I'm back. No really, this time I mean it.

Many hilarities and hijinx have occurred over the past year -- all of them quite fantastically good -- and for now, at least, I seem to be back in the land of narrative writing. This time, I'm focusing on science writing, which means I've got an assignment (a print precursor to a blog I'm launching, www.ordinarywondeful.com) and am both remembering how to be a journalist and teaching myself to be a semi-rigorous writer of things science at the same time. What hasn't changed after all these years is how messy the process seems to be, how time-consuming it is, and how much joy it gives me, all at the same time.
Since I'm back to writing, hopefully, I'll be back to posting here, too, detailing things like if an apparent journal article reads too much like commercial copy, chances are that's exactly what it is.
With writing science, too, I'm getting the additional benefit of reading primary research in a quest to sort it out for my readers. Sort of like being in school studying my very favorite things for free or even for pay. In short, life is pretty good in Ericaland.

Until the next time and to quote my newly acquired editor, five words and a comma,

Erica.

Memories, community and sharing

Hiya. If you're visiting my blog with any regularity (and I know there's a few of you that are - Hello, Georgia! Eric, is that you?) feel free to drop me a line if you'd like and tell me how you are.

And if you stopped by to read the memorial I penned for my mother, I'd like to hear from you, too. It helps a lot to share memories and recollections and they'll come in handy for the writing I plan to do some about her haunted and amazing life.

So drop me a line at ericaryberg (at) gmail (dot) com or call me at 928-308-7650.

Or just be all webby 2.0 about it and leave a comment below.

Trail magic strikes again: Mountain riding in the Gorge

The classroom in the jail could have been a preschool classroom. It had plastic chairs and windows to the hall as baby schools do.

And certainly, the man sitting across from the chaplain was taking his first wobbling steps towards a new kind of spirituality.

He described how he had tried to control everything, to fit the pieces of his ruined life together in a way that made sense for his son, for his son's mother. But it all added up to a stay in the county jail.

The chaplain spoke in scripture, urging the man to let go and let god. He said that God was fitting together a puzzle and that when all the parts fit, the best outcome was possible.

"A puzzle," said the inmate. "Oh, I get it. I totally get it."

The chaplain called it the Holy Spirit. Jung called it synchronicity. And yesterday, when a complete puzzle resolved out of disparate parts, I called it trail magic.

I was driving up the Wind River drainage in what the locals here in Oreg-inton call The Gorge to go mountain biking, but I’d forgotten my map and directions. So I was on a blind mission.

At mile 16 or so, I saw some mountain bikers and pulled over at the exact moment when they needed a shuttle car to save one of their number a trip to the trailhead. Another of their number needed a companion with a chain tool and a patch kit to ride the thing with him. That was me.

Ten minutes after meeting these new men, I was driving with three bikes on my car to a mountain biking route which was good enough that I spontaneously coined the term “trail-gasm” to describe it. Brilliant really.

The only dark spots were the ones I saw when I went over my handlebars and bashed my cheekbone and clavicle against a mossy rock.

And after hours of some of the best riding I have ever done, my trail buddy was driving me back up to my car when we came upon Sarah, who needed a ride up the shuttle area as well. She smashed in the front seat with me and another piece clicked into place.

I remember thinking on my way up that even without my notes, that maybe the ride would work out well anyway.

And now I remind myself to keep the simple fact of holy (a whole puzzle, all the parts) synchronicity in mind when I’m looking for the right place to live, the right person to love, the right story to report.

Everything, absolutely everything is lit from the inside with love. And that’s enough for now.