Post by theevan on Oct 1, 2006 9:36:23 GMT -5
Hello friends and sound-holers (holier than thou?). I'm just back and groggy from our 25th anniversary getaway wherein we left little tim to ourselves. Typical. 
Nevertheless, what private time we had was sweet, as was our delightful room at EG's Country Inn in Grand Lake CO. Somehow I think it is appropriate that we were the last guests forever as the Inn closed for good yesterday, having been sold. Family members were in our room even before we left, combing through furnishings and accessories and laying claim to items of interest and/or lust.
We surprised our daughter Christine at her usual off-work haunt, the library, where she was checking her email and reading one from moi. I wish I could describe her expression when she looked up from her monitor and saw us en real terrible!
We went out on the lake in kayaks the next day, this being my first experience with the little vessels. Exhibiting one of my classic character flaws, I blew off her attempts at basic instruction, preferring instead to enthusiastically do all the wrong things. Naturally, my pig-headed joi de vivre rose up to bite me you-know-where when I managed to upset my conveyance and dump myself into the coldest water this side of Antarctica. (Its elevation is about 8400'). As I was wearing street clothes, with everything cotton and heavy when sodden, I began to sink like a stone in ever-colder layers of water. By the time my life vest was able to overcome the weight of my clothes I was in trouble.
It's funny what you think of in these situations. I don't remember even a touch of panic. All I thought of was Nancy & Christine and what a painful mess for them if I kicked it now. This sense of duty propelled me to the surface. By the time I got my arms & shoulders on the hull of the overturned kayak I was pretty much out of gas...like never before in my life. I remember thinking "This isn't so bad; you could just stay out here". That's when Duty rose up and shouted, "NO, that's hypothermia calling like a Siren! Move it! Live! Get ashore now!".
So, aided by a brisk wind that was already propelling me toward shore. I feebly kicked and hand-paddled while my fretting daughter supervised and made to the beach of Lemmon Lodge. I walked back alone to Christine's coffee shop while she paddled the beached kayaks back to their dock. As I was picking my way gingerly down the gravel drive I realized that this is the very spot we watched three moose foraging just before getting into our cure little death rafts. Mooses (meese?), butt me, I'm yours...I'm sure not running!
How do you separate love and duty? I don't. They feel an awful lot alike.
Nevertheless, what private time we had was sweet, as was our delightful room at EG's Country Inn in Grand Lake CO. Somehow I think it is appropriate that we were the last guests forever as the Inn closed for good yesterday, having been sold. Family members were in our room even before we left, combing through furnishings and accessories and laying claim to items of interest and/or lust.We surprised our daughter Christine at her usual off-work haunt, the library, where she was checking her email and reading one from moi. I wish I could describe her expression when she looked up from her monitor and saw us en real terrible!
We went out on the lake in kayaks the next day, this being my first experience with the little vessels. Exhibiting one of my classic character flaws, I blew off her attempts at basic instruction, preferring instead to enthusiastically do all the wrong things. Naturally, my pig-headed joi de vivre rose up to bite me you-know-where when I managed to upset my conveyance and dump myself into the coldest water this side of Antarctica. (Its elevation is about 8400'). As I was wearing street clothes, with everything cotton and heavy when sodden, I began to sink like a stone in ever-colder layers of water. By the time my life vest was able to overcome the weight of my clothes I was in trouble.
It's funny what you think of in these situations. I don't remember even a touch of panic. All I thought of was Nancy & Christine and what a painful mess for them if I kicked it now. This sense of duty propelled me to the surface. By the time I got my arms & shoulders on the hull of the overturned kayak I was pretty much out of gas...like never before in my life. I remember thinking "This isn't so bad; you could just stay out here". That's when Duty rose up and shouted, "NO, that's hypothermia calling like a Siren! Move it! Live! Get ashore now!".
So, aided by a brisk wind that was already propelling me toward shore. I feebly kicked and hand-paddled while my fretting daughter supervised and made to the beach of Lemmon Lodge. I walked back alone to Christine's coffee shop while she paddled the beached kayaks back to their dock. As I was picking my way gingerly down the gravel drive I realized that this is the very spot we watched three moose foraging just before getting into our cure little death rafts. Mooses (meese?), butt me, I'm yours...I'm sure not running!
How do you separate love and duty? I don't. They feel an awful lot alike.
