When I got to the hotel at the Denver airport late last night, I found a little container of lavender balm next to the bed. It promised to help me “sleep well,” which sounded good to me.
I’ve never used lavender balm before, so I read the instructions. They read: “Wind down naturally with our Sleep Well Aromatherapy Balm, infused with essential oils of lavender and chamomile to ease tension and soothe the senses. Roll onto temples or wrists before bedtime to foster sound sleep.” Because I was keenly interested in fostering sound sleep, I did both. My temples and wrists have never smelled so good!
And you know what? I did sleep pretty well, until I had to get up at 3:30 a.m. Mountain time to catch an early morning flight. Was my sound sleep the result of the balm, or just exhaustion at the end of a long day? Who knows? But because sound sleep in a hotel is a rarity for me, I’m taking no chances. The lavender balm is officially part of my travel kit from now on.
Today I am attempting the traveler’s triathlon — a three-leg trip with tight connections, heading into snow country, in winter. Add in a government shutdown and what that potentially means for TSA workers, air traffic controllers, and every other federal employee who works in the nation’s air traffic system, and the degree of difficulty ratchets up to just about Iron Man Triathlon levels.
So far, though, so good. No bad weather, no security delays, no de-icing issues, and no mechanical problems. I had to run through several terminals and concourses at O’Hare, but that just gave me some much-needed exercise.
If my last leg leaves and arrives on time, I may just need to buy a lottery ticket when I read my ultimate destination.
There’s supposed to be a huge snowstorm bearing down on the Midwest, including our little neighborhood in Columbus, Ohio. Some people apparently are worried about it.
Last night, Kish and I went out to dinner, and our waiter asked us — only half facetiously — whether we had scurried off to the supermarket to lay in supplies of bottled water. When I looked puzzled, he helpfully added that an incoming winter storm was supposed to arrive overnight and drop 4 to 6 inches of snow on Columbus. The message was clear: winter storm = need water. Lots and lots of water, apparently, and not the out of the tap variety, either.
Of course, we didn’t go directly to the store to buy a case or two of bottled water. I’ve never succumbed to storm frenzy, and I’m not quite sure why other people are so susceptible to it. In the Midwest, in winter, a snowstorm that drops 4 to 6 inches of the white stuff isn’t an everyday occurrence, but it’s certainly common enough that people shouldn’t freak out about it.
And the need for bottled water baffles me, too. I don’t drink bottled water under normal circumstances, so why would I suddenly start doing so because of a snowstorm? I’m perfectly happy with whatever comes out of the faucet. And winter storms aren’t like hurricanes that might knock out water facilities and leave people without electricity or water for days or even weeks. To my recollection, we’ve always had water even in the aftermath of the greatest blizzards, like the Great Blizzard of ’78. And the nice thing about a snowstorm is — it provides its own supply of water. If Kish and I get really desperate, we can always scoop up some of the white stuff and wait for it to melt.
As I write this, I see that snow has started falling. The storm must be here! You know, it kind of makes me thirsty.
The Strava research seems to have focused on exercise and dietary resolutions, which are probably the most challenging resolutions of all. People buy that health club membership and start eating leafy green vegetables for dinner with the best of intentions, but are felled by unrealistic expectations of what will happen. When those unrealistic expectations aren’t met, they fall off the wagon. And then, after they fall off the wagon, they figure it’s hopeless to try to change and totally give up.
I think making resolutions makes some sense, and the start of a new year is as good a time as any for some self-reflection and consideration of how a beneficial behavioral change might be in order. There’s nothing wrong with trying to get more exercise and be more healthy, but why stake your New Year’s resolutions entirely upon goals that experience teaches are incredibly difficult to reach? Maybe we should start small, and think about little, reasonably achievable resolutions that might just make you a better person and improve your life at the same time. Consider, for example, this list of 58 New Year’s resolutions that don’t involve dieting or exercise. It’s not exhaustive and right for everyone, of course, but it may give you ideas for the kind of resolutions that are suitable for you.
This year, I’m going small with my resolutions. I’m going to clean out my closet and give the clothes that aren’t being used to a charitable organization. I want to go through what we’ve got stored in the basement and the pantry, figure out whether we’re using it, and donate what’s unneeded to the Goodwill. I’m going to tackle my emailboxes and iPhone photos, delete what I don’t want to store forever, be happy about the reduced clutter, and see whether that improves my phone battery life. And while I’ve done a better job of leisure reading this past year, in 2019 I’m going to up the ante by identifying and then reading through to the end at least one really mentally challenging book.
Making goals is a good thing, but reaching those goals is even better.
The hiking trails on St. John are rated by degree of difficulty. There are three ratings: easy, “moderate,” and “strenuous.” Most of the trails are rated strenuous, and we haven’t encountered an “easy” trail yet. I think all “easy” trails may involve boardwalks and be wheelchair accessible.
What distinguishes “moderate” and “strenuous ” is more elusive. The trail shown above is rated strenuous, and the trail pictured below is moderate. So far as I can tell, they both have more than their fair share of rocks, tree roots, and constant inclines. Perhaps moderate trail don’t exceed 45-degree inclines and only have so many rocks and roots per square foot.
“Strenuous”? Well, sometimes you won’t even see a recognizable trail, be prepared to huff and puff on the unending upward switchbacks, and on the way down bring a little mountain goat with you.
On this morning’s hike we encountered this colorful critter puttering his way along the rocks on the slope of Margaret Hill. He was bright and highly visible against the gray granite and the backdrop of green plants and about the length and thickness of an index figure. Which end is the front, you ask? He was moving right to left, so you’ve got to think the red knob at the left end was its head — but then again it might have been trying to trick us by backing up.
You could almost forget about the government shutdown, it being the holidays and all — except for the fact that the port-a-potties at the national park next door have been closed and sealed and aren’t available for use. The sign on the door reads: “AREA CLOSED. Because of a lapse in federal appropriations, this national park facility is closed for the safety of visitors and park resources. Please visit http://www.nps.gov and select ‘Find A Park’ for additional information about access to other parks and sites in this area.”
You learn something new every day, I guess. I had no idea a port-a-potty is a “national park facility,” or that letting a visitor use it for its intended purpose would pose a risk of safety to visitors and national park resources. An inoperable port-a-potty seems like a good metaphor for our federal government these days, though, doesn’t it?