"Make sure you put the truck into 4-wheel drive when you get to our street so you won't slide." Dave does his best to keep me pointed in the right direction. It's a big job. I've been directionally challenged since I can remember. Wandering around campgrounds in my pajamas unable to locate my camp-site (and that was as an adult), missing exits on the freeway (prior to Siri telling me I'm going the wrong way), going down the opposite hallway of a hotel room, and even attempting to open car doors that don't belong to me. What type of car do I drive? A black one.
We moved into the cabin at the end of Fall. Some of our kids worried about me feeling isolated. Snow-bound. Elisabeth texted me a GIF of a crazed Jack Nicholson wielding his axe. I threw another log into the Franklin stove and texted her back. "I'm fine honey! It's only seven miles into town; no biggie."
The fireplace is so efficient we occasionally open windows to "turn down the heat". Letting the fire die out by the time we go to bed, Dave hunkers into his electric blanket, while I open the window above my head to let the cold air onto my face and pillow. Freya joins us only after the lights are turned off. She walks slowly over to Dave's side, but by morning she's almost always curled into the crook of my arm.
Winter storm warnings foretold days upon days of snow. We were ready. We had the 4-wheel drive, the snow-blower, fire-wood, stocked refrigerator and freezer, and some new winter duds, coats, boots, hats, gloves. All the things. The snow arrived and we hunkered in with the cat, some good food, and watched some great oldies. "Funny Farm", "Baby Boom", "Green Acres". We had a theme going. People leaving city life for life in the country. It was entertaining! And some of it a bit too real.
During a break in storms Dave plowed a driving path for the truck and then went ahead and plowed an entire sledding hill for the grandkids/us. He came into the house after hours of plowing and asked me if I was ready to go sledding. Um sure! Stuck inside for several days I'd go for it. I donned my winter garb and went for it.
I haven't been down a hill of snow for nearly forty years mind you. The last time I did I was an eighteen-year-old newlywed. I got plopped onto a "black-diamond" ski hill and told "You'll be just fine!" The only diamond I knew of was the little one that resided on the third finger of my left hand. I inched my way toward the edge of the hill. I couldn't see any bottom, only the ledge and a vista that went for miles. Inching my way backwards, I declared that there wasn't a chance in HE** (I made a New Year's resolution to not swear anymore) I'd be going down on skis. I'll either pop them off and slide down on my tush the whole way, or wait for the next taxi. A ski-patrolman eventually appeared at my side and told me there was only one way down. He offered to have me put my arms around his waist and "piggy-back" me back down the hill. Awesome.
When it came to the kids skiing and sledding, I left that to their dad. I was more than happy to stay home and make food for the masses and wait for the onslaught of cold, wet, hungry people to return. Better one parent stay back uninjured with all bones intact.
Dave escorted me to the path he made for the sled. It looked steep. Dang steep.
We went down together the first time. Total blast. Once at the bottom of the hill and trying to get out of the snow bank, the amount of groaning and awkward movements and laughter made me grateful no one could see or hear us for miles. I went down by myself a few times. I figured I can always tip to the left or right if I wanted to bail on this adventure. Nothing like climbing a steep hill in snow boots to make ya feel out of breath. And out of shape.
The other night on my way back from running errands by myself, I was feeling great. Full of confidence and contentment. That feeling you get when you know you're going "home". Humming to the radio, I followed my mental notes....after you go up the big hill turn right at the first street, but if the snow is too deep go to the second street, then your driveway will be on the right...I turned into the driveway. This cabin is the wrong color. This isn't our cabin! Put the truck into reverse. Spinning tires. Put the truck into drive and inch forward a bit then put back into reverse. Spinning tires. Turn the truck off and contemplate the meaning of life for a few moments. Do I get out of the truck and go knock on their cabin door? There isn't a single light on. No. I can't call Dave because I don't have cell service until I get to our cabin. Should I hunker down for the long haul and search the truck for some random spillage from a trail mix bag or rogue french-fry? I could wash it down with some fresh fallen snow. The thought of a french-fry makes me hungry. My eyes gaze along the floor-board and up over the lower part of the dash-board. I see it. The 4-wheel drive knob. "Make sure you put the truck into 4-wheel drive."
Last week there was knocking on our front door. It started both of us. Dave got up and answered it. It was our neighbor from across the way. He had his ATV with a snow bucket attached and wanted to know if we'd like him to clear our parking area, since he was already out clearing for a couple of homes nearby. We welcomed him in and had a nice chat. Turns out he and Dave a a friend in common from California going back several decades. It's a small world. He and his wife are also empty nesters leaving the city life for a life in the mountains. And now we have new friends. Funny the twists and turns life takes. Some we take on purpose and some take us by surprise. As long as we are going in the direction of our dreams we won't get too lost.
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