Growing up, I had a grounded, yet simple church experience, free from flare. We went to Sunday services where I’d take off to Sunday School to color pictures of baby Jesuses (usually blue) and listen to lessons about how to treat others how I’d want to be treated; the monthly church dinner or, weather permitting, an outdoor picnic that always ended up with some kid getting pounded for grievances no greater than smelling like pee (you know, to demonstrate of what we learned in Sunday School). There was also the annual Christmas Pageant where I’d barrow the old man’s cane from across the street and play a rough-around-the-edges shepherd who took no crap from his sheep, let alone a Pharisee. However, there was one year where they decided to emasculate the boys by making all the five year-olds, regardless of sex, dress as angels. I assure you, it was the only time in my life when there was a halo hovering over my head.

(more…)

Originally posted at Ten Fingers 6 Strings. Slightly edits made.

——-

I sat in the peaceful garden of the Yak and Yeti Hotel, which was one of a handful of oases in an otherwise and utterly chaotic, Kathmandu. I had a good-tired going on; a tiredness that normally comes from a full day of progress, adventure, activity or hard work resulting in something resembling accomplishment. However, in this case, all I had done was show up on time to the airport, hand over my passport, pass through security without being molested, get on the plane when they announced “Now boarding: rows 35-50,” sit in my assigned seat, turn my electronics on-and-off (when appropriate) and repeat these steps for the next two connections in Hong Kong and Bangkok. Although the very nature of this exercise is routine and monotonous, it was, nonetheless, one step in the telos, which was getting up and down from Mount Everest - Advanced Base Camp.

(more…)

Oringally posted at Ten Fingers 6 Strings. Slight edits included.

———–

It was about two or three A.M. and I was violently shivering at Interim Camp in what was supposed to be a 20-below North Face sleeping bag, but instead was a synthetic cover stuffed with feathers.  It seems that the gear shop in Kathmandu rented us the equivalent of the “Rolax” watches you can pick up in Hong Kong on the street.  The “Rolax” might make you late for a meeting, but the feather sleeping bag at 19,000 feet will literally turn you into a popsicle.  I mumbled audible obscenities while trying to find ways to stay warm wearing top and bottom thermals, a down jacket, down pants and two pairs of wool socks.  I looked ridiculous and it was the first time in my life I really felt claustrophobic.

No matter what I tried, I could not keep my feet warm and eventually had to take off the second pair of socks because they were cutting off my circulation.  So, every 1/2 hour or so, I’d have to rub my feet for ten-minutes, stomp up and down and then practice my tap-dancing skills to keep the blood flowing.  My bones were cold and as I was doing my tap dancing, I wrote a song called Eff You Sleeping Bag Man:

Eff you sleeping bag man
Eff you sleeping bag man
Eff you sleeping bag man
Eff you sleeping bag man (repeat)

The sincerity in my heart and the sweet harmonies produced by this song kept my heart, but not my body warm during this tribulation.  But it wasn’t until the sun broke through the night sky that I knew I would be able to keep all my toes (although the milky, white-color they reflected didn’t make me feel all that comfortable either).  A very inauspicious start to the most important day of the entire trip to Mount Everest: the push to Advanced Base Camp (6,400 meters).

(more…)