In which we buy a car, and it's fraught with pitfalls. The pandemic makes the ordeal even more arduous. In addition, there's shifting priorities as I age, my dear old VW bug, and David Crosby of course.
When Things Go Right
It's been a good week. Or a mostly good week. A pretty gosh darn fairly good week. I pause and take notice because of how I moped as the season turned, along with covid and politics and blah blah blah. But sometimes you just get a break, and things look pretty good, so I'll take some time to feel the joy. And write this quickly, in case.
On This Day
Early November, pre-election time. Some years I'm poised at the edge, days fraught with worry or full of hope. Other years I pass the time with lighthearted endeavors. I don't actually remember - it's what I posted on Facebook.
A Change of Pace
I've made several changes since moving and retiring. Not exactly reinventing myself, more like seeing what fits, what's stale, what's no longer needed, wanting to create a more intentional life. I'm still the same me I was before moving, but I do feel different. The shifts have been a mix of purposeful, accidental, and unexpected.
Vanishing Into Something Better
We haven't seemed to gin up the energy to do what it takes to get the grandkids out camping. I'm daunted by what it would take, and it feels like a big push, looming larger than when we camped with our own kids. I have to admit, I'm slowing down. But Oregon is a camping paradise with so many possibilities near rivers and lakes, in forests and mountains, and by the ocean.
Getting Out the Door
As self-appointed nature guides and outdoor fun seekers with the grandkids, we recently drove out to a new nature park... Rosa was not thrilled." Good luck!" her mama called gaily, closing the front door firmly.
On the right day, which was this one, Cooper Mountain Nature Park is a jubilation of greens and blossoms, prairies, wetlands and woodlands. Layers of texture roll out before us; trees are still bare, or still flowering, or in nascent leafiness, or are evergreen. What a difference a few days makes, when we were just dodging hailstones and driving through hail and slush!
When I first heard of geocaching, I thought, Boy Scouts. Then I thought, compass happy orienteering enthusiasts. Then I thought, rugged outdoor individualists. Then I thought, isn't this the perfect activity for a covid-cautious family of screen-enthusiastic treasure-seeking pirate-loving map-fanatical mystery fans?
This winter we're back in the sleepover groove with the grandkids after a long hiatus. Fun but tiring. I somehow feel youthful and ancient all at once.
We spent a cold, rainy afternoon looking at birds, most especially, the migrating Sandhill Cranes. To watch them majestically take off and soar, or wheel around for a landing, is to stand in awe, rooted.