Wednesday, December 12th: We started the day disappointed in ourselves for sleeping late into the morning. Both of our night’s rest had been broken up with multiple hours of insomnia, yet we neglected to set an alarm. It wasn’t simply the hours lost to our dreams that was hard to accept; this paled in comparison to facing the reality of our impending transposition. Our northern projection meant that we’d soon be out of our camper and reintroduced to a world that now felt unfamiliar. The fear and vulnerability brought on by this realization manifested as outward frustration. After a contentious breakfast, we stood outside the truck, holding each other in a tight hug. Our loving grip matched that which we had on our miniature life, neither of us wanting to release the comfort that both provided. With our life about to expand, we knew that in order to ease the growing pains, we needed to welcome rather than resist those changes. Our embrace, along with a few tears on my end, offered a softening that opened up the possibilities of the rest of the day. Deciding to sample the rock of St. George, we headed towards the most accessible area. After arriving at Prophesy Wall, we were immediately allured by it’s golden, glowing face. As we stepped out of the car, we were met by fierce gusts that were strong enough to squander our positive first impression. A short hike and intimidating scramble landed us at the base of the wall where we began preparing for a multi-pitch called: “Past Lives”. It wasn’t the climbing that was challenging, but rather combating the relentless gale force winds. At times, it felt as if we would be blown right off the wall, combined by the fact that we couldn’t hear our partner who was either above or below us. It was a long, cold fight and both of us were relieved once back on the ground. That evening, we stopped in Snow Canyon State Park where I went for a run and Tom journaled. The amazing scenery paired with a delicate sunset was the perfect environment for both of us to turn inwards. Before driving to nearby, public land, we stopped at the grocery store for a few dinner items. After checking out, I noticed that I was charged full price for day-old bagels that I splurged on. I wasn’t even embarrassed as I stood in the customer service line for my $1.50 reimbursement. It wasn’t until Tom walked in, curious about the hold-up, that I realized the nonsensicality of the situation. Before leaving on our trip, this would have never been worth my time, nor would I have even checked the receipt. Did I leave in a sudden surge of shame you ask? Absolutely not. Tom and I stood with tickled smiles on our faces until we had $1.50 in hard cash resting in my frugal palm. That night, we sat around a beautiful fire after having prepared delectable hobo meals. Nothing could have better sealed a day that threw us for a loop but carefully landed us right back where we felt at home.
On Thursday, I woke up to begin my last outdoor yoga practice of the year. Surrounded by snow-peaked mountains, I expressed my gratitude for all that had been and that which was to come. As I took in the fresh air and tended to my muscles, Tom busied himself in the camper, preparing egg sandwhiches on our budget bagels. On our way to Cedar Hills, we stopped at Meadow Hot Springs, a true diamond in the rough. We drove through a rutted out, muddy road to find what appeared to be an unappealing steaming hole. Once overlooking it’s vast depth and intricacy, our initial distaste proved ignorant. Layers of protruding rock shelves were covered in a blue, green algae that reflected a metallic shine. This majestic glimmer was made bright by the energizing sun, which heated our faces while our bodies relaxed into the naturally warmed water. Both invigorated, we hopped back in the car and headed towards Grandma. We arrived at her assisted living complex at 3:30, just in time for bingo. Each holding two cards that Grandma deemed “lucky”, the bingos were flying. At first, we were the only players in the room, but as time went on, newcomers slowly trickled in. The additional players were hard of hearing, forcing the announcer to yell out each number multiple times. At three bingos, the boards were wiped and we’d start over. Feeling guilty about hogging all of them with our fortuitous boards, Tom and I started showing them to one another, but not calling them out. This admittance should never have been shared with Grandma, for when we did, she was unpleased. “You get a prize for each one!”, she stressed, discouraging our secret objective. After being scolded, we began once again calling them out, annoying the other slighted players. Tom and Grandma both capped out at the 3 bingo limit, while I came in at only 2 (not including those that each of us didn’t declare). That evening, we joined Grandma for dinner in the cafeteria, which was, quite possibly, more entertaining than bingo. My Grandma was concerned and confused about whether or not we had ordered. When we’d tell her that we had, she’d reply with: “well, what did I order?” This continued until our food arrived, at which point she obsessed over Tom and I not having enough food. When she finished eating a handful of fries, she hurriedly asked our passing waitress for a bowl of butter pecan ice cream, then stared at each of us expectantly, awaiting our flavor request. Nothing could have disappointed her more than us informing her that we wouldn’t be eating any. “Do you not eat treats?” She directly questioned both of us. We explained that we did, but not often, and that we didn’t care for any at this moment. “You’re missing out on the best part of life,” she challenged. After dinner, we relaxed in Grandma’s apartment where her frail body struggled to warm up after her small dish of frozen delight. She bumped the heater up to 79, still vigorously shivering, while Tom and I cooked to the core. Once my Grandma’s nightly medication arrived, we left her to begin her bedtime routine. Since we had eaten a small, early dinner, Tom and I drove to a nearby pizza shop where we devoured a few hearty slices while laughing about the day’s events. Parked outside my Grandma’s complex, we crawled into our frigid camper and frantically slipped into our sleeping bags. We appreciated and savored every part of the last night we’d be spending in our cozy den.
