Good Morning Columbia

The light is a dark grey and blue hue now, but the salmon fisherman are in their boats, anticipating the catch of the day.  The Columbia River is as pristine and calm as ever. As we motor past them on our large boat, my lazy elbows catch the window sill to try and grasp the view in my mind forever. In the quiet of the morning, the smell of the coffee and the hum of the engine are the only things in my mind.

Some guests begin to saunter into the lounge.  I straighten my uniform up and smile a genuine, but tired smile.  I used to despise mornings.  But the moments before the sun rise are my favorite as of late. 

After I check on the coffee, I prepare some for myself and overhear a conversation just a few feet away.  The two ladies talking were complete strangers before, turned friends after just a few days aboard. Giggling loudly, then crying, they both speak of their recent trials with cancer. Holding hands, they begin to laugh aloud after what I assumed to be an inside joke.  Just then, I move toward the window to see the first sign of Mount Hood in the distance, snow capped and grand, demanding to be seen.  

The ladies move in next to me by the window. All of us, holding our coffee mugs, mouths widened by the view before us.  One of them looks in my direction and puts her arm around me. She says, "Oh honey, I bet you never tire of this view."  

And she is right. This moment was not so fleeting and it felt so wonderfully shared that made me  so connected in an otherwise jumbled, busy life.

Moments like these should have soundtracks. This one would be a happy one. Columbia River+Coffee+Sunrise=Memories

Irish Goodbyes

I woke up shivering in my room in Germany. I walked over to my radiator to adjust the heat and rubbed my eyes to see my friend Hanna, asleep in the next bed over. She rolled over, laughed and said, "I was too lazy to get up and turn the heat on. Who knew a German winter could be colder than a Swedish one?"

I threw a cover over Hanna's head and said, "Go back to sleep silly, it's only 4am." 

Just a few hours later, the three little girls I looked after were jumping on our beds and shouting, "It's snowing, it's snowing."  Sophia, the middle child, told us that she felt lucky. It snowed on her birthday, just for her, she is convinced.  

Peering out my window, I saw the world, a world over, covered in white. And slowly, I saw it covered in tiny little footprints of the excited neighborhood children.

When Hanna saw that I was awake, she and I moved chairs close to the window.  I shared my blanket so we can both enjoy the view from the warmth of the room.  She nudged to remind me that she needs to leave to go home soon. And by home, I know she meant home for good. This was her last stop before her flight.

That was one of the things that I could never get used to overseas.  Having to know such incredible people in small periods of time.   I became very accustomed to the Irish Goodbye.

But I will always remember the way the snow looked that morning. How the texture of my blanket felt.  How chilly the wood floor was beneath my bare feet.  The details of that day linger with me forever, just like hundreds of other moments.  And every time I see snow now, I always think of Hanna.

I guess people just have a way of sticking with you forever.

Been There, Done That, Have a T-Shirt

I started a goal list when I was seven years old.  I remember being so eager to travel because of my aunt and uncle's life.  His Navy career took he and his family overseas.  My cousin attended high school in Italy and brought back t-shirts for my brother and I that said, "Roma." Since one of us misplaced one, we naturally fought over this t-shirt for years.

I wanted my own foreign experiences and to learn languages.  So my parents encouraged me to start a list of things I wanted from life. I wrote it in my very best cursive with my favorite purple ink pen. My goal list grew year by year, starting out with simple things like..."Drive a boat, learn how to make ice cream, see it snow on Christmas"

I understood from a young age that I would be very busy in my life if I wanted to complete my goals. Today, I take this list out every so often and add to it, cross some things off, and it brings light to how important things were at times to me in my life. Often times it has brought me back to my roots. It is encouraging to be able to take the list out and check some off from time-to-time.

Ultimately, the point of these postings are not just a casual side project. I want to use it as a tool and a reminder of the importance of accomplishing arguably the biggest dream I have on my list...and the best part is that it has been on there since day one when I made the list seventeen years ago.

My major goal on the list still remains the same.  I want to see and hike some of the largest mountains in the world Something has always drawn me to them. Volcanic, glacial, snowy, evergreen. Every mountain just begs me to draw closer.

Why climb?  Mountaineer George Mallory had the answer:

"Because it's there."

Eight-year-old me driving a boat (with my feet of course)

Lessons from an Italian Post Office

I remember handing my meticulously written postcards into the care of the Italian post office in Venice.  I realized that my postcards would very likely never make it to their intended destination, but I put extra stamps on just for good luck's sake.

The woman behind the counter chuckled at me when I asked how long it would take to arrive in the United States and signaled an Italian hand gesture.  Thumb to forehead, she laughed and said to forget about it.  Then, clearly looking starved and parched, she signaled me to a little Osteria around the corner.  Settled into my corner table with my half carafe of Chianti, I drank and watched locals pass the windows as I soaked up the day for all it was.

It was the little intricacies that made me fall in love with every city, town, village, street, restaurant, bar, and most especially, the people of the fantastically colorful country of Italy. Enjoying life could be a variety of meanings. Standing on a street corner sweeping off a your storefront, fixing your mothers car, whistling at every female tourist passing by, sometimes all at the same time.  The Italians really seem to get it. And they do not have to try.

My high-strung mind buzzed. "Will my postcards arrive in time?  What if my purse gets stolen?  Will I find a hotel for the night? Can I catch the train to Florence on Thursday? How much does a water taxi cost?"  My people watching became significant to me when I realized that they, too, were observing me, especially in my clearly worried state.

Here I am, in the middle of one of the oldest, most beautiful and historical cities in the world, worrying and pondering some of life's much less important questions.  I inhaled a deep breath, took my hair down, and merrily poured myself another glass of wine.

Sometimes, I really have to remember the significance that the Italians taught me.  Worrying does not seem to be a part of their culture.  Whatever will be, will be.  The train will be late or may not arrive, but there is always another train.  The food service may not be speedy, but you will eat amazing food for three hours.

I returned to this same Osteria every day. On my last day in town, I decided to extend my time in Venice since the owners of the restaurant offered to take me on a personal tour the next day.  I booked a train for a day later. It arrived on time.  And guess what? The postcards arrived safely to their destination. Two months later.  Ah, Italy :-)

Sometimes life requires patience.  When you have done all you can, hang on to hope in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other.