I was on vacation with my crew this month. We went through Calgary, Banff, Lake Louise, Athabasca Falls, ice fields, Sunwapta Rapids, and more. The beauty was simply staggering, the sights were awesome. Took my breath away. We stopped the vehicle often, just to get out and gaze at the magnificence of the beauty of the peaks and valleys, the brooks and waterfalls, the wildlife and the wildflowers. We hiked up mountains and rafted on white water. We went past the tree line, up into the clouds on foot and by gondola to look down at the icy blue glacier lakes and the green grandeur of endless trees. WOW. Wow doesn’t do it justice, but sometimes words for such beauty don’t exist. Wow.
Then we went to Edmonton. Had a riot in the water park, slid down one slide after the other, played tricks on each other in the wave pool, had contests zipping down slides that seemed as though they were straight down (felt that way looking down, anyway). Shopped till we dropped…which is fun to do at West Edmonton Mall.
In short, we saw sights and sounds that are incredible and eye popping for these prairie eyes. Fields of wheat are beautiful and awe, but the mountains take the breath away for these prairie people.
Un –buh-live-able.
But, you know what I think I will remember always and forever about this trip?
The work it took these city slickers (and the incredible number of pages of the Alberta Accomodation and Camping Guide—a thick book which is no more) to get a fire going so we could make our tin foil casseroles. We tried this and that, added paper, bark, kindling. We blew on it until we were faint, stung our eyes with smoke till we were blind and still it only smoldered. We laughed and giggled at our ineptness. After it was dark, we roasted marshmallows, occasionally saying something, but mostly gazing at the flames silently…together.
Eating packaged pasta and plain cooked chicken thighs on plastic plates sitting on mattresses in a tiny tent. We were somewhat relieved that our supper was finally cooked, and the tent set up in the rain. We were proud that we had accomplished setting up camp. The youngest of the crew declare that this was the most delicious supper he had ever tasted—and he meant it.
Spending all day in the vehicle together, getting out at various stops, listening to a story on CD from the public library, stopping it to answer questions or discuss our thoughts on a part of the plot…just being together, and realizing at the end of it, that, rather than being relieved that the day of driving was over, we were reveling in how good it was to spend the day together as we had.
A moment in the wave pool, when one of the crew was misbehaving and I ordered a time out. With disbelief that he would be sentenced to a time out at his age, he tried to cajole me out of it. I was persistent, and to his (and my) surprise, I began to count as I haven’t done for years. Holding up fingers to match my words, I began, “One…Two…” and before I could get to three, he left over with a sparkle in his eye, and the most charming and impish grin on his face, and held my third finger in my palm, stopping it before it could be raised…and gently and in a friendly way made his point for what his behavior actually meant and why he shouldn’t have to go sit “time out”.
It was a delightful moment, where boy becomes man. In a mature way, he didn’t turn sour or bitter, but took the critque in stride, and advocated for himself. It was wonderful. He was effective, but he wasn’t successful. 🙂 He still had to have time out and leave the pool—the site of his transgression…but this time out, after a few minutes I sat with him and we talked about this and that, and “timeout” did not fracture relationship, even for a moment.
I will remember this vacation for the conversations, hearing the insights, reveling in the joys of being together. Knowing the crew won’t be this age forever, and that these moments need to be captured and squeezed for all they are worth. I’m realizing now, when I look back over the years, it has been the little moments in between the big moments that are the ones that are coming back. I’m remembering the little things that went wrong, the laughter we shared more than the “big money” events. So I’m treasuring the simple and mundane as something holy and significant.
I had already thought all of this through when I saw this video, which says it even better, inspiring us to hold onto the moments, and allows us to mourn with bittersweetness those that will never return.
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