Misty Mountains and Eyes

There's a lot of psychobabble out there about every subject under the sun. Especially when it comes to health. If I believed and acted on every email that came through my box, we would be broke. We almost are anyway, from the many supplements and health gimmicks that I already fall prey to. There are books about "the cancer personality" (hoping I don't have that one), how to peel ten years off your life, how your problem is the carbs, the meat, the lack of probiotics. Makes you just want to run screaming to the drive-through at Dairy Queen. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. That might not be a good option...

They say your body responds to stress, that it "tells" you when it's had enough. I'm afraid it's true. After a harrowing week of real estate, with four deals tipping precariously at the edge right up to Friday night, they all tipped back to the right side. That hardly ever happens that way. We had a weekend trip planned, babysitting three of our grandkids and spending some time relaxing in Helen. Fortunately, all was pinned down just in the nick of time as we pulled out for our jaunt.

Oh Helen, Georgia...that interesting place. In the early 70s, my parents took us up there for a trip. As we pulled into the motel parking lot and opened the car doors, a bear roared loudly from the top of the mountain. I remember the magic of those few days. Us kids played in the Chattahoochee that was bubbling behind the motel, collecting smooth river rocks and looking for crawdads. We wandered through the Alpine-like village, ate fudge and fried fish. The cool night air enchanted us with possibilities. The whole place was a great idea and for years it was overflowing with tourists, yuppies, tree-huggers and rednecks all. Then it seemed to fall into disrepair. The downturn hit it hard. When our youngest son made his trek to college a few years ago, it seemed on its last, tired legs. 

I am happy to report that the revived economy has also turned Helen around. It is buzzing with new paint, new shops, re-energized old stores and hotels. People crowd the sidewalks, laughing, noshing on treats and generally having a good time. The beer gardens full, lights twinkling everywhere and the ole Chattahoochee rippled sweetly through it all, with all sorts of folk paddling through with their inner tubes. The beautiful mountains all around are still full of mystery and my heart fell content, glad to be shed of some of my recent stress. 

When we pulled in to Cleveland, our dear grandbabies tumbled raucously out of the house, sweet hugs and kisses all around. Poppi was the hit of the day (he's "Poppi" to some of our grands, "Papa" to the others), letting down his hair a bit to show them his crazy side. No one can prepare you for the exhaustion that makes up a day with three grandkids aged five and under. We definitely need to get crackin' with that marathon training. But there also is no bliss like the tender eyes of said grandchildren misting up when it's time to go. Time is short. Eat it up.