Day CII: Sophomore

Well, dear readers, I am afraid you're stuck with me. We've officially begun the second phase of my multi-layered plan to take over the blogging world. 

Codename: #100MoreDaysOfJosh.

Pretty damn creative, yeah?

In this phase, the week is divided into seven days. On each day, I blog something new. Perhaps a poem, perhaps a memory, perhaps an observation. But always me. Now, I guess, on paper, that sounds pretty similar to the way the first one hundred days worked. And, mostly, it's true. There's nothing revolutionary about the way these next ninety eight days work. 

Well, there is one thing.

I am going to try and think of a new alliterative phrase for each day of the week so that there's a little more consistency to what's thrown up on this messy little website. Starting today. Friday. How does Flashback Friday sound? Freaky Friday? Fondled Friday?

Maybe not that last one.

We're gonna try #FlashbackFriday to start. Every Friday, I'll be pulling up an old photo for the world to see, and put forth my best analysis of what could possibly be happening in said image. 

So let's begin:

Boiz

This is a photo from my sophomore year of college. From left to right: Anthony Spain, Ryan Mather, and Josh Plattner (me). 

Let's take a minute to appreciate the following: Tony's necklace, our matching polos (?!), Mickey Mouse on Ryan's shirt, and dat hair. Remember when that was me?

Tony, Ryan, and I lived in an on-campus house during the 2008-2009 academic year with three other roommates, Emily, Shawn, and Abby. The five of them were seniors, and I was just a wee baby, a precious nineteen years-old. 

In this photo, it's a weeknight, who knows which, and we're at everyone's favorite Saint Peter hotspot: Patrick's on Third. One of the impossibly wonderful benefits of living with five older students, drinking at bars was never a problem. They had familiar faces to each of the servers and bartenders, so by the time I came around, there was no need to ask for IDs. I was just one of the seniors!

I was so spoiled. And by spoiled, I mean I was broke as hell and perpetually drunk. 

Let's just file that under "growing up." 

When I think back to that year, I can't help but recall the madness that takes place in a house of six giant personalities. The good, the bad, the impossibly ugly: all of it equally important. 

There are moments where living with them seems exceedingly far away, like distance and life have somehow formed a giant temporal chasm much larger than five years. And then there are moments, walking out of a coffee shop or hopping in my car after work, that I have to remember: I'm not going back to the Adolphson House, that life has changed and the world is not a snow globe on top of a windy hill in southern Minnesota.

I suppose every one of these flashbacks will summon some sort of frightful nostalgia. That I'll lose myself, however briefly, in fractals of "then" and "that-one-time."

And for that, I feel exceptionally grateful.

Day LXXXI: Beer

You didn't think I was finished blogging about my vacation did you?

#SorryNotSorry

Colorado is full of craft breweries. And, my god, what a shame it would have been to visit The Centennial State without checking out one or two or ten thousand uniquely crafted beers. Well, ten thousand might be a bit generous. I had to get damn close though.

Our first stop was at Black Bottle Brewery right in Fort Collins. Just check out that beer list! I have an affinity for IPAs already, and their "Hipster" was one of my favorites the entirety of my vacation. It was strikingly similar to my favorite beer in the world, Fresh Squeezed by Deschutes. Other highlights were their oatmeal stout which, though a bit heavy for my tastes, was rich and smooth.

The Grimm Brothers Brewhouse was probably my favorite of the bunch. Maybe it was just the packaging? There was also a beer called "Gustavus" so it already had quite the leg up on all the others. There was a spectacular red ale on a nitro tap that tasted like a creamy root beer, "The Fearless Youth." And while both those beers were delicious, the stand out for me was the "Snow Drop," a light, sour ale. Couple that with beautiful, clever packaging? Color me sold. The flight of five different tasters was only $9 too! Talk a bout a fairy-tale deal!

Perhaps it was the heat and the hiking beforehand, but this brewery didn't do a whole lot for me. There just wasn't anything exciting about the beers. For me, they sort of all blended together. When they weren't busy being an amalgamation, they were kind of sub-standard. I will say: the oatmeal stout was far and above the best dark beer that I had throughout the entirety of my stay. You'll also note that we had thirteen different beers at the table...perhaps that's why they all managed to blend together? 

On our final night in Colorado, we took the opportunity to walk down to Firehouse 26, a teeny-tiny little fire house turned brewery! It was a pretty cool setup. I also found it to be the most relaxing of the venues. The snifters were beautiful, too. Between the wheat wine, porter, nitro red ale, and beautiful weather: it was a pretty special conclusion to a trip I would take again and again and again. 

Tonight, it's gin and lime. 

Somehow, it doesn't taste nearly as good without family that I love and miss.

Day LXXVII: Rise

Photos are not in short order around here. There are plenty. While I've been recapping the day before on each of these Colorado-based blogs, I'm taking a break to share some shots from this morning.

Maria and I took a little one-on-one time at 6:15 this morning to hike up into the hills behind their home. After a jaunty ten minute drive, we reached our destination. The base of the hills dipped into the waters of the mountain reservoir and covered the shore in shale and needles.

We looked up.

Rocks loomed heavily above, glowing red as the sun peeked from behind the opposite hill. Pine trees swayed. Birds warbled. Deer leapt. Morning broke.

