07 November 2010

Parts that don't photograph

So we went on a vacation, and it was great. If you're someone who knows how I reacted to coastal Oregon my first time there you may have wondered if I would make good on my old dream of moving there, but I came home. I kept a journal every day as we traveled—mostly I wrote late at night, so it's going to be tough to go back and decipher that chicken-scratched fatigue-speak, but I expect some of my notes will find their way here. Tonight I'll mention a couple moments, not the stuff of scrapbooks, but for me very memorable. They took place on the first and third of three progressively sick days, which happened to coincide with a planned hike and many hours of driving from There to Home Again.

Moment #1: After climbing to the top of Multnomah Falls, I stood staring into the waters as they rushed over the rocks and down, down, down. It was there that an unusual impression came to me: the elements are my friends. Something seemed to say, Whatever comes your way in the future—if there are lonely times—you can always find support and friendship here. It seemed like a love declaration, an expression of family solidarity. From the earth. Huh.

Moment #2: On the long road between Nampa, Idaho and home, I was in lots of pain and was sadly no help at all with the driving. I flopped, a twisting turning passenger, trying to sit up and be company to Rob, trying to talk, trying to read, but quickly I had to go horizontal again, so I lowered my seat till it was nearly flat. As I lay back and breathed into the hurt, I sensed someone sitting behind me, female, very gently stroking my hair, the way you might do when you want to help someone relax or feel better, or when you're just being quiet and close. Another unexpected friend? Huh.

Okay. I'll take them where I find them when they're true.

Most of the other parts I'll share about our time in the Pacific Northwest are concrete experiences, stuff I actually took photos of (or at least could have if I'd been quick enough), the great fun we had, the wonderful visits we enjoyed with people we cherish, the lovely views we applauded, the interesting meals we ate, the beached jellyfish we poked at. So don't worry that I'm going all funny on you. Just a little funny. No more than usual.

6 comments:

Jamie said...

love all of this. so thankful for things you can't take pictures of. i had a similar comforter the first time i was in labor, so real-feeling, i looked behind me in the middle of the craziness...
can't wait to pictures, so glad you're home.

Amy said...

Oh, I'm so sad you were in my backyard and I missed you! Just a few months too late. But glad for you that you got to make another trip there. Isn't Multnomah Falls pretty much always a spiritual experience?

NV said...

Some days when mother and wife seem too much and I long to be just a daughter, I fill my ache for motherly nurturing by foraging for berries and then lying on the grass to be held by (my) mother nature.

cw said...

I'm with Amy on Multnomah Falls. So glad your friend was there to comfort you in your pain. Loves--

Melody said...

"going all funny..." That's where I seem to live most of the time, so no worries here.

Glad you made it back - safe, sound, happy.

Scott said...

"Whatever comes your way in the future—if there are lonely times—you can always find support and friendship here" - sounds like the way I feel about being in nature, especially places like Arches, Capitol Reef, and Multnomah Falls (a place of wonder I have not seen in years).