I do not enjoy roads less travelled. I like my well worn, divided highway with familiar cities and towns along the way. I like arriving into a city where I know my way around. I favor staying at AirBnB's over most every option out there (including free accommodations at a family or friend's home).
I like what I like and most of what I like is familiarity.
This past weekend was anything but familiar. I got into an argument with Google Maps because she kept trying to change the route I had specifically chosen while I was not driving. I think she heard me because when I attempted to reroute my destination to a gas station where I could cash in my airmiles, she circled me back to my son's house and he wasn't home.
Exasperated, I gave up and asked my son if we could take my car for supper so I could fill it up and wash the bugs off before they baked onto the windshield in the heat.
I went from arguing with Google Maps to high anxiety with someone else behind the wheel of my car. I was not off to a good start.
Then came the new Techno Toilet my son purchased after the isolation valve on his original toilet failed, causing a flood in his downstairs basement suite. Repairs and restoration from the flood were a test of endurance but he didn't tell me about his newest acquisition. A toilet that does pretty much everything but brush your teeth.
I cannot express my angst over using a toilet that beeps and chirps and has a mind of its own. It came with a remote control. Enough said.
We visited until the wee hours of the morning and the next day included a leisurely trip to the mountains, a few easy hikes and meeting up with my sister-in-law for supper. Okay! This is right up my alley.
Long story, short? The next day was nothing like I envisioned.
I was a very nervous and agitated passenger on our trek into the mountains. Mountains are not a favored destination of mine but I can endure them. The twisty, curvy mountain roads to some of our destinations were exceeding my comfort and car sickness zone. My son's definition of an easy hike is quite different than mine. I could not savor the hiking experience due to my apprehension over losing my footing resulting in a trip and fall, wrecking the only pair of pants that fit me comfortably, let alone the thought of twisting an ankle and having to walk back as far as we had trekked in.
I'm quite sure I was wearing "all of the above" on the expression on my face. All we had to do was get back to where we began. That was the goal.
My son offered many "rest stops" along the way. I really didn't need or want to rest. I simply wanted to get back home. I was not savoring the views along the way. I was watching where my feet were stepping to avoid any trip and falls (saving the knees of my pants was my priority).
Oh, the self talk I had going on in my head. I should be embarrassed. Instead, I was just getting on a roll and it got worse before it got better.
It was at one of these stopping points when a bald eagle flew right up to us and over our heads in a blatant "Look up and see me!!" kind of way. Even my son, who is no stranger to mountains and all he finds awe inspiring about them, was in awe.
It was a moment to behold.
We were on our mother-son-trek on the 8th anniversary of Mom's last day here on earth. This is not a day Mom would want to focus on but it just so happened our weekend together landed on this date in history.
The song "An Eagle When She Flies" had special meaning to Mom. We played it at her graveside. The song described the person Mom was. We have placed a connection between Mom and eagles. We spread some of Mom's ashes at Mom & Dad's old farm. The family who were last to leave, spotted two eagles soaring above the farm as a memory filled day wound to a close.
I have never seen an eagle. Even when I went on an Alaskan cruise and bald eagles were pointed out to us in the trees. "They look like little golf balls..." I couldn't find them hidden in the scene.
But this bald eagle was blatant and obvious. It flew up and over us in a manner that said, "Look at me! I am here!"
Mom? If she had any way to say "Look up and out of your thoughts" to me, she would have.
My son was giving me a gift of a lifetime. Taking me, showing me, experiencing the wonders of his world. And I couldn't see beyond the negative thought spiral I was in.
I have been home two days now and I can finally appreciate the weekend. I can hear Mom's voice in my head admonishing me for not seeing the experience for what it was while I was living it.
I hear you, Mom.
I also hear her say she is in full agreement about the driving though ...
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