Virtual Hike

I ran across a CD my husband and I purchased a number of years ago. Fifty Virtual Hikes of the Mount Hood National Forest. It offers detailed hike descriptions, panoramic views that can be seen along the way, length and elevation changes, and a difficulty level calculator. At first I thought it a good idea, this tool that would enable us to see firsthand, even before we tie our hiking shoe-laces, over 2300 photographs and details pertaining to our future adventures. At the time, it did not occur to me that studying, examining, and perusing the 360' panoramic views would kill the thrill before it even began. I wanted so badly to see ahead of time, to chart the course of the unexpected, to map out our quest before the key went into the ignition, that my passion for hiking wilted into a yearning for long walks. I don't think I like the CD anymore. In the unexpected and unknown territory life happens. It's in the surprises and twists, the craggy hills and sprawling meadows dotted with wildflowers, that offer us the greatest view. I think if Jesus were sitting next to me right now, he would nod his head toward the CD, and in that quiet way of his, he would affirm what I've come to believe. Life's most awesome experiences are found in the unfamiliar, in the uncharted domain, and in the present moment.

Settle Down

My father-in-law is settling into his Foster Home. We are slowly making progress at decorating his modest room even though I believe the interior design of his space is more for our serenity than for his. Just as when my own father was in a care facility, I find myself surfing over the photographs we strategically placed, moving them an inch or so during each visit. I need the constant reminder of family, of the person who they used to be, of the past where we didn't have to make the hard choices. My husband and I are entering discussions about our golden years. It makes me queasy to think of myself at the mercy of strange people, and worse, unable to remember their names. That's why we hang pictures, decorate the room for Christmas, and buy clothes we like to see them wear. It's a humanizing response. I need some sense of the recognizable as I am sitting on a twin-size hospital bed, searching for conversation, glancing at the clock. It doesn't come easy, this new demand to be the one in charge, the parent child roles reversed. You have to give up the right to receive a straight answer, the right to decline an otherwise inconvenient visit, the right to expect things to change. But to see him settling, accepting his new surrounding in his own fashion is comforting. For that I am thankful.

Christmas Fever

This year we had a Christmas decorating contest at my work. It began once I unwrapped our diminutive tree we keep wrapped in a Target shopping bag during the off-season. After I carefully placed it in the same spot we set it every year, I stepped back and gave it a once-over. It looked stark and lonely. Thinking to keep this poor tree company, I added a few tiny fake poinsettias to accompany each side. Now the fever started to rise. I decided we should have a contest. Other foreheads felt the heat. Co-workers hunted their decoration closets like scavengers. Red-and-white lanterns were hung from the pipes in the basement, (my department of cave-dwellers) making us feel quite festive. Wintery village scenes strategically placed on top of a cabinet replaced the untidy mess of envelopes and used toner cartridges. It started to look quite pretty. Other departments joined in, creating magic in their own fashion. A hand-made paper fireplace with a mantle, Twilight ornaments featuring Edward, pale as ever. As the judgement day (not the judgement day) crept closer, competitive spirits burst forth and sprinkled the office with team spirit and camaraderie. Not to mention a few sleepless nights wondering what other trinkets could be borrowed for the office space. A seven-foot blow-up snowman, fake snow for Santa's footprints. After the contest winner was announced, my mind flashed forward to next year. Surveying the work space, my eyes scanned the cabinet height, the floor space, and the electrical system. Hmmm...perhaps a train.

Taking A Break

He leaned onto his knees with his elbows, a cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. I turned up my jacket collar, a vain attempt to ward off the chilly east wind and made my way toward the gentleman. Curious, I paused to offer a greeting. He beat me to it with a wispy smile and said,"Hello." I returned the salutation. "Taking a break?" I asked. Pulling the cigarette from his mouth, he answered in a raspy tone, "Oh, everyone needs a break now and then." The red- and-white cap on his head looked lopsided. His beard appeared a grayish color, not the usual pristine white I had grown accustomed to seeing. I didn't notice a belly of any sort. "Yes, breaks are important," I answered. As I turned to head toward the store I spotted a cane perched against the bench he was sitting on. Inside the mall a short line of small children hovered outside the perimeter of a fenced Christmas tree. One adult glanced at her watch as she held onto the hand of a toddler with dark hair. I finished my shopping and exited the store the same way I entered. I couldn't help myself. Like a child leaving sugar cookies on the hearth, then checking the next morning for the evidence, I stepped toward Santa Land to make sure he made it back to his post. The line of eager children eased my mind and after hearing a few hearty chuckles I felt it safe to drive home. Later that day, an epiphany flooded my mind. If Santa needs to take a break, wouldn't it be the same for all of us? This new revelation caused my stomach to do cartwheels. Maybe I will practice this "break" thing during the holidays. Especially after baking sugar cookies.