As I write this, I am sitting in a toasty Hotel room overlooking the Columbia River that is all gray and forlorn, but doing its forever song as it makes its way to the ocean.
I have a ground floor room with a sliding glass door leading out to a grassy strip that has a skim of snow on it, and beyond that is the river. The room is because of Sweetpea my little dog. People with dogs get a ground floor and an exit outside to the grass. A nice dog-friendly hotel.
My daughter at home took four days off work so we could make this trip, as I am normally at home with my grandson. But today, I am here.
I have this room because we thought we were going to a memorial on Saturday in The Dalles, Oregon, about 25 miles away. Since I wanted a couple of days as a writing retreat, I booked a room for myself Thursday and Friday, and then for Saturday when my husband and daughter would join me.
Severe weather warnings frightened people off as many were driving from a distance away, and so my brother postponed the memorial.
My eldest daughter opted out, and my husband decided to reschedule our time in The Dalles when we planned to see his family. So, here I am. Perfect. Now I get four days instead of two.
It’s what I have been asking for, time to myself to write and read. Time alone with only my dog and myself to care for. I feel like the scene from the movie Mary Poppins when she interviewed with Mr. Banks, while outside a North wind came along and blew away the competition.
Remember nannies sailing through the air, skirts billowing, feet in the air, umbrellas turned inside out?
As I watch the river, I see a little duck, tiny in that immense flow, paddling upstream. At first, I thought he/she (I can’t tell which), was staying in the same spot as the current flowed steadily past her little body. Now, that’s a strong current and a big river while that duck is but a teeny little-feathered creature with only her internal insulation to protect her against the bracing cold. Soon she away from my view. I don’t know how she is managing, but clearly, something she or he, wants is upstream, and that little duck is determined to get there.
While I don’t want to be foolhardy in staying here instead of going home before bad weather breaks, as is predicted, this is too good to pass up.
I am working feverishly on my course, Come on Baby Light My Fire, reading and having a blast, drinking coffee, and processing whatever debris I have blocking my road to success. I was so excited about one of the processes, I expected to see that red truck I pretended to ask for sitting in our driveway when I get home. (It was only an example).
If you hear that I was lost in a snow back, know that I went out happy.
The Frog's Song by Joyce Davis
For more information on The Frog's Song, I invite you to click on https://thefrogssong.com
Joyce's travels have taken her beyond the shores of her native continent, but she's back where she started, in Oregon.