Last week I ran away to Whistler.

I couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with one more box; one more decision about where this particular item or that particular item should be kept and then (drumroll please!) where it should be stored. I was tired, oh so tired, of making such endless and silly little decisions.

The infinite inanity of it all. These were/are hardly life and death decisions, but all are somehow so necessary. Still, I felt like I was drowning in the flotsam and jetsam of our lives.

Alright. I know. I might be exagerating…just a little. Let’s call it literary license, even though I realize that this blog is not that literary.

Still. The upshot was that I felt like our entire summer had been comprised of schlepping and to-ing and fro-ing and knick-ing and knack-ing.

Enough!

Thanks to my dear friend Susan, I drove away from the mess and straight up to her house at Whistler. She listened to my whinging about the moving process (and how Kevin and I don’t always, quite shockingly, agree on this process).

We sat on her  lovely deck that hangs above the lake. We were surrounded by deep green trees and her lovely pots of flowers. We talked and sat and sat and talked.

And it was good.

Sandwiched between the two nights was a perfect summer day spent walking, cycling and finally…drinking glasses of a crisp dry rose while drifting on a big barge from one end of Alta Lake to the other.

Some of my childhood memories are of winters with endless tobaggon rides and deep icy snow. I realize that it was probably one  wintry day that somehow, in my misty memory, came to embody an entire winter.

Probably when I’m an old old lady, rocking on a porch somewhere, I’ll remember the summer of 2013. I won’t remember the endless moving and the boxes and bags delivered to charity with the remainder stacked into our apartment.  Nope, I’m quite sure that mercifully all this mess will fade from my mind.

Instead, I’ll remember that the summer of 2013 was spent endlessly frolicking with my good friend, dancing among the Cosmos flowers on a forested hillside in Whistler.

“Oh my,” I’ll say to anyone that will listen, “you should have seen that summer of 2013…”