The Healing Place

“I’d like to get a visual on Pancake before we leave.

Gnocchi sticks to me like glue

but I call and call and Pancake doesn’t come.”

Cats are like that.

Nowhere to be seen
when suddenly they are right in front of you,

appearing out of nowhere.

Amy persists.

She didn’t feel right about

leaving for Snowbird

without seeing Pancake.

I busy myself with the

last minute forgotten stuff.

I had more to worry about than a missing cat.

“I found Pancake!”

“Where was she?”

“Locked in the closet in the guest room.”

“No.”

“I open the door noticing
the light on in the closet

so I went to turn it off.

When I open the closet door

Pancake leaps out."

How did she get in there?

How long has she been there?

No place for a cat for a week.

Whew.

I’m not a good traveler.

Anxiety.

Apprehension.

Angst.

I start counting down the days

until I get home

the minute I get there.

(After I get home,

without exception,

I’m glad I went.

I cherish the experience.)

The only place I don’t count down the days

is Snowbird.

Instead of thinking

“finally halfway:

3 days gone;

only 3 days to go.”

I think:

“3 days gone already?

Only 3 days left?”

I can never resist taking pictures of red-leafed Aspens

to convince my forester brother, DeLoy.

He claims Aspens only have yellow leaves.

DeRay went to town for a few groceries.

I told him to have Ed come down at 3:15

to 1) Go on the treadmill;

2) Go on the Handi Trail or

3) Go the Snowbird Center.

I fell asleep, waking up at 3:20.

The front door wasn’t totally closed;

turning back I see Ed

sitting silently in a chair by the window.

He was too nice to awaken me.

“Know what I like about your unit?

It’s easy to find.”

We’re glad we brought you to Mother us,” Eddy says politely.

Mothering doesn’t mean hugs and kisses,

spouting wisdom, offering advice;

bossing anyone around.

It means

making all the beds each morning,

doing all the cooking, dishes,

picking up.

You know the routine.

The stream.

Note the red gurgling part.

No wonder the leaves are red after drinking this water.

After lap swimming,

each morning,

I would sit out on the balcony

drink Chai Tea,

eat two popcorn balls,

read and absorb the breathtaking view.

Until the storm came in!

(someone couldn't type or spell)

I took this picture for Amy.

She's big into perspective.

Snow in September?

Yes, DeLoy, the leaves are red

even when it snows.

Amy----almost.

Poor Amy.

She had to leave for work

each morning at 6:15.

Each evening,
we watched a free movie in our room.

Astounding.

DeRay went to the Pastel Painting class

He painted this picture for my birthday.
My Valley friends will understand the significance.

He also went to the cooking class and got sick;

probably from the wine in the dessert.

He and Ed went to the Friday potluck.

It was scheduled for an hour

but they were having such a good time,

they all stayed for 2½ hours.

They did water workout with Judy every morning.

They are more social than I am.

I wandered alone on the trails

sighting leaping deer

blizzards and aloneness,

while listening to Ray Bradbury’s

Martian Chronicles.

Heavenly hikes.

The first three days:

Not too hot in the sun;

Not too cold in the shade.

The trees guarding the pool.

I wanted to take pictures of water workout

so I punched in 4 to stop and get my camera.

The elevator stopped and I got off.

“Come on, Ed.”

“It’s not the right floor.”

“OK, I’ll meet you on 3.”

I went to the room and tried the key.

Nothing.

I tried and tried.

It wouldn’t work.

I looked around.

Am I in the right place?

Yes, everything looked the same.

I thought I heard someone on the inside.

I got a little scared.

I walked to the elevator

then walked back and tried again.

Wait.

808.

Get me out of here.

Someone pushed the elevator button

to get on at 8 and I got off,

thinking it was 4.

I needed 408.

The floors are identical.

I go to 4, get my camera,

and sure enough,

Ed is waiting for me on 3.

He knew all along.

The thing I like about condos

is that average people can feel rich

for a week

and have an opportunity to go places

they couldn’t ordinarily afford,

like a cabin,

that stays vacant most of the year.

That’s for the rich.

Every time I get on an elevator

I pretend I’m living

in a highrise New York suite.

"I prefer the treadmill, thank you,"

Ed said when the weather turned cold.

The view from 1127,

our unit with a kitchen.

Even though I had to go 7 floors

to cook,

it was easier than one floor

at home with no elevator.

Ed's car getting its first taste of winter.

Again, trying Brent's and Amy's trick

of taking your own picture.

Only difference is,

they are young and good looking

and I'm old and wrinkled.

As long as it was snowing

the deer were leaping everywhere.

I never saw another one

when the snow ceased to fall.

Loading the car at sunset.

On the last day,

the sun shines again.

 Red-leafed Aspens

More proof.

 

The last day;
the last hike with Amy.

From the viewpoint,
the bridge I crossed each day.

Kennecott and the Valley

Still red, DeLoy!

Amen, Amen.