“Do you think they’ll be okay?”

I looked over at my wife, sitting in the passenger seat. The slight visible tension in her forehead, and her upturned eybrows turned the question into a slightly anxious plee.

“Do you think my cats will be okay?” she repeated. I could hear the trace of real worry in her voice.

“They’ll be fine,” I said. “Ben’s coming to see them and feed them every day. They’ll probably be a little freaked out, but they’ll be in their own place, with food and water and Ben’s attention. They’ll be fine,” I repeated.
Den ganzen Beitrag lesen…

It’s sort of a spiritual thing, Canoeing.

It’s hard for me to verbalize, but there’s something about floating down a river’s current in an unmotorized boat which just connects with who I am at deep levels. It has nothing to do with whitewater rapids or excitement — it’s pure appreciation of natural beauty and the power of the river. I fondly remember many river trips with my dad from childhood and I love the way a certain combination of paddle strokes will push the boat this way and that, using the river’s power, rather than overpowering it.
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At the crack of ‘two-hours-after-sunrise,’ Katie and I went out for a hike to the top of Sacagawea Peak in the Bridger Range. When I lived in Bozeman, I did this hike four or five times, and remembered it as being a little steep, but mostly a nice easy walk.

My memory sucks. Or I used to be in better shape… or some of both.
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