Before Dan left for a full day of volunteer work, he pulled the car out of the garage, and in its place, he parked Matilda (our affectionate name for the Jeep Wrangler). So when it was time for my morning appointment, Matilda would be warmer than if I had to tromp through the snow, lift the heavy shop door, and start her up.
There was the Thanksgiving when I was alone at my son and daughter-in-law’s place in Tucson (well … not completely alone, if you count my grand-dog, Chloe). I signed up to help serve a community Thanksgiving meal at the Salvation Army, and by the end of the day I was exhausted. But in a very good kind of way.
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.
Copyright © 2026 Marlys Johnson
