I was at a gym in Rhode Island a few weeks back and there was a watercolor of a rock on the far wall--"Hey I recognize that boulder!" Sure enough when I ran over, the caption said "Grandma boulder, Buttermilks, Bishop, CA". Ah, how gratifying to recognize a peice of rock from some relatively remote area of the world when it's posted on a relatively random wall, not even in photograph perfection. It reminds me how totally focused and aware I am when I climb. Every divet and stray chalk stain sticks in my head even when my muscles have atrophied back to normal-person non-climbing status.
(And then it brings back other good memories of Keough, twinkling lights in my tent, christmas dinner at Kava, and friends. My fucked up hilarious amazing climbing buddies.)