6.10.2021

Travel 2 years in the Making

Gwen finished Elementary School on the last Friday of May (my baby 😭), and boy did I feel some feelings about that. But in all our wisdom we had planned a trip, our first as a family since pre-pandemic!, to visit with Travis's family in Arizona for the very next week. This is the first road trip Travis has joined us on in a while... and, Daisy joined us too. It was so fun to go somewhere with all of us (especially as Daisy gets older, its harder to leave her behind... even with people she loves, and who love her).

It was 50°s and raining when we left Colorado... which made for an interesting and extreme adjustment to the very dry and 102° temps in Arizona! But, luck for us, Nana and PopPop have a pool. In fact, Gwen spent at least some time in that pool every single day in AZ. 

What else did we do? Well, we ate and read, walked around town, and took a pretty amazing cruise around Lake Saguaro.




The pictures are all kinds of mish-mashed, but hey, I'm here and writing something I want to remember! So I'm not too worries. Ha!


So I've said it before, I'm really a forest/mountain girl, but I'll admit that the desert has a strange and lovely beauty to it, so different from anywhere else. 



I'm so glad we got to see Trav's parents, it was a really lovely trip.



I drove the trip down straight through, leaving early and arriving after dinner; but we broke the ride home up into two days. We drove to Sante Fe, visited our favorite dinner, then drove the rest of the way home the next day.

It was so nice to see people again, to get on the road again. Thankfully, this summer Gwen and I will hop in the car again to travel to the East Coast! And hopefully I'll even get around to writing about that too  😉

6.07.2021

Movement In the Storm

I wrote this August of 2020, but just getting around to sharing! I'll try to do that more. 

 

I pack myself some water, lace up my good shoes, and head out onto the trail. So much of my day is noticing all that is different, all that has changed, all that is lost since March of 2020. I’m mad, disappointed, numb in rotating intervals. My faith in humanity shaken. The only break from that is when I encourage the miles to pass beneath my feet. 

When I walk, everything slows. 

One mile. 

The rain started to fall. It wasn’t heavy, but it was consistent, so I found myself hesitating – should I go back? Not for long though before the urge to walk overcame me and on I went. The rain danced little patterns on my skin, feeling so refreshingly cool, and drawing designs on the path in front of me. It was empty as far as I could see, no one else choosing to brave the storm. The more dirt that fell away under my feet, the worries more I felt wash away as well. 

Two miles. 

Out in nature there is no illusion of control. You do what you can, but nature is wild and denies your attempts to keep it in check. So, you learn to let go. I’m not always so great at that in the rest of life. I hold on to the illusion that I can keep my pre-teen daughter safely under my wing forever; that I can stop the slow of time in our old black Lab. I want to control my employers who shut down, or made cuts, and stop people from acting without regard to the pandemic at hand. None of this is actually in my control, but I still cling to it. Until I get on that path. 

Three miles. 

I lean my head back and taste the rain on my tongue. My shoulders have loosened, my hands release. Sometimes I take in the flowers and shrubs around me, waiting eagerly to arrive at my favorite copse of trees. Sometimes I listen to a podcast, sometimes I just let my mind wander as the steps fall away. On this day, I walk in silence. I listening to the padding of my feet and the rain, watching the clouds move across the sky, feeling the cool breeze. My mind wanders to the weeks ahead, making plans, and actually feeling excited. 

Four miles. 

The rain stops, the air is so fresh. Blue skies start to peek out, and while the storm passes, the path stays clear. It is mine alone today. For the rest of the walk I let my mind be still and clear. Storms often come to clear the air, and I’m reminded today that they always pass. 

Five miles. 

I can see my house approaching, my warm shower waiting. As I step inside, I smell dinner cooking, and am greeted with a wagging tail and curious nose. I hear my daughter yell from the living room, wanting to tell me about her latest toy creation, and my husband drops a kiss on my head on his way past. I take a deep full breath, and thank the storm.