More than a dozen years ago, I read The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin. Not because I was unhappy, but because I was curious why it was a #1 New York Times Bestseller.
Author: Marlys Lawry Page 1 of 50
This is my favorite time of year, this golden-aspen-football-pumpkin season that extends to turkey-more-football-pie-gratitude season, followed by the snow-falling-tree-decorating-music-lights-gift-giving season.
“I’m going to marry someone who will stop and play in the snow,” our pre-teen daughter announced from the back seat years ago as we were crossing winter-white mountains on our way to a family Christmas. But the objective of her father was to reach our destination safely and in good time. (Particularly in good time.)
Dan and I drove two vehicles filled with grandkids and grand-dogs and luggage to the airport where The Parents were waiting on the curb outside the terminal. We hugged the grands good-bye, hugged The Parents hello and good-bye, and their mini-van pointed toward home.
The neutral colors of the sky and sea and sand blend with ease. Massive boulders stand at attention as the waves take center stage, blue-green and frothy-white before trundling back into the gray.
Megan Martin and her son showed up at our place back when Dan and I were newlyweds (well … we’re still newlyweds). We had sorted through our duplicate household items, and Megan was there to pick up our excess home furnishings.
Temps were in the 40s and a wind was blowing cold. We layered up and set off as the trail wound down into a ravine before pushing uphill.
The first waterfall – St. Mary Waterfall – was small but mighty as it roared into a green-blue pool before rushing away.
Dan and I have been touring museums and monuments and historic sites as we work our way from Oregon to Wisconsin and back. I didn’t appreciate history in school, but I find it fascinating these days.
At Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse, we watched videos of how the sculptors (read: dynamite handlers) shaped the mountains of stone into presidents’ faces and an Indian chief on a horse. Mind boggling.
As I write this, Dan and I are winding uphill—between 8-9000′ in elevation—somewhere in eastern Wyoming, past tall cliffs interspersed with evergreen forests and into Big Horn County. We just passed a sign indicating: “Moose next 5 miles.” So naturally we’re watching for big horn sheep and moose.
Dan and I recently celebrated our wedding anniversary in one of the cabins at the historic Weasku Inn near the Rogue River. We can now say that we’ve been married for years.
(2 years … but still.)
