again, we shared our trail food and felt incredibly, hysterically, gratefully alive. Then the cloud cover moved back in and the rain started up and we descended, but we had our time at the top. Perfect timing, if you ask me.

    5. It’s nice to be able to drive into town and get dry.

    It rained our first two days. Our old, free tent leaked. Our very good hiking boots and wool socks were soaked. Everything smelled a bit funky. On day three (which was sunny and steamy-hot) we decided to drive down the mountain and find a coin-operated laundromat. Fortunately for us, there was one only 25 minutes away, and — bonus! — it was air-conditioned! Armed with quarters, we stuffed all our clothes, bedding, and even our hiking boots in an industrial-sized dryer, bought an icy-cold Diet Pepsi out of the vending machine, and sat staring into the dryer window at our clothes spinning, mesmerized. We drove back and we were back in camping business, easy as that. Ain’t civilization wunnerful?

    6. There are some weird shops in small southern towns.

    Our coin-op laundromat was next door to a tobacco-slash-candle shop, no lie. But my personal favorite was the combination bra store and haircut salon. Do you suppose a lot of guys get their hair cut there while their wives, um, browse?

    7. Drinking water makes all the difference.

    While I’m new at camping, I’m not new to hiking. Over the years I’ve figured out that one of the most important factors in having an excellent hike is carrying enough water with you. Last year we didn’t summit at a mountain we traveled to because we got lost and didn’t have enough water to make it up to the top once we found our path again.

    Getting lost on a hike is normal; trail maps and trail signage is never perfect. If you are going on a complicated, half-day or all-day hike, you should allow time for accidental (or intentional) side trips. And that means having plenty of water.

    For our longest hike of the week (about 5 or 6 hours, very strenuous) we carried two liters of water each, and it made all the difference. For this mountain, we tried to make sure we reached the top with half our water remaining, and even though we got lost early on, and the climb up was significantly longer than the trail down, we stayed well-hydrated and felt strong the entire way because we had enough water. Well, and we also had those marvelous little Vienna Sausages, heh.

    8. People camp with televisions??

    Well, smack us on the head. One morning I was hiking up to the bath house and passed a tent-camping couple seated happily in front of a blaring television. I assume it was running off a monstrous battery pack.

    I can’t imagine this conversation happening in my family:

    Me: Honey, we have to hurry down the mountain! It’s almost time for Glee!

    Husband: Oh snap! I forgot to pack the 28-inch flat panel!

    On one of the simpler trails we passed a woman about my age, hiking with her dog and playing a transistor radio. I just don’t get it. If you do, please leave me a comment and explain. Or maybe I just don’t want to know.

    9. We wished we had brought…

    • Bags. Grocery bags, garbage bags, ziplock bags, any kind of bag that would help us organize stuff. We had two or three, but it wasn’t nearly enough.
    • Clothespins. For hanging out wet stuff.
    • A good knife. I had a tiny pocketknife (thanks, Dad) and a machete (in the Bazer’s bin), but what I really needed was a good, sharp 8-inch knife. For cooking, for cutting rope, etc.
    • Butter. Yep, we didn’t think of butter. Which was a real shame, because we brought our favorite, loaded-with-nuts-and-seeds, ridiculously expensive, phenomenally healthy bread. Which was not nearly as good without butter. I bet the people with the television had butter. And a microwave to melt it in.

    10. We were SO glad we had…

    Other than the stuff we knew to take like good hiking boots and socks, I was thrilled I had bought that air mattress. I don’t think I’ll ever volunteer to sleep on the bare earth again. Also:

    • Tent patching stuff. We patched the hell outta our tent. Who knew there were so many teeny — and some not so teeny — holes where water could drip in?
    • Bandannas. Mom handed me two of them before we left (they belong to her dog, I’m not kidding) and I was amazed at how many times I used them. They were our washcloths, our food covers, our towels, our napkins, our sunshades, our mud wiper-offers. I tied stuff up in them, swatted bugs with them, and carried them everywhere I went. They dry really quickly. Indispensable.
    • Vienna Sausages. But I think I said that already. I’m terrified to buy a can of them now that we’re home. What if they’re really awful? No, I think Vienna Sausages should be saved for mountaintop experiences only.

    A most excellent week. I’m already planning my next one.

    Top picture: the view from Hanging Rock, where we ate our Vienna Sausages. Image by jarnocan on Flickr.

  • The Maker on Stilts

    The Maker on Stilts

    Summer’s here and The Maker, nearly eleven, has an entire raft of projects underway.

    Recently he disappeared for most of an afternoon and came home walking on these fantastic stilts that he made with his grandpa.

    Me: Dude! Those are awesome!

    TM: Thanks.

    Me: How long did it take you to learn to walk on them?

    TM: Three or four tries.

    Me: How tall are they?

    TM: The brace is eighteen inches.

    Me: So what do you plan to do on them??

    TM: Probably get past the creek to places I haven’t been.

    Me: Oh. (thinking for a moment) Where haven’t you been?

    TM: Past the creek.

    Me: Well, right. Of course. So you can wade across the creek on those things?

    TM: Sure.

    Me: Can you go up stairs?

    TM: Yup.

    Me: What can’t you do on your stilts?

    TM: Kick a soccer ball. And I can’t do “no hands” but I can do “one hand.” I hold one stilt in my hand and the other in my elbow pit.

    Me: Do you think girls will like your new stilts?

    TM: (uninterested) Sure.

    Naturally I commandeered the new stilts for my own turn. None of the boys believed I would get up on the first try, but they didn’t know I had spent half my growing up years on stilts.

    Stilts!

  • He Likes Pie!

    He Likes Pie!

    It’s possible this was written as a rap.

    Whatever it is, I found it folded up and drifting around my kitchen, as I find many odd bits of flotsam and jetsam in this house.

    I read it out loud, and found myself giggling. I particularly enjoyed the garbeldy-gook at the end. The Maker is ineffable, buoyant, inexplicable. Oh, and he likes pie; don’t try to convince him otherwise.

    Here’s the translation, as it’s hard to read in the photo:

    Hi, my name is Seth and I like pie, So you can’t

    deny it so just stop trying to make me not like pie

    because it is impossible for me to not like pie

    cause pie is my life

    blebertiedo?

    hipapotamonstrositybiltacilatantovela

    I located further evidence of the claim in the driveway. In case there were any doubt.

  • More Violent Toy Inventions by the Maker

    More Violent Toy Inventions by the Maker

    Stuff like this floats around my house all the time.

    I’ll be cleaning out the cat box and see a corner of lime-green paper behind the washing machine. Voila, I learn how to make my own Smoke Bomb. (I keep waiting to find secret love notes to girls, but so far none of those have appeared.)

    In case you can’t read it on the photos, I’ll transcribe these two gems for you. Btw, be sure to note the safety directions on the Battery Bomb. (???!!)

    Battery Bomb

    take a Battery and a clothespin and you clip the clothepin to the Battery then throe it doun. (do only on Grass)

    Smoke Bomb

    Get a sheet of Paper and scrible chalk on it and Ball it up. Once you step on it it egnites.