Gillian Goes to Peru

We watched as she dismantled her room, packed one big backpack, filled out applications for universities, and said good-bye to friends,family and home.

We hugged her and then watched as she went through airport procedure and headed towards duty free, customs and beyond.

We walked away hand in hand, imagining life in Hope without Gillian.

Then we worried all the next day until we heard from her that she had arrived in Huancayo Peru.

Now we check her blog so that we can picture her in her new place, her new life, her new adventure.

Check it out gilliankehler.blogspot.com. She paints a unique picture with her words

Surreal

I had the pleasure of hiking the Needle at night on Nov 10 with 14 others. It was a spiritual experience.

Half the group was 20 min ahead of our group. At one point I got in front of our group of six and hoofed it so that I could be alone. I knew there was a group ahead and a group behind so I felt safe enough to hike on my own. The moon peeked out from the clouds occasionally. I didn't need a head lamp because of the snow cover.
My thoughts were only in the moment. I was breathing in the air, the contentment, the cold, the warmth, the headiness of the whole experience. I was alone in the wilderness for the first time in a long time. It was night and I was becoming intimate with this trail once again. I loved the feel of the wind buffetting against me, the roots tripping me up, the feel of muscles working hard. I gloried in the spectacular view in the half light. I used all my senses all at once. I lived those moments to the fullest. I felt so alive, so vibrant, so full of myself, so full of the scene in which I was placed, so insignificant, a small part of an infinite whole, so centred.

Later, when we were all together plodding single file on the ridge with the blizzard hurling snow in our faces, I went into a zone, a pace, a meditation-like place. It was surreal

Storytelling

Does the telling of a story water down the truth each time you tell it or does the truth become more concentrated? With each telling, does the story become more a part of you? Is the telling as important to the listener as to the storyteller and does it matter?

I tell stories all the time. I talk about what my children are doing all over the world right now. I tell the stories over and over. I tell friends about the joys and the sorrows. Of course in the telling, my own biases, joys, sorrows, and experiences flavour the original text. My love or dislike for the characters and happenings in these stories, change the composition. Maybe I should let my children tell their own stories and just shut up already.

angelakehler.blogspot.com and jkbotswana.blogspot.com. Gillian's blogspot, opening soon from Peru.

A few thoughts:

Facebook- relative, wide-spread intimacy is so easy, does it cheapen it?

Blogging- egotistic or healthy creative outlet and are these mutually exclusive?

This Mother's pride and joy- Are my friends tired of hearing about my wonderful children? Are my children going to stop telling me their stories because I tell others?(I hope they know that I don't tell their secrets)

Context, Plot, Characters, Setting- maybe I should find more material from my own life.

All of the above thoughts came after reading Jessica's most recent post on her blog. I wrote to her and what I told her among other things was that the telling of the stories is essential, that in the telling you change yourself. What I didn't mention is that in the telling you change the story.