Orbits and Comets

February has got to be the worst month of the year. I think God put Christmas in the middle of winter so we wouldn't curl up and die. And then somebody came up with Valentine's Day, just to get us on through til spring. Valentine's Day is the worst combination of torture and genius ever invented. Rare is the guy that gets it right, but a whole lot of money gets spent anyways. Surely, Hallmark Cards came up with that stroke of brilliance. Ken and I couldn't wait for spring, much less June, so we had the bright idea to get married the day before Valentine's. Oh sure, it was romantic with the red and white and all. And he's never tempted to forget our anniversary. But have you ever tried to get a reservation for anything around that holiday?

For most of our thirty-six years of marital bliss, we have taken a special trip roughly around that date. We don't stress over the actual day, just do the "ish" thing (ah, these millennials). This year we went on the cheap to a friend's cabin up near Clayton, Georgia. It was only a couple of hours up there, the price was right, and besides, I like the mountains in winter. It's just tragic to try a beach trip in February. The sky's always gray, the wind is blustery, the ocean looks mean, and there's definitely nowhere to swim. But the mountains, they are beautiful, even with all the green stripped off them. You can smell smoke from the fires in the chimneys all around and there's nothing like the sight of mist on the hills in the morning. Southern winters are never predictable but we like to pretend while the leaves are off the trees. To me, there's no desperation like waiting for it all to quit and spring to get here. 

For any trip, there's thinking, planning, laundry and then the packing. I didn't have much time for any of that except throwing some stuff in a couple of bags. We dashed north before the Atlanta traffic could catch us and settled in Betsy's darling cabin before it got dark. It's the sweetest thing ever -- tucked in a hill with water splashing in a creek below. Tiny, but perfect. She's got it outfitted with just enough. Best of all, there's no cable TV, no wi-fi, and no cell service to speak of. Not even in town. I gave up trying when our waitress the next morning informed me, "You'll just have to talk to each other." I sheepishly slipped my phone back into my purse. What a trip -- we hiked, visited local sites and shopped til we dropped. No, that's a lie. Basically, we ate and slept. For three whole days. We went to bed early and turned like slugs every few hours, just to keep our achy hips from setting up like concrete. It was perfect. There are some great restaurants up there, so we didn't suffer in that category. There's also a family that seems to own the town -- their hardware store morphs into a gift shop, boutique, furniture center and even an art market, complete with brushes, canvas and paints. I bought a sketchbook and started scribbling. 

But what was best about the long weekend was in a twilight hour, where all the goody was distilled into one of those rare times that we experience in life. Our bellies were full of exquisitely-prepared mushroom swiss burgers, relaxed, the last night of our trip. We sat on the front porch, looking at the diamond-starred sky, breathing the mountain air. As we reminisced about our thirty-six years together, talking about our children, grandchildren, our parents, grandparents, God...there was peace in the conflicts, the difficulties, the goodness, the mercy. We thought of our dear friends whose cabin we were lucky to be in...how they were now divorced, how but for the grace of God we could have gone down that same path. Another year, another cycle, another road. Our lives are like the trails of the comets that burn through the atmosphere. Here today, gone tomorrow. But they leave a wake. Dear Jesus, what a wake.