What to do, what to do

I've had a physical aversion to the internet since Trump's inaugeration and the image of the wealthy techies aligned behind him. Compounding this feeling of deep perturbation is a frustration over how slowly I think compared to the nonstop blasts of information. Try to separate the trivial and inciting from that which needs attention? Try to understand anything amid deluge of soundbites and opinion pieces? I can't think seem to think clearly or quickly enough to feel anything other than bewildered and befuddled.

I'm quite sure I don't have anything constructive or insightful to contribute about the state of affairs in our ridiculous country right now, but I'll continue to listen and think, for whatever that is worth. Meanwhile, because I'm no good at handwringing, I've tried to act and thought I'd post about that, if only to remind myself of the truth of the final lines of George Eliot's Middlemarch:

"for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs."

Act I, A SAR mission in Zuni, NM:

Zuni, NM is about 3 hours' drive from my place and as a result not many from our SAR team turned out for the search for the missing man. I was part of a four-person ground team covering various areas the man was known to frequent. A lot of it looked like this:

I said a number of times how glad I was this was winter, not summer, and that I didn't need to think about snakes.

I can't disclose too much about SAR missions, but I want to mention that this location was special in that I'd never been to the Zuni pueblo. The mission afforded a peek at the community and people. My experience: the Zuni are open, gentle, generous, and funny; I found both the police chief and the governor impressive leaders, humble, calm, clear, professional. I wish I could count them among my friends. And the family of the missing man brought in a huge lunch and supper spread for us which was generous and delicious (I ate way too much).

And then this little moment happened: our team was covering an area when our way was blocked by a fence and a small farm. A huge turkey watched us from the roof. Incident command told us to stay put, the local law enforcement rangers would come for us. Two pickups soon arrived and one of the rangers said, "Someone's gotta ride in the back."

I jumped in the bed and perched myself on the spare tire for the ride back to incident base, and I'm telling you, for that brief moment I was a 70s kid again, riding with my friend in the back of his dad's El Camino, taking the grass clippings out to the gravel pit. There, we'd shoot a .22 at some cans before the ride back to town. I can still smell the cut grass, the summer, the gravel dust. It was a different time, a less restrictive age, and that feeling returned in full force in the back of that ranger's pickup. What a feeling, what a gift.

Act II, salvage and repurpose:

The time has come to upgrade my hygiene (TMI?). I have a stock tank for cold plunging and sponge baths cover the rest, but sometimes a shower might be nice, eh? I think I'd get more visitors as well if this was an option. Stage one: hatch a plan. Stage two: gather materials.

I haul water and don't have a pump and pressure system, so while I have that roughed in plumbing, it's not a functioning system. Soon, perhaps. Meanwhile, what you see here is wood from salvaged, untreated pallets that will serve as the backing for either (a) galvanized sheeting or (b) a tadelakt-type experiment. Will see what whimsy dictates when the time comes (and what materials I can scavenge). Also, notice the "insulation" I'm using: this is merino wool offcut from a local company that makes designer wall treatments and acoustic barriers for corporations like Bank of America. Another great scavenge!

Act III, Scuba Diving:

Okay, not scuba diving so much as cashing in the coupon for a free car wash at the new Tidal Wave. The vehicle was moved along through all this water (okay, chemicals) and seaweed (okay, brushes), and it was all very relaxing and hypnotic. I can't believe a basic car wash costs $30, but the feeling of being in the ocean--or what I imagine that to feel like, since I've never been--was pretty neat.

Act IV, climbing:

I started the year by climbing Mt. Wheeler, NM's highest peak, and then doing some rock climbing, my first climbing outside a gym. Growing up in ND, I'm fairly late to the mountain climbing party, but thanks to the people I've met in SAR, mountains (and the climbing of them) has become a bigger part of my life. On the summit of Wheeler windspeeds were 60+mph so no peak photos, but I was grinning the whole time.

Act V, More Cibola Search and Rescue:

A lot of people from our team turned out to support the Sandia Snowshoe race on January 18. My personal goal as the WFR at Med Station #3 was to get as many of the racers to smile as possible, a mission I accomplished by pounding out AC/DC on a cowbell and roaring like a Viking.

The orange snowball of Cibola SAR volunteers after the snowshoe race.

Then, on January 24, I was one of the Cibola SAR members to participate in an all-night interagency SAR training on La Luz trail and surrounding canyons/trails. 21 people from four different agencies (ABQ PD, ABQ Mountain Rescue, Atalaya Mountain Rescue, and Cibola SAR) came out for the "fun." I just want to say that I'd be hard-pressed to find a better group of human beings and I'm exceedingly proud to serve alongside them.

Such have been the acts in the play of my life in this turbulent January. I doubt things on the larger stage are going to improve any (apologies to my optimistic friends) and I am mindful of the great suffering so many are enduring right now as these executive "acts" are acted upon. My own acts are small, hidden, unhistoric, but I also think it's important for all of us to act in ways faithful to values like kindness, caring, justice, for such acts do make a difference, that things might not be so ill as they might have been, for others, for us all.