Marlys Johnson Lawry

It hung around way too late in the day before I recognized this no-energy-no-interest-in-anything blahness. That’s when I got out my script pad and wrote a prescription for mild depression: Go take a hike. Near a body of water.

Tumalo Creek in Shevlin Park (Photo: Marlys Johnson)

Part of the cure requires that the patient stop somewhere along the path to contemplate all there is to be grateful for: in my case, sound of water rushing over rocks, warmth of sunshine, the ability to move on my own two legs, family and friends to love, family and friends who love me.

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I remember the nurse — after the surgery where we learned the cancer had already spread — who brought blankets and pillows so I could sleep in the recliner next to Hubby’s hospital bed. Because I didn’t have the courage to go home and sleep alone in our bed that night.

Photo credit: Slideshare.net

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These words from a 2014 Mother’s Day blog post when Gary was still here to make Mother’s Day — and every other day of the world — extraordinarily special:

Hubby said those five magic words that made my heart beat more quickly: ‘Reservations at Kokanee Café at 5:30.’ (Or is that six words? Is 5:30 a word?)

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Raise your hand if you’re patient by nature. (My hand isn’t raised either.) I’m the world’s worst waiter. It’s because I usually want what I want when I want it.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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What we didn’t realize during our *wilderness years* — that season of time from Hubby’s job loss through cancer — was this: The paring down and simplifying of our lives was for a larger purpose, for lighter travel over mountain trails and barren places.

Photo credit: Gary Johnson

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Back in February, I wrote a blog about why you should tell your story. Today, April 27, happens to be National Tell A Story Day. But what if your story didn’t turn out the way you wanted?

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Before Hubby and I were a couple, we wrote a years’ worth of letters back and forth between Denver and Europe. When I packed to return to America, I left his letters behind. Weight limits on luggage.

I would give anything to have those letters back.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Pay attention to what doors are opening for you on this new journey that maybe you didn’t want to take but you’re there nevertheless and so why not make something beautiful and purposeful out of the loss and the sorrow — that journey.

Photo credit: Gary Johnson

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My niece recently posted this to my Facebook page (my niece knows me well):

She was an adventurer at heart; but oh how she loved drinking this tea from this mug in this chair. Oh how she loved home.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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Standing at my window yesterday, I noticed a tiny snowflake that landed on the deck railing. It captured my imagination. How it must have made its journey down from a cloud and gave no thought to being alone, but obediently plopped down on the deck railing — doing what it was designed to do.

This morning, underneath all this mass, there are those first brave snow flakes, holding up their end of the bargain.

25th day of spring in central Oregon

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