Mulva's Confession

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mouse from merced

Trad climber

The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.

Topic Author's Original Post - Aug 20, 2014 - 03:56pm PT

I was walking downtown to Cage O’Foulz, the hip new hair salon on Main, for my weekly up-sweep.

I felt really confident that later that night my husband, Chuck, was going to notice me, because I was planning on buying a frilly bed-jacket I’d wanted for our anniversary, but didn’t get. Chuck sometimes is too absorbed with his tech manuals and the climbing guide he’s writing and his old Chevy pickup to pick up on some of my more veiled hints.

That night was the night that I would stop hinting around and put the man behind me for once. And climb on HIM for once, too, if things went well.

As I turned the corner on 19th St., heading towards the shoppe, where Connie Jo’s located (she’s the owner/sole operator and one of my sorority sisters from Cal-- ΠΒΦ or ‘pi phi’--located on Piedmont Ave.) I heard a steady “click-click” behind me, as if a large dog were there following me. I turned, slooowly, and the clicking stopped. I turned another inch, and in the corner of my vision was a golden bear sitting on her haunches looking at me like a large, congenial mastiff.

I turned fully in order to confront this animal, this Cal mascot. It just sat there panting in the valley heat, a bit of beardrool hanging from its tongue.

Let’s get one thing straight, right now. I’ve never done drugs, only drink when my husband does, and this in spite of having lived with Connie as a roomie for two years. She is a libertine, a somewhat loose cannon, but she fit the more modern profile of Cal women, with long straight hair and a beret. She also rolled marijuana cigarettes that looked like a Camel or a Lucky Strike. She is hip, smart, attractive, and loose as a moose. How we became roomies and how she lived thru some of her escapades are stories for another time, however.

Since I knew I wasn’t hallucinating, I gave the bear some latitude. I thought to myself, “She might just be real. I better be ready to run.”

“Oh, sister, there’s no need to be crazy about this, the bear said. “I’m only here to give you some help and advice, okay? I’m a Pi Phi, too. I was pledged in ‘05 at UCB. I majored in Architecture and minored in Artful Dodging. I’ve worked only when I needed money to travel. Here I am, and I’ll have you know I quit a prestigious firm who were negotiating with the Park Service to build a nine-hole golf course in El Cap meadows. I’m glad to be off THAT proj, you bet! So what’s with the shocked look, Mulva? Never heard a bear talk in English before? Hey, I know you think you’re due for an up-sweep, but you’d look better with an Audrey Hepburn look, if you don’t mind my saying. And as for your weight, well, Jeez girl, look at ME! I think I’m perfect the way that I am. All the same, I’d feel better with a bit more heft—it’s better for the beauty sleep in the cave.”

“Well! Even my thoughts aren’t private. That’s bunkum!,” I thought.

The bear then said, “It’s just easier this way. Faster, too. We get right to the root of the problem much quicker like this. It’s a technique I picked up from a Sun Bear from SE Asia. That guy had it going on, just like Chuck does. He called himself PeterSun.”

Well, this was one for the books. I was stunned into silence and we continued our one-way telepathic “conversation,” which was really brief. She didn’t mince words.

What I remember of her advice went kind of like this:
“It has come to my attention that you are not feeling satisfied. As part of the deal when you pledged, you agreed to accept help from any sister at any time after leaving the house, no matter if you married, remained single, or took vows to Christ. It so happens that I know Him personally and He’s almost all man, but the little of the other that is there is the greatest. He’s

And He skis better than Werner. Don’t know Werner...okay. I’m gonna fix that for you. Merry’s gonna love ya, too!”

As a result of her counseling, and an all-night gab-fest with Connie Jo in which I had my “first taste of sin"—several reefers, in fact; and a new Audrey style; and going to bed au naturel, Chuck has more than taken hints. He’s taken me climbing! We go to church regularly, too, for little Layton’s sake, but it’s hard for us both to take because we’d rather be out climbing.
Or skiing. Or canyoneering.

I can lead up to Pinnacles 5.9 and love the run-outs. The risk is worth the reward.

I didn’t get just a weekly up-sweep that hot July day. I got a complete make-over.

I have still to win a chair on the City Council, but IT WILL GO!

And I’m f*#kin’ happy as hell! I’m even lurking on the Taco.

Connie’s living in Paris. She married an ex-felon named Papillon Junior and she’s happy as hell, too.

And I wonder where that bear (Hermione’s her name) is now? I haven’t seen Hermione since that fateful day.

Have you?

Maybe Steve Grossman can find her for the Oakdale Festival? Prolly better not. She’s a mind-reader.

And she, too, may be an ST lurker, for all I know; and so you might watch what you’re thinking when you post up here.

Hello, Hermione, wherever you are!

[Dedicated to my friend Simon, who is Werner and Merry’s female cat, cuz she makes me happy. Hi, doll!]

And a hearty thanks to Fritz for the story @ ma cousine, Connie Jo.