jumping

The obligatory updates: Today was the last day of classes for this semester. Finally! Evidence-Based nursing: no problem. Advanced Medical Surgical nursing: probably bombed that one. But no matter. It is finished.

Update on the chickadees: we did see the family later on the next day, with the parents flitting in and out of the house. At one point, we think we saw the chicks learning how to fly. So, they've flown the coop and are now finding bugs on their own, building their own nests, and hopefully we'll have another family next spring.

And now for the real news: The first day of spring was a solstice to remember. Some neighbors invited me to go skydiving - yes, jumping from a perfectly good airplane. I, in a moment of 'what-the-heck-why-not' feeling, agreed. We head out early to get to Mollala and to Skydive Oregon early that day. Driving for an hour meant we resorted to talking about our impending loss of bladder control when faced with jumping out of a plane. This did not, in fact, happen. After mounds of paperwork (including clauses about personal responsibility for any consequences stating that everything has been done to ensure the chute opens, look this contract over with an attorney, have all your affairs in order in case something should happen, et cetera), we finally go to a brief class talking about what to do should there be an emergency in the plane and other information, but who remembers anything after there is a mention of an emergency? My group and I suit up and put on hats that would leave the Coneheads feeling inadequate.

We board the plane. Now, the adrenaline kicks in. We take off and climb up toward the clouds (it happened to be cloudy that day, but it was better with clouds), up to 12,000 feet. That's really high. That's Mt. Hood high. Imagine jumping straight down off the top of Mount Hood. That's what skydiving is like. Luckily, I'm strapped onto my instructor and he is the one in charge of actually throwing us out of the plane (I prefer 'throwing', since that's what it felt like. At that point, he had to make sure we made it out of the plane). At first, the air is blasting down your windpipe at breakneck speeds: nearing 130 mph. And the mist from the clouds stings your cheeks. About 10 seconds later, the air in not as thin, not as cold, and the mist fades into the most spectacular view I have ever beheld. It must be the same view God gets and I'm there, front-row.

I think we were free-falling for about 30 seconds, but it could have been a full minute. Anyway, it seemed like a long time to be falling toward a solid entity. My instructor opened the chute and we glided up into more of a sitting position. At that point, the view was even better, easier to see everything, slower (only 40 mph now), and quieter. I think we floated for about two or three minutes, the most beautiful, most hopeful view of Oregon. I could see Mt. Hood, Mt. Adams, Mt. St. Helens, and I think Mt. Jefferson. The only word I can think of to describe this view is supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. If you ever have the chance to go skydiving, do it. I am planning on getting certified and being an instructor. I'll think more about that after I've graduated and have a steady job. Wouldn't that be a great summer job? Nurse for three seasons, then a Jumper for summer. Heck yes.

chickadee

Damn cats. They have to ruin everything. And they like birds too much.

My aunt has birdhouses in the backyard, used just for decoration. Then we learned there was a family of chickadees living in one. Lots of chirping from both parents and babies. Just lovely. Then this evening, one of our dogs ran to the back door (usually a sign he has to go potty). We let him out and he chased a cat out of our yard. This horrid cat had knocked over the birdhouse and we heard no chirping from the babies, just a lot of yells from one of the parents. We put the birdhouse back up, brought the dog inside (kudos to you, Jock), and sat and listened for the parent to fly back into the house. No such luck. And no sounds from the babies. I went out a little later and heard something inside the house, but couldn't see it. Probably a baby getting hungry and trying to fly.

Okay, this is getting too sad. That's where I'm at right now. But, as my mom gently reminds me, "it's nature at work." So, we just hope you come back next year, chickadees, to raise a fresh batch of babies.