Back in the 90’s, I liked to watch ER. I mean, what’s not to like about George Clooney and Juliana Margulies? Re-runs popped up recently on some obscure channel during my traditional awake time around 3 a.m. “Good,” I thought. “That should lull me right back to sleep.” But no! I don’t remember all that yelling and screaming and sobbing.
I have been in my local hospital ER a few times. It is perfectly quiet and orderly. I have received excellent and timely care there. One of the hospitalists did look a bit like Anthony Edwards. My advice in that regard is, if at all possible, dial 911 and go in an ambulance. The EMT’s will administer first aid and be in contact immediately with the ER reporting your vitals and condition. It’s almost like a concierge service to get you admitted.
And maybe don’t go scrolling on your remote in the middle of the night. Just go straight to Midsomer Murders re-runs.
Here in my classy retirement community, we do not exhibit or wear anything political. However, I did get myself a pair of black Chucks like Kamala wears when not sporting stilettos and a Carhartts jacket like Walz wears 😆.
Make of that what you will. This is the only political statement I hope to make this fall.
Every summer for a number of years, I have driven to Montana. I have taken various routes. They are all beautiful. The Columbia River Gorge is breath-taking. Eastern Idaho is spectacular as is the Idaho Panhandle. This time, I drove up through western Washington into Montana at the Mulllan Pass. Not even close to Paradise Valley yet. Montana is a big state, but I grew up in West Texas, so I know about big. And fast.
I have typically hauled a dog or two and a kayak or two. I learned the hard way one recent year not to blow past a “mandatory water vessel check point.”
Driving into into Montana, when the officer asked me where I had put my boat in last, I loved saying “The North Santiam.” And returning to Oregon,”The Yellowstone River.” The officers always seem a little jealous.
I hate to mention how problem-free all my trips have been for fear of tempting evil, but everything went very smoothly — until the last 150 miles. And then, all kinds of interesting things began to happen. For some reason, one of the straps on the kayak came loose and the metal buckle began to fly around and whack the car. I was in a construction zone, so it was a few minutes before I could find a safe shoulder to get out and put the strap back on. I am a few inches shorter than I was when I was in my prime, is I now carry a small step ladder to reach up there. It would have made a cute picture: Old woman on roadside on step ladder tying down kayak.
Back on the road, a dash warning light I had never seen before came on “INOIL.” I had no idea what that meant, so I found another safe shoulder and took out the owner’s manual. As much as I love my Subaru, my affection does not extend to the manual. I found that it means that the transmission fluid is hot and I should let the car cool off for a bit. I had been idling in construction traffic for a while. Solved that. I should have just asked Siri!
I thought I could get on to Pray with out gassing up, but I decided to get some in Belgrade. I’m glad I did! Once again, traffic was stopped for an hour. I did turn off the ignition so I wouldn’t arouse that warning light again.
Then my Waze app said there was an object blocking my lane up ahead. There was. It was a gigantic wishing well that had fallen off a big truck transporting carnival rides. Crazy! Eight-hundred miles of no problems. And then . . .
Nevertheless, I sllid into home base in plenty of time to greet my two Montana grand-dogs.
And in time for Boo to make a big salad from her garden for our supper and watch the sunset in the Big Sky.
Next day we enjoyed Boo’s beautiful garden. The growing season there is very short and labor intensive. Lots of hand watering required but so worth it.
That night, we went to Livingston for the Friday night art and music walk. Heard some good music and ate at the Mint Bar. My test meal is always cheeseburger and fries. The Mint burger did not disappoint.
On my travels, hunger does not play a part.
We bought a couple of pieces of tres leches cake at our favorite bakery to take home. I had mine for breakfast the next morning before we headed out to kayak a really fun stretch of the beautiful Yellowstone River.
That night, I drove the few miles to the Emigrant General Store where you can buy absolutely everything. I bought some ice cream and introduced Boo to moose tracks.
That was dinner while we watched the JD Vance autobiographical movie “Hillbilly Elegy.” Ick! We were sad to think that Ron Howard had put his name on what was essentially a creepy grownups’ Hallmark movie. And that Glenn Close was in it. She was actually very good.
Sunday I wanted to see Boo’s workplace as the new manager of Yellowstone Park’s native plant nurseries.
This is her “on-site office”:
Her actual office is in this building.
This is the part of the park that is actually in Montana, a little closer to her home in Pray. Still, she puts in ling days, leaving her house at 6 a.m. and getting back home to water the garden and feed her menagerie after 6 p.m.
We have a thing. The women in my family love to explore old cemeteries. So much history there. This one is near Elizabeth’s new workplace. There is a veterans’ section where there is a special place to burn flags respectfully.
And then it was my last my last day. I took it easy and shuttled Elizabeth so she and Gypsy could kayak. We had BBQ, a tradition of ours in Emigrant.
. . . my thoughts why I have nothing for the American Brand of Christianity, nor Evangelical Christianity. It is a threat to humanity, the Earth, and Christianity overall. “To the church of my youth, What did you expect me to do? You taught me to love my neighbors, to model the life of Jesus. To be kind and considerate, and to stand up for the bullied. You taught me to love people, consider others as more important than myself. You taught me to sing “red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight.” We sang it together, pressing the volume pedal and leaning our hearts into the chorus. You said that “He loved all the children of the world”. You taught me to love my enemies, to even do good to those who wish for bad things. You taught me to never “hate” anyone and to always find ways to encourage people. You taught me it’s better to give than receive, to be last instead of first. To help the poor, the widow, the stranger at the gate. You taught me that Jesus looks at what I do for the least-of-these as the true depth of my faith. You taught me to focus on my own sin and not to judge. You taught me to be accepting and forgiving. So I paid attention. I took in every lesson. And I did what you taught me. But now, you call me a “libtard”. A queer-lover. You call me “woke.” A backslider. You call me a heretic. You make fun of my heart. You mock the people I’m trying to help. You say I’m a child of the devil. You call me soft. A snowflake. A socialist. You shun the very people you told me to help. What did you expect me to do? I thought you were serious, but apparently not. You hate nearly all the people I love. You stand against nearly all the things I stand for. I’m trying to see a way forward, but it’s hard when I survey all the hurt, harm, and darkness that comes in the wake of your beliefs and presence. What did you expect me to do? I believed it all the way. I’m still believing it all the way. Which leaves me wondering, what happened to you?” —Chris Kratzer
There were three times in my life when I held new babies. At that time, I believed they were straight from the hand of God. Holding them was holy, magic, sacred. Today, I went to Vespers and sat between two very old, precious friends. I know they will not be here much longer, Again, I felt that magic, that holiness, even though I no longer have that simple faith like I used to. From the beginning to the end, I know life is divine.
Here in my classy retirement community, we do not exhibit or wear anything political. However, I did get myself a pair of black Chucks like Kamala wears when not sporting stilettos and a Carhartts jacket like Walz wears 😆.
And in time for Boo to make a big salad from her garden for our supper and watch the sunset in the Big Sky.
That night, I drove the few miles to the Emigrant General Store where you can buy absolutely everything. I bought some ice cream and introduced Boo to moose tracks.
This is the part of the park that is actually in Montana, a little closer to her home in Pray. Still, she puts in ling days, leaving her house at 6 a.m. and getting back home to water the garden and feed her menagerie after 6 p.m. 
