On September 19th, 7 members of Higher Ground Learning's Staff ran 5 kilometers to raise money to benefit research for ALS (Bob Marshall 5K: Kick in the ALS). We had such a great time and were happy to be among the 7 fastest people there!

Dollars For Doman Art Show - Calling All Artists With Good Vibes

If you are an artist or you know of an artist/artists that would like to contribute to this event please click on the picture above. I hope to see you all at HGL (new location 380 West Pierpont) on October 16th. Lets show SLC what kind of community we really are!

Here is an update on Dave's status. Dave was released from the hospital last night and is now continuing his recovery at his parents house. Dave hasn't lost one bit of his personality, sense of humor, or love of life. The doctors are calling him and is fast recovery some kind of miracle..."oooh big deal" Dave says in his sarcastic tone of voice while shaking his hands above his head. Dave is killing it, and this Art Show is a way to help a homie and celebrate Dave's crazy path to a full recovery.

(if you are not sure what Dollars For Doman is, check out the Friend and Local artist post Here)

Thanks,

Greg

Friday Night Football!

This Friday night (tomorrow!), at East High School we will be setting up a table at the football game to pass out free popcorn to the community. I look at this as a way to have a little fun, get involved with the school, chat it up with parents and students, and invite them to get to know us better. I'm looking for a few good tuts to join me in this feat from 6pm to 7:30 pm. We'll give out popcorn until we run out and just chat with anyone wants to know more about us. It's a great opportunity for us to show off our many awesome workshops and rad tutors. Would you join me?

After football, I know that Alexis mentioned playing scrabble at Juniors. I personally have had a blast playing with Alexis in the past and plan on joining her. Please email me if you can come to the game! AND COME TO JUNIORS! I would really appreciate it!

-Katie

Running sucks...kind of.

"Really?!?! Really?!?!”

This is the reaction I get when I tell anybody who knew me before a month ago that I’m running. (If you can’t pull up the visual of shock in your head, ask Billy to reenact it for you.)

I grew up with 5 brothers and ZERO sisters. Therefore, things such as slimy animals, farts, dirt, sweat, and sports grossed me out. I was primarily a pink-on-pink kind of girl and had decided that any female shouldn’t want to be anything other than a ballerina.

In middle school, I dreaded going to P.E. I couldn’t understand why any girls would be excited to kick a ball around in 90% humidity under a bright, bright sun. I couldn't understand why girls CHOSE to play softball, basketball, soccer, etc. These girls scared me to death and to me, they were the same as my sweaty, smelly brothers. I would always scoff at the female college athletes and thought that they were sadly wasting their time on silly pursuits.

The truth is, I’ve realized, that I would make fun of these women because they could do what I couldn’t: they could run. In my entire life, I think I’ve run a total of 4 laps around the track with my college roommate, who herself was a track and field athlete. I envied that she could keep running and running and not exhibit the exhaustion that I exhibited 2 minutes into my run. I never gave running a chance and the fact that I would stop the minute my breathing became even the slightest bit laborious was not conducive to me ever running. Again.

So, fast forward 10 years and here I am, just finishing my fastest mile ever: 7:51.

What made me decide to go running? Well, a few things: Billy has run in 6 marathons and NEVER talks about it (if I had done the same, I would wear every medal with every outfit every single day) and I would like to be able, one day, to beat him in a footrace. His mother, an avid runner who has run in lots and lots and lots of marathons, kept asking me when I would run a marathon with her. I would smile and roll my eyes thinking, yeah riiiiight, but the seed was planted. I WANTED to prove to myself that I could run. I wanted to get to the point where I could run and run and run and not feel the terrible burning pain in my lungs, legs, sides, shoulders, etc and finally feel that “high” that everyone talks about.

And I’m hooked. I’m running a decent amount now and am feeling better than ever, although I still haven't felt that elusive high. I did, however, run in my first 5K a week ago and, although the hills KILLED me, I did pretty well. So, what’s the moral to this longwinded story? Being a ballerina doesn’t pay the bills; running doesn’t either, but it’s a heck of a lot cheaper to do…

To Blog or Not to Blog....

To Not To Blog is evidently, not really an option- unless I committed suicide I guess. Morbid! Anyway, Greg, Okay, I'm blogging buddy!

Look forward to my upcoming "HGL Emeritus" column that will chronicle the "what are they doing now?" of past Higher Ground 'alumni' as we like to call them- students and teachers alike. But for now, I am going to post something a little about me. I am writing this piece for a Canadian anthology, should they include me, about being adopted. Matt Webster, I am thinking of you as I write this: I began writing this story this morning and stopped when the coffee got cold, so here Part I of Draft 1:

1969

The year 1969 has some impact. Walking my 75-pound Newfoundland dog, I have plenty of time to think – he is fourteen now, a little grumpy, stoic and off-leash as pulling him by the neck, even gently, would be an insult to his seniority. He has arthritis along his spine and a bad right hip, and he coughs as he walks, like he is choking on a fur ball. Needless to say he dictates the pace. So we walk, very, very slowly, through the long and wide blocks of Salt Lake City, leaving me with plenty of time to think. I think a lot about the future: how could I do this; how could I do that? And sometimes my ideas trail to things in the category banal: I dwell on ideas of consumerism and postulate my own trendy, kitschy twist that would assail my fellow ladies and cajole them into purchasing my, well my idea. For instance, for awhile I was bent over for months soldering tiny silver balls to tiny silver loops- a manifestation of an earring idea that I wanted to pilot…. and then on to making a line of poodle skirts, as my boyfriend likes to call them: I truly believe you could take any skirt and attach a small decal of a cute pink poodle to it and people will fall all over it in bliss. And, for that matter, just screen-print 1969, strategically, on anything, and BAM! You have yourself a ringer.

According to this faded green rectangular piece of weathered paper I am holding, I was born at the Osteopathic General Hospital in Cranston, state of Rhode Island, in 1969. This document is officially sealed by the State Office in Providence and contains a 10-digit state file number that perhaps one day will serve to unlock the gate to my heritage. I think this is the first time I have even taken a serious look at this document. My mother, Norma Jean Sturm, passed me this envelope a few years ago in one of those archetypal moments when a mother sheds her responsibilities as vigilante, so to speak, and you find yourself tucking away a handful of documents and heirlooms that come with this implicit message that your history now belongs to you. My proof-of-adoption papers now sit in my cedar box along with other proofs and tellings of my life: my Canadian citizenship papers, my dual(ing) passports, old recipes for wine-making from my late father, proof of paying off my U of A student loans over 15 years ago should ‘they’ ever come back one day and ask me for ‘that’ money, and multifarious ID’s that chronicle my aging process and provide me with tangible metaphor for where I have been all these years. I am no pack-rat, ask my mother who says I throw out everything, but to these I hold on rather tightly-this scant recollection of me and of my famous disappearing act……

to be continued