Just breathe is good advice, and appropriate, considering my overnight flight back from SeaTac this week. Sometimes you need to slow down and get some perspective.
(Surely you know and get the connection, but in case you don’t, Pearl Jam is from Seattle. And Just Breathe is a Pearl Jam song, if you didn’t click the link.)
One bit of perspective I got was that, barring overseas flights when it can’t be helped, I’m too old for overnighters. Especially when they’re an hour late because you’re waiting on flight attendants (I’m talking to you, United) in a small terminal packed with unhappy travelers whose flights have been delayed or cancelled due to strange weather all over the country.
And when you have to semi-run in your Birkenstocks (ouch, blistered toe!) to catch your hop home from Houston at 7 a.m. The fun part was that I got to semi-run with Dero Sanford, my neighbor from down the street. Crazy. We even ended up on the same row on the flight from Seattle.
Enough about that. The real “just breathe” advice of this column is of a different vein. People you love get sick, get old, fade away both physically and mentally. At least you’ve got them, or at least you had them.
When fighting it does no good, stop. Do what you can to make things better but accept that you can’t work magic.
Revelation: We can do a heck of a lot, but we can’t work miracles. We can’t stop time. We can only breathe and take what we’ve got right now.
What we had last week was family time – and, for Kitty and me, some serious fun. Part of my duty – somebody’s got to do it – was play with her while she took a caretaking break and John spent time with his mother.
John’s still there and enjoying every minute with Mom. He and Kitty face some unpleasantness, but they’re excellent children and will do things right.
Kitty and I lunched, shopped, got pedicures (my nail polish is called “108 Degrees,” which was a no-brainer choice considering the weather here lately) and saw “Magic Mike” with Nancy and Pam. I’ll have to see it again here with my friends.
Oh, darn. Good-looking, talented male strippers. Twice. Again, somebody’s got to do it.
We had a fab Fourth of July in Selah, which included Independence Day for Little Bunny, whom Kitty and Norm rescued from one of their cats, who was using the tiny thing as a bean bag.
The Inabas are nothing if not nurturing, and Bunny thrived. He hung around us a couple of days after liberation, but now he’s hopping around happy and big enough to survive cats and other critters, we hope.
The week started out coldish, but by Sunday it was 102 in the Yakima Valley, and we had a storm that rivaled Dorothy’s, minus the tornado. Monday it was back to Seattle, via Chinook Pass, which still has a crazy amount of snow for July.
But enough words. I’ll let photos take over from here. Tomorrow, historic Ellensburg and a close(ish) encounter with Mount Rainier.