Did I mention I don't like heights?

Standing on top of the world’s highest suspension bridge, I suddenly realized I was scared of heights. At 1,053 feet above the Royal Gorge, I could see the Arkansas river flowing under me through the cracks in the wood planks. The old boards creaked a little too much for my liking, and I began picturing the scene from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom where Thuggee cult members fall to their deaths after Dr. Jones compromises the structural integrity of the bridge.

Your all probably wondering how I got into this situation. Tyler and I were sitting at Gohan-Ya, which is the Asian noodle place by our house, and decided we should get out of town for our weekend. After lunch, I packed and he found a place for us to visit. We took off for Cañon City soon after.

When we arrived, we had dinner at small french restaurant called Le Petit Chablis. It was in an old house, and the menu was written on a chalkboard because it changed everyday. The Chef Daniel Petit (who was from Chablis) came out and explained the menu to us. We had a wonderful meal, and were ready to conquer any adventures awaiting us the next day.

Or so I thought.

In the morning we drove to the Royal Gorge Bridge and Park to check out the scenic wonder. After debating the price of admission, we paid the old park ranger and went on in. It was shortly after this that I decided I didn’t want to walk any further across the bridge, and insisted Tyler go on without me.

At first he thought I was joking, probably because it was April Fool’s Day and all — but then he saw the look of panic spreading across my face.

“Come on, you’ll be a stronger person for doing this,” he said.

Like a good husband, he held my hand the whole time we were on the bridge — even though my palm was as sweaty as a seventh grader on a first date.

After letting my heart rate return to normal, we took the incline railway to the bottom of the gorge to look up at the bridge. I appreciated this view a lot more, probably because I had time to check things out without an overwhelming knot in my stomach.

But more importantly, we had an Amish sighting! There were three families altogether, and Tyler and I wondered how they got there. We didn’t pass any horse and buggies on the way to the park, or see any in the parking lot.

Upon further investigation, I found that the Amish do travel by bus, train or vans driven by others to go on vacation. They use cars, but do not own them, because that would disrupt their social structure. Since only wealthy individuals could afford a car, it would bring inequality to their community.

We then left the park, and meandered our way back up to Vail, stopping in Salida for lunch. We found an awesome pizza place and brewery called Amicas. We will definitely be stopping there again to fill up our growlers and grab some grub.

Another Grandma shout-out

Since I can't be at my Grandma's service today, here's the eulogy I wrote for the pastor to read. Dad put me in charge of writing it on behalf of the family:

Throughout Mary's life, she evolved into each new phase with enthusiasm. From her childhood days in Egypt, going to college in Ohio, becoming a mother, and finally moving to Alaska with her husband Jim and their children. She continued to change with life because she loved being a part of it, and her family's lives. When Mary's daughter Carol was young, and she tried to help her daughter zip up her coat, Carol would stop her and say "my do myself."

That became Mary's mantra.

She jumped into grandmotherhood with all her "my do myself" zeal. Lending her helpful hand as her grandchildren's babysitter. In her rookie year she took her granddaughter Sara to watch Carol compete in a triathlon in Wasilla. While making a quick trip to the car to restock on toys and diapers, Mary had given Sara the car keys to play with. After she set her grandchild down in the car seat, she shut the car door for just a moment. When she went to open the door again, she discovered she accidentally locked the car, and Sara still had the keys in her hands — smiling and giggling with her new toy. Mary quickly went into a building to call a locksmith, and when she returned to the car, the smiling baby now had started screaming and crying. To cheer up her granddaughter until the locksmith arrived, Mary danced and sang like a "batty old woman" in the parking lot to make her Sara happy.

She embraced her battiness by following her grandchildren through all their make-believe adventures. If they needed to travel like Fivel to America, she'd ready the sails; if Pinocchio needed to escape from Pleasure Island, she helped map the way out. When plans were being made for a treehouse, Mary wanted to make sure she could climb up to the tree tops too. Rick had to take over the treehouse blueprints in order to ensure the structures integrity.

For a short while, Mary lived in Anchor Point at Rick and Sharon's home. In order for Sharon to complete her teaching certification, she needed to finish her last semester in Anchorage. So Mary came to help Rick with the kids, packing their lunches and sending the young ones off to school in the morning. She'd walk down to the bus stop to greet Sara and Zack in the afternoon, and then they'd wander home and cook dinner together. One night, Zack tried to help clean up by putting ketchup — his favorite condiment — back in the fridge. A 6-year-old boy can only pay so much attention to detail, so a precariously balanced Heinz ketchup can look the same as a well-placed bottle. Mary went to put the rest of the leftovers away, but found a falling condiment container instead. The ketchup explosion became legendary with her grandchildren — some tales told of a the whole kitchen being painted red that evening. After Sharon returned home, and was doing a little spring cleaning, she even found ketchup splatter on top of the kitchen cupboards.