We got up early on Friday to find a frozen layer covering the camper’s inner surfaces. The sun had not yet risen over the mountains and the chill in the air made in hard to leave the warmth of our sleeping bags. After making coffee we sought warmth in my Grandma’s apartment, where we shared breakfast before getting back on the road. We first headed north of Salt Lake where we met with Tatiana, a potential landlord. She was very kind and accommodating, speaking to us about her life and the properties that she owns. As we were heading out, she gave us the address for the place that we were hoping to live. She couldn’t provide an inside tour without first speaking with the current residents, but permitted us to peer around the exterior. The location had both of us giddy up until we were parked in front. The obvious neglect fizzled our hopeful anticipation, which fell flat as we made our way around the back. Multiple sets of washer and dryers sat snow-covered, creating obstacles to reach the back entrance. Reaching the sliding glass door, we peeped through the window to find further disorder. Not wanting to discount it as an option, Tom stayed optimistic, mapping out changes that could make it more comfortable. “We could move the washer and dryers out of the way and get the inside cleaned up”. Although his steady enthusiasm was endearing, I didn’t share his same outlook. Our drive to Cheyenne presented the challenge of talking through possible secondary options and swallowing the fact that I accidentally erased a large portion recently completed blog material. Both factors made for an emotionally charged ride that we attempted to simmer before reaching Joseph and Jessy. We arrived, ready to let go of the day in order to enjoy our time spent with people that we love.
I woke up before Tom on Saturday and went upstairs to find Joseph watching Sports Center. It was nice to have some time for the two of us to snuggle on the couch and catch up. The rest of the day was filled with various chores that the two of them and Tom and I wanted to complete. They prepared and mailed a multitude of Christmas gifts, while Tom and I readied the camper to sit stagnant. That night, we made lasagna before going out on the town. It was a late night, but more than worth every minute of lost sleep.
We shared a lovely Sunday morning breakfast with Joseph and Jessy before driving an hour and a half to Denver. When we arrived at Kris and Allison’s, we did what we could to begin assisting with various projects. They were putting the finishing touches on a remodeled home that they hoped to rent and we cared to help in any way we could. With the daylight no longer providing necessary illumination, we wrapped up our projects and began preparing dinner. That night, we enjoyed delicious food, a few drinks and a competitive game of Catan.
I got up on Monday morning to blog and make breakfast. After eating, and with the dishes completed, Tom and I headed out to the Golden Cliffs, where the two of us and Kris and Allison’s dogs spent the day. It was the last day of the year that we’d spend climbing outside, which made it bittersweet. The weather was perfect, the dogs were having a ball and we relished the grip of real rock. That night, we picked up caulk and dinner supplies before heading back to Kris and Allison’s. Once there, Tom finished up some trim caulking and helped me prepare some grub for the four of us. All tired, we called it an early night.
We woke up on Tuesday feeling the excitement and dread of our long drive back to Minnesota. It was a full day of sitting that left us with sore butts and tight muscles. This was eased by the glee of reuniting with Mogli and the comfort of being home.
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