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Forgive me for being momentarily morbid, but I’m in the middle of another long, dreary winter, and it’s time I did something to cheer myself up. Perhaps I’m being overly sensitive because my birthday is coming up, but it seems like every time I open the newspaper, someone very near my age has died. So my assignment for today is to take stock – to think about baskets full of blessings and all the things I have to look forward to. If I have to give a nod to the fact that I’m in my late fifties (which my young nieces and nephews assure me is very old), and that the end gets nearer every day, then I’ll write a bucket list one day soon.
What memories do I most cherish? What do I most regret? What do I have to look forward to?
Promise you won’t laugh. Writing about Shy Violet (my work in progress) has made me realize that I’m the one who is typically standing on the sidelines encouraging the people who are actually doing the things I want to do, perhaps