Mary always made sure her family felt welcome in her home. Pop-ins were not just welcomed, but encouraged. Zack would stop in after basketball practice with a gallon of milk and a box of cereal, then fill up a bowl and start chatting about his day. If she wasn't there, he'd eat and leave the bowl in the sink to let her know he stopped by. When Carol would come for a visit, Mary would direct either Zack or Sara to wrestle the spare twin mattress up from storage to be set up in her apartment. And in her mouse house at assisted living, she insisted on owning a love seat with a twin sleeper sofa tucked away inside — always ready to accommodate those stopping by.

And she felt at home wherever her family was. Whether it was here, Anchor Point, Palmer, Seattle, or Bellingham. At her granddaughter's wedding, Mary enjoyed all of the festivities —zooming around on her walker and talking with all the friends and family that were there. The mornings were filled with food, conversation and talk about activities for the day. She fit right in, even though she thought she was stealthy at moving from room to room. In preparation for the big day, she tailored her own dress for the occasion. She didn't move as fast as she used to, but she still could give the younger generation a run for their money.

Toward the end, life had changed a lot for her. Carol said it best in a letter to her mother: "I'm glad you have chosen to go on with life and change with it, and not just crawl in a hole and hide." Until the very end, Mary continued to change and adapt to her surroundings, never satisfied if she could make it better for her and her family.

My Grandma

I was wearing her earrings when I heard. The diamond earrings the jeweler set from her engagement ring. My Grandma gave them to me on my 18th birthday, because she said every young lady needs a pair of diamond earrings — especially if it were her birthstone.

I only wore those earrings on two occasions: my senior prom, and for my wedding. She always said she liked the way they sparkled on my ears.

When she went into the hospital on Wednesday night, I felt compelled to wear them. I wanted a part of her with me somehow. This wasn’t her regular tune-up she had done when her blood sugar crashed.

Part of me didn’t think this day would come. If any of you ever wonder where my stubborn nature comes from, you don’t need to look any further down the family tree than my Grandma. She climbed into our tree house when all the adults thought it was a bad idea, she jumped into a boat because she didn’t want to wait for a foot stool and broke her leg at 65, and refused to ask for help most of the time. Tyler joked that this behavior was what he had to look forward to when I got older.

But all of that made her a strong woman who I looked up to. She spent much of her childhood in Egypt, earned her math degree and taught, and then moved to Alaska with her husband and three kids when the Al-Can Highway was gravel.

Around 4 a.m. (2 a.m. Alaska time) my mother called me. Grandma past on.

It’s always hard, even when you know it’s coming. There’s something about the finality of it all that’s hard to deal with. Maybe it’s just waking up and knowing for the first time in your life that someone isn’t there.

I love you Grandma, and I’ll miss you.

The Hansen mobile

The search is over: we bought a truck.

Many of you might know this story, but for those who don’t I’ll fill you in. We’ve been through three cars since the Pathfinder met its demise last year.

Car 1: The Subaru we owned for about three weeks. It couldn’t tow our belongings out to Vail, so we sold it to Steve and Karen the day we left Bellingham.

Car 2: The Dodge Dakota we bought from Roger the day we left Bellingham. It got us out here, but when winter started falling the two-wheel-drive truck wasn’t great in the snow.

Car 3: The Land Rover. We bought it for $500 so we could have a vehicle that wouldn’t get stuck driving around town.

The car saga became Tyler’s obsession, so last Thursday we decided to end the madness. We drove down to Denver and managed to find a GMC Sierra that should last us for a long time. I’m happy to only have one vehicle again, and to have my husband’s sanity back.

In response to my buddy

After reading Liz’s blog post “Masters in Indecision” (she’s great with headlines), I started thinking about my own growth. Like Liz, I did not like school that much, and was more than happy to be done. I do think I graduated with a useful degree, but the field I thought I loved turned out to be something else entirely.

I just started loving writing again, something that took me more than a year to get back. It’s hard to reinstate a former discipline when you’ve gone without it for so long — much like getting back in shape. The first two weeks are always the hardest.

But it’s like an old friend: very familiar, comforting and always there. Similar to a friendship, it takes a lot of work and effort to remain intact. And I need to put more effort in so that it doesn’t slip away and become a memory of something I used to do. I need to start making writing something more than my early morning routine before I go to work.

That means drafting query letters, sending in submissions and dealing with a lot of rejection for a while. And after enough casts, something will bite. It did for my friend Jeremy, and he’s already talking about his next project.

The last book I read also gave me some encouragement:

“As to why anyone embarks on the adventure of writing, which is that you write in order to find out not so much who you are as who you are becoming.” - Bernard-Henri Levy citing Michel Foucault’s idea in Public Enemies

I guess I see where this all takes me.