Late last month, I had really let the Man get me down, and all the petty voices in my head, and my left eye had developed a twitch. Mum and Aunt Mary swept in, scooped me up out of that nasty bog of angst, and took me camping at Crater Lake National Park.
I was apparently too flustered by this happy opportunity to pack for it properly, and I showed up spectacularly unprepared, without a light, a lighter, or bug dope. Or marshmallows. The cousins took care of me.
Mum and I cooked our oats and dates on a backpacking stove, and when the mosquitoes crashed our evening meals, we huddled together with the cousins (all six people, three dogs) in their pop-up camper. Andrew and Mum and I roasted marshmallows over the campfire while James strummed us a lovely serenade on his guitar. I slept well in the tent, a dog on my face, another on my legs, and Gordon and Mum’s serenade of snores.
Snowbanks were scaled. Mountain air was inhaled. Trees were hugged. The lake was admired from many different angles. Photographs were taken.
By the time we returned to Corvallis to feast on Scott’s waffles (Scoffles?) – carbohydrates fit to usher in the weekend of the Northwest Tandem Rally – that twitch in my left eye had completely faded.
Ha-ha! Oscar snores too! And how!
Left eye? My foot! My whole CORPS was in twitch mode, in rapidly increasing increments, since I decided precipitously to uproot and move 3 hours south to live close (and we can talk about CLOSE) to my parents with a new teaching job. Yikes. There were muscles twitching that I didn’t know I had. For months.
The camping trip was blissful. That is usually the case when we humans shed the shells that encumber us and go off with the minimum – did Kate really NEED the flashlight? Nope. Bug spray. Naw. She exagerates her unpreparedness. The child had rented a tent, sleeping bags, a stove, and we bought groceries. What else IS there? We had Aunt Mary, after all, who would have actually provided ALL THAT if we had showed up utterly emptyhanded.
The wonders of this world, be they the land’s deepest lake or Oregon’s Majesty of trees or Aunt Mary, all await us daily. We need to learn to leave the shells behind more often, at least to step outside for a moment.
I have sought the solace of Holcomb Gardens many times since my move, finding there a forest path, a flowering garden, a shaded gazebo, a ring of poetic stones encircling a giant tree, and a bower behind the truth and justice circle of benches. A carillon that peals out the sounds of peace. And a track. I’m vowing publically to put on the shoes and run next time I’m there.
Try it. It’s easier without the shell.
The Queen Mum
Hey I’m ready to read “How I learned to stop worrying and love summer vacation” part 2! Let’s have the September Labor Day update.
I can read a dozen French newspapers online while listening to a French radio station, working to decorate and organize my French classroom, drinking café au lait, munching stale Halloween chocolates from last year – a reward of cupboard cleaning – and I call THAT enjoying September worryfree!
The Queen Mum loves you, Pedestrian Saga
I think its too late to post a part II. At least till next year. Guess moving and all that has put a halt to the blogging! Either that or you can’t pry the computer away from Scott.