Karen Rivers

to hug the mountain.

Karen Rivers

To read this blog, you'd think I'd been doing nothing but climbing mountains and you would be right, except when I say "mountain", I am exaggerating for dramatic effect.   Sometimes when I'm climbing my mountain -- because I've climbed it enough now that I think of it as purely MINE and not belonging to all the other people who are also climbing the mountain -- I think about that Hugh Grant movie that I think was called "The Englishman Who Climbed Up A Hill and Came Down A Mountain", which I didn't see but I gather was about an English man who went up a hill and dumped enough dirt at the top that it reached official mountain height.   Then I wonder if my mountain is really a mountain or a hill with an overly dramatic name.   Then I think what a terrible movie title that is, did that really draw the crowds?   Really?   Then I think I don't know much about naming things.  

Basically, I think the same things when I climb the mountain every morning.  I think about Hugh Grant and what was either a dreary or quirky movie.   And I think about other mountains, like the one in that movie/book/real-life event where the soccer players ate each other to survive after a plane crash.    

Then I shout at the dog a lot because she rarely listens to me and can get very distracted by birds, small furry animals, her own shadow, other dogs, or random hallucinations that she suffers due to the volume of plastic items she consumes in her spare time, such as Barbie's limbs.

The mountain looks like this near the top, in case you are interested:

 

Crappy iPhone pictures do not do my mountain justice, but I don't want you to love my mountain, too, because then you will go there, so I refuse to take proper pictures.   I'd rather be alone on my mountain, if you don't mind.   But, come to think of it, not SO alone that when the cougar that purportedly lives there eats my leg there is no one there to save me except for my manic dog, who would likely ignore me and my screams of pain in her desperate quest to kill herself by falling off ledges or into passing traffic.  

So I take it back.  You can come to my mountain.

Please.

But only if you save me from the cougar.

So while I'm climbing my mountain, there is a song that is stuck in my head, pretty constantly, and in the way of songs that stick, only ONE LINE is stuck there.   Listen to the song and then guess the line.   Really, I just want you to listen so this is stuck in your head for the rest of time, also, so I'm not alone in it.

I don't like to be alone.

That's a lie.  SOMETIMES I like to be alone.   However.   However, right NOW is not the best, most bright and shiny time in my life, and the aloneness is something to do with that, and also to do with the not-so-blurry boundary between solitude (good) and loneliness (bad).   That is another mountain I am currently climbing, except that particular mountain is a clever metaphor.   Or a not so clever one.   Either way, metaphor.   Trust me.   And not one that stars Hugh Grant and a bucket of dirt.

Or Captain Kirk for that matter.

Climbing the mountain and having that particular song in my head is inspiring me, almost, to pull the iPod out of the drawer where it has been for five years and maybe, just MAYBE, putting a song on it other than the one that is on it right now.   And because I know you want to hear something that is NOT  "Captain Kirk is Climbing a Mountain" -- which, I'm sorry to tell you, is now permanently implanted in your brain and will emerge every time you climb a mountain.  Or a hill.  Or even a slightly steep incline on the treadmill -- I will add that one to this post, also, just so you get a glimpse at the sort of person I am, which is the sort of person who has only one song on her iPod, that song being this one: