Unorthodox

We always marvel at how much easier it is to pack to come home than it is to leave. This precept isn't really that surprising: coming home only requires gathering what we have brought and acquired; leaving home often demands careful thought and curation of all the stuff we have to select and bring what we need and what we may want while away.

I found the same to be true for our Christmas Tree, which met an earlier than usual end this year. When we got home from our holiday travels, the branches were too dry and droopy to make it to New Years. And so I spent an hour or so yesterday afternoon carefully lifting the ornaments to minimize needle dropping, appreciating each one before gently replacing it in the bin where it will spend the next 11 and 1/2 months. The job took half as long as it did to put the tree up just a few weeks ago.

The forced cheerfulness of a Hallmark movie was not the right accompaniment for this task. Instead? I chose to watch the first couple episodes of the second season of Evil, the supernatural thriller which Paramount+ describes this way:

Evil is a psychological mystery that examines the origins of evil along the dividing line between science and religion. The series focuses on a skeptical female psychologist who joins a priest-in-training and a contractor as they investigate the Church's backlog of unexplained mysteries, including supposed miracles, demonic possessions, and hauntings. Their job is to assess if there is a logical explanation or if something truly supernatural is at work.

That worked.

Fact Checking

Sometimes when I'm writing for this blog I pause to do a bit of research on my topic. Then, it's a happy convergence of writing to discover what I think, what I know, and what I'd like to know. 

Take yesterday, for example. I knew quite a bit about Great Falls, but I was also writing to tell about something new I had learned, and as I wrote, I looked up "Matildaville" to add to the knowledge I had about that long-ago town. I found out that it was named by Henry Lee for his wife, Matilda. Lee, who was known during the Revolutionary War as Light Horse Harry, was an early invester in the Patowmack Canal, and owned most of the acreage that makes up Great Falls Park today. 

Matilda died in childbirth in 1790, and Lee married again. Legend has it that a few years later, his second wife, Anne, was pronounced dead after a seizure and entombed in the family vault. A few days later a gardener was terrified to hear noises coming from inside the mausoleum. When the doors were opened, they found Mrs. Lee alive. One year later, her youngest son, Robert Edward was born.

Imagine how differently American history may have unfolded if Anne Lee had not been rescued.

Who knew?

(Not me, but now I do.)

Great Park

This warm afternoon in December provided just the latest in countless hikes I have taken on the trails of Great Falls Park, right up the river from our hometown. For a relatively small park, there is quite a diversity of trails. The most popular is the River Trail which traces the edge of Mather Gorge and has been built to accommodate easy walks with scenic views, but other choices include the old Carriage Road, the Ridge Trail, the Canal Path, and my personal favorite, The Matildaville Trail, which we took today. 

That path winds past the ruins of the town that was built in the late 18th century to support the construction of the Potowmack Canal, George Washington's Virginia competitor for the C&O Canal right across the river in Maryland. The canal and the town ultimately failed, but relics of both exist in the woods around the falls to this day. 

Just south of the ruins the trail leads to a pretty meadow ringed by tall and rocky scarps, and then the way ascends steeply to the ridge line that overlooks the gorge. From the top, a hiker has several options: continue either north or south on the Ridge Trail, take a steep path down to the River Trail, or enjoy a gentle sloping walk along the Carriage Road. 

They all have their pleasures, but today as we stood in the winter wood surrounded by bare trees, I finally saw how close together they all run. Each trail was really no more than 50 feet from the next, running mostly parallel to the river. A separation of dramatic geography and three-seasons of foliage is what allows over 15 miles of beautiful and varied hiking in a park of only 1.25 square miles. We chose the Carriage Road, and I walked on with an even greater appreciation for our local treasure.

Under COVID Operation

 "There are no home tests available anywhere around here," a friend informed us when she heard we were coming home early. "maybe you should stop along the way."

She wasn't wrong. Our route from Buffalo to Arlington takes us through some rural and semi-rural towns, and, let's face it, through areas where many folks don't seem to be taking the pandemic as seriously as we, and the like-minded majority in our urban area, do. For example, there is a long stretch in our drive where, if we stop, very few are masked. 

We were less than an hour south of Buffalo when we made our first unsuccessful stop at a Rite Aid. "There is a Walmart nearby," Heidi noted, checking her phone. "Should we stop on our way out of town?"

"Why don't you call them first to see if they have any tests?" I suggested.

I could hear the conversation from the driver's seat. "Yes, we have some," the voice on the line told her. "Come to the pharmacy and we'll call back for them."

Heidi hung up frustrated and confused. "What does that even mean?" she shook her head.

"I guess we'll see when we get there," I answered.

Ten minutes later we were waiting in the prescription line. When it was our turn, Heidi approached the register and said in a low voice, "I was told you had some COVID tests."

The woman behind the counter nodded furtively. "How many do you want?"

"Two?" Heidi said. 

The woman nodded and went to the back and picked up the phone. In a moment, she returned. "They're bringing them, " she said. "Wait over there."

A little while later, Heidi came to find me in the half-price Christmas section. She had two boxes in a white paper bag. "Should we have asked for more?" she said.

"Maybe," I shrugged.

"Hold these," she told me decisively, and went back to the line. A little while later she returned with 2 more boxes. 

We were feeling pretty lucky when we approached the doors to leave the store. The greeter took a look at us and our bags. "Are those COVID tests?" she asked.

"Um, yes?" I answered.

"They're probably going to set the door alarms off, just so you know," she informed us.

"What should we do?" I asked.

"Just keep walking," she said.

And that is what we did.

The Crows Know

When I woke up in Atlanta this morning, my expectations for the day were nothing like it unfolded to be. After a COVID exposure, we are back in Buffalo, isolated in the basement, and heading home two days earlier than planned. 

So that's what my Upheaval card meant.

What Do You Know?

It may have been half an hour, but it was probably less time that had passed since our group had fractured into one hungry duo and one hungry trio looking for lunch (in two different places), another restless pair not yet content to stop walking and start shopping, and some singletons browsing different stores for post-holiday gifts and other fun stuff. As one of the latter, I carried a bright green bag filled with tiny tins of travel trivia and would you rather questions, along with a real paperback book. I imagined myself relaxing on a bench reading in the unseasonably warm weather, but I ran into Emily, and then Courtney and Treat, and so our group began to reassemble. A few sodas and chicken sandwiches later, we were mostly reunited, and it was time to open those tins. Because? Togetherness and trivia— that's how we roll.

Painting Fences

Good things that happened on Christmas Day: Tracey and Heidi's flight didn't get cancelled; it was sunny and 70 degrees in Atlanta; we were able to walk the dogs for several miles; we mastered several games in the afternoon; the solar gnome glowed in the garden at night. 

"and my hair is still purple," said Emily walking by. "So the point is the monsters are soulless beasts that can't produce their own emotions?" said Victor. "No, I said--" but "he locked me out" said Bill. Then Bill said "it would probably be very mindful for you." "So the ants are also soulless beasts?" Victor asked. "I don't eat leftovers," Annabelle said. Bill and I said "the sweaters in plastic bins" in unison. "I don't want to play yet" said Courtney. "I don't think it's really one universe," I told Victor, "but it would make sense," he said, "anyway they include enough easter eggs to encourage it." 

"solar garden gnome stake," said the box.

The new telescope is going to unfold the universe, provided its three hundred single points of failure do not fail. As we spoke it was one hundred thousand miles from Earth preparing for the first of three course-correcting rocket burns. A rocket is a rod-shaped tool associated with fire, the same as a candle or a torch, which may have animated horses and bison at Lascaux seventeen thousand years ago. A monkey is a kind of brown animal with hands which it uses to climb trees. Monkey see, monkey do.

"Hamsters are allergic to guacamole, baby whales also gain 200 pounds a day." said Richard.

I wish I was in Mexico because the water is pretty.

Wearing a borrowed mask, I waited on the cracked sidewalk for my our Christmas dinner. There was no entrance to the restaurant; the front door had been retrofitted with screens, plywood, and plexiglass to create a touchless passthrough. "15 more minutes," the woman said when I gave her my name. Behind me, a cab driver in a knit cap tapped his foot. I sighed, returned to the car.

"It's not ready yet," I groaned.

"Let's ride around and look at Christmas lights," my sister suggested.

And so we did.

(Title credit to Bill)