As an antidote to my 10 Minutes of Beautiful with John, we have recently been sharing about 10 feet of beautiful. We drive into the snowy mountains and park beside one of my absolute favorite kid trails, summer or winter. Just being there, breathing in the forest, taking in the quiet, it is worth the drive.
Then, the kinetics begin. John and I spend about an hour in and around the car, "gearing up." This includes:
- going to the bathroom, somewhere in the snow
- having a snack
- putting on a snow suit
- putting on a hat
- putting on gloves
- putting on wool socks
- taking off a snow suit
- taking off a hat
- taking off gloves
- taking off wool socks
- repeat all the above to infinity
After an hour, we stumble out of the car. We take another half hour to fastens boots and skis to our feet. I am generally in a state of both surrender and aggression. I surrender that it is a John-led winter event. Yet, on the whole, I shaped our day. I brought him to this place. I initiated this activity, even imposed it on him. And amidst my patience with his pace, I am aggressive about my singular goal to make it onto the trail with skis.
And that is what we do. We make it out of the car. We "ski" about 10 feet. It takes a good long time. I am in heaven. John seems to be proud of himself. Then we turn around, get in the car, and reward ourselves with hot chocolate.
Leaving, I think of Robert Frost, from "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening":
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I did get my piece of the lovely, dark, deep woods, but am honestly happy to turn to the view of little / big eyes peeking over a cup.