Taking one last glance down at the car, we stepped foot after foot along the carved, dirty trail into the hillside. We walked quickly, pausing only to press Cheba onward or take a swig of water. Sap glistened, smiling little menaces from every branch we braced for support.

Carefully, we moved through thistle and rabbit droppings. Eventually, we reached the base of the massive rocks we'd seen below. As momentous as they looked from the car, up close: they were mystifying. Shocked by their size, we traded places as we climbed higher and higher, swapping Cheba between us as we pushed and pulled our way to the top.

And how worth it was.

Blue skies painted above, rays of sunlight blasting our cheeks and the back of our necks. We did yoga. We sighed. We ooo'd and awe'd.

Maria scooped Cheeba up in her hands one last time and presented him to the world.

For a brief moment: we had risen. We had risen indeed

And then, it was time for another adventure...

Day LXXVI: Water

Amidst the the craggy peaks of the Rocky Mountains, my brother's fiance, Maria, and I found the most delightful little place.

I say that like had anything to do with it. It was all Maria's doing. 

In fact, on different shores of the same lake we discovered, Erick and Maria will be getting married this summer! And while they're spending the most wonderful day of their lives together, I will be the on business side of things, ordaining their precious union. 

I'm the lucky minister! (Thank god for online certification!)

Anyway, for the last three months, I've been racking my brain for all sorts of ideas and possibilities to include in my speech during their wedding. I've had some fortunate insight from Todd Mattson--my beautiful roommate Sibley's father--on how to do it right; I think I will be stealing some of his charisma before the wedding in early August. 

Mostly, my ideas have included quotes from Shakespeare and bell hooks, short passages from Take Me to the Zoo, and embarrassing and slightly violent stories from growing up with Erick. 

Tonight, we're going to talk about the different options for speeches that I've come up with, and what they're looking for. I suppose the latter of the two is a little more important... regardless of how quickly I plan on turning their wedding into a horrifying shit-show of older sibling melodrama about my younger brother finding eternal happiness before me.

But they had to know that before getting me involved, right?

Right.

Back to the delightful place: there's a beautiful reservoir  in Fort Collins that is nestled between towering, rounded hills and covered in soft waves of prairie grass and small shrubs. And right on the shores of the lake, my brother and future sister-in-law will be saying their vows, kissing the bride, and spending a day in exceptional happiness.

And in this beautiful little alcove, I had a thought.

As we descended a massive rocky cliff, Maria and I traipsed through painful bunches of brittle twigs and brush, careful to avoid  the numerous prickly pear cacti blanketing the ridge. We made our way to the shores of the reservoir, and hesitantly dipped our feet in to the undoubtedly freezing water. And, yes, it was cold. Very cold. A cold that permeates and settles beneath your skin.

But it was equally refreshing. The sort that only comes from water: quenching your thirst, cooling you down, rushing you along.

And that was my thought. Relationships are like water. The freezing kind. There are moments of terse and uncomfortable cold. Getting to know someone can feel so forced and unnatural, but, eventually, you ease your way in to feeling relaxed. Given enough time and work, you feel comfortable. And by the time you submerge yourself in the other, dropping well below the surface, your forget that the water was even chilly to begin with.

I'm sure there's more to explore there, but it was nice thought on a beautiful day, so I thought I'd share.

Perhaps we could all benefit from taking a leap.

Day LXXV: Rock

In the summer of 1997, I traveled with my brother and mom to Homer, Alaska where my aunt was living at the time. It was an unbelievable experience. We spent months in and out of campsites, bathing in hot springs, and gallivanting across the Northern United States and Canada.

The trip was expansive. At eight years old, I learned more about the country I call home than I did throughout my time in middle and high school. A child of the woods and lakes of Minnesota, I was lucky enough be familiar with exploring the great outdoors. Never one to shy from the allure of branching trails and the lofty heights of a maple or pine, a trip to the largest state in the union was the opportunity of a lifetime. 

A year later, I was gifted the same opportunity. I spent June, July, and August of 1998 in a truck with my grandma, meandering to Fairbanks to visit Jennifer. 

I was a rather good navigator when I was nine. Probably much better than I am now! There was something so empowering about predicting the travel time left or making estimations for when we'd arrive at our next checkpoint. Probably something about being right and being on top of our travelling. You'll remember that little Josh loved him some praise.

The mountains quickly became my favorite place to be. Breathing in dust, kicked up by sprinting feet and dirty shoes, never felt abrasive. It was just part of the experience. My hands were cracked constantly, covered in maps of gritty sand and shallow, shale-assisted cuts. And clean clothes? They didn't exist.

Something about Colorado reminds me of those summers. Sweaters and sneakers, freezing lakes and sweltering hilltops. They were some of the happiest moments of my life. Just off the trail, ambling through thigh-high collections of thorny brush and spotty milkweed, spider grass, and fire weed. Or reaching, shoes caked in sand and mud, just one rock higher, just one step further.





Of all of the sunbathed moments that crawl to the forefront of my mind, one instance stands particularly tall above the rest.


Camping in Valdez, Alaska was one the more profound moments of my experience growing up. It's a very small memory. Red fleece, glasses, and buckteeth: standing on a hilltop, peering down over the camp sights, tiny ants and anthills peppering the earth. And me, nine years old, realizing how small we are, how quiet the world can be. And so unequivocally happy! So fortunate! So alive and young and excited.

It's been a delightful first day in Colorado.

I can't believe I get three more.