Through an unusual set of circumstances, sheer luck, and blessings, I've managed to plan on living just 21 days out of three months in the cold, bleak, sometimes beautiful Utah winter.
Yesterday was in the 50s and the previous week days were beautiful enough to travel by bike. I rode to lunch, to the optometrists, with Tony to see the grandbabies.
Sunday afternoon, clouds gathered, the wind blew monstrously. I felt like Mary Poppins, swirling within a blustery omen warning her it was time to move on.
This morning I awoke to snow. Blessed day to possess a ticket to Honolulu.
In the half hour before I planned to leave, it started to snow. Should I take the train? No, I'd recently made a life change due to overly intense driving situations on my way to the airport. I was going to leave early. If I were to encounter snow, or traffic congestion, I'd planned enough time; I wouldn't need to panic, wouldn't wish I'd left earlier, wouldn't curse the snow for the eight-mile-per-hour traffic.
I'd finally matured.
I arrived at the airport with plenty of time. When I climbed out of the car, the temperature read 33 degrees.
"I think I'll put my coat, hat, and gloves in my suitcase," I said to the woman at the check-in counter. I wanted to account to her the delay in putting my baggage on the scale.
"Where are you going?" she inquires.
"To Honolulu."
"I'd pack my coat away too," she says with a laugh.
What a relief to pack away a too heavy item. To lighten my load. To dispose of the extras that are weighing me down.
I think of a colleague whom I love, who admits to depression because he can't let go of that winter coat when heading into summer conditions.
Ofen, when burdened with heavy thoughts, I've confided in a certain friend, who always speaks wisdom and encourages me to unload the baggage. "Be free, be free," she exults, throwing her arms in the air and breaking into a smile. "Be free, be free," she repeats, knowing that letting go of stormy weather is easier than we may want it to be.
Head to Honolulu, my friend, head to Honolulu.
Yesterday was in the 50s and the previous week days were beautiful enough to travel by bike. I rode to lunch, to the optometrists, with Tony to see the grandbabies.
Sunday afternoon, clouds gathered, the wind blew monstrously. I felt like Mary Poppins, swirling within a blustery omen warning her it was time to move on.
This morning I awoke to snow. Blessed day to possess a ticket to Honolulu.
In the half hour before I planned to leave, it started to snow. Should I take the train? No, I'd recently made a life change due to overly intense driving situations on my way to the airport. I was going to leave early. If I were to encounter snow, or traffic congestion, I'd planned enough time; I wouldn't need to panic, wouldn't wish I'd left earlier, wouldn't curse the snow for the eight-mile-per-hour traffic.
I'd finally matured.
I arrived at the airport with plenty of time. When I climbed out of the car, the temperature read 33 degrees.
"I think I'll put my coat, hat, and gloves in my suitcase," I said to the woman at the check-in counter. I wanted to account to her the delay in putting my baggage on the scale.
"Where are you going?" she inquires.
"To Honolulu."
"I'd pack my coat away too," she says with a laugh.
What a relief to pack away a too heavy item. To lighten my load. To dispose of the extras that are weighing me down.
I think of a colleague whom I love, who admits to depression because he can't let go of that winter coat when heading into summer conditions.
Ofen, when burdened with heavy thoughts, I've confided in a certain friend, who always speaks wisdom and encourages me to unload the baggage. "Be free, be free," she exults, throwing her arms in the air and breaking into a smile. "Be free, be free," she repeats, knowing that letting go of stormy weather is easier than we may want it to be.
Head to Honolulu, my friend, head to Honolulu.
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