This is my pink ride for the next few months. Well, it’s actually DIL Denise’s bike, but she and Son Jeremy are working on the east coast. And she entrusted me with the key to the lock. Which she may or may not regret. Because I’ll be putting in a lot of miles on these tires. Because there’s no place to snowshoe around here.
I was escorted off the Pacific Coast Highway. By two California Highway Patrol cars with lights flashing. Son Jeremy recommended I jog over to the PCH from the 101 on my drive south to their place. Beautiful scenery, less traffic, he said.
He was right. There was absolutely no traffic. None ahead of me. None behind. None coming from the opposite direction. And then these two guys in uniforms with flashing lights showed up, pinning my car so I couldn’t make any fast get-aways.
Hubby would have been proud. Sort of. On the first leg of my journey moving from Oregon to California, I didn’t stop to photograph any tumble-down barns. Didn’t stop at the Paul-Bunyan-and-Babe-the-Blue-Ox tourist trap. Didn’t pull off the road to Crater Lake (maybe because it was snowed in). And didn’t stop at Carson Mansion. Although I did have to pay tribute to the last of the Oregon Cascades before saying hello to the California redwoods and the Pacific north coast.
The last time I was at Todd Lake was with Hubby, mom-in-law and the sibs-in-law. On a warm August day just five months ago. Yesterday I snow-shoed out to Todd Lake from Mt. Bachelor. Packing Hubby’s ashes. I sat for the longest time. Looking out across the lake toward Broken Top. Thinking about all the hikes and snow-shoe treks with Hubby in these majestic Cascades. Remembering the family vacation in August and how timely that was.
Enough with the procrastination.
With the help of friends, all my earthly possessions were loaded into the back of a 10-foot cargo trailer. For a while there, we looked a little like the Beverly Hillbillies. (In fact, when it was obvious my mattress and box springs weren’t going to fit, there was a brief discussion of attaching them to the top with the rocking chair, and one of us could ride up there.)
I’ve blogged about my theory on why I’ve had so much contentment and peace at a time of such unspeakable loss. I suspect part of my current mental health has to do with journaling. And with deciding to pay attention to new opportunities.
These gorgeous blooms. Going-away gift at this week’s DEFEAT Cancer dinner meeting. The flowers remind me that Hubby and I were part of an incredibly courageous, active, audacious, loving community of super-heroes here in central Oregon.
So why is it important to get plugged into community?
Today, a visit to the local Social Security office where I had to prove I was married to Hubby by showing them our original marriage certificate. Really? The SSA couldn’t collaborate with some other government agency—like maybe the IRS—to get that information?
Two months a widow and this is my first time driving across the high desert of eastern Oregon by myself. First time visiting mom-in-law in Idaho without Hubby. I’ve thanked MIL several times through the years for doing such a great job of raising Hubby for me. She usually declines to take much credit. “He came that way,” she says. (Hmmm … can’t remember a time she’s ever said that about any of her other sons.)
My first day of retirement, defined as the first work day I didn’t have to work for the rest of my life.
I’m going to love being retired, but I didn’t exactly spend this day with my feet up, reading to my heart’s content and eating popcorn (although eating popcorn will come later this evening).
Copyright © 2025 Marlys Johnson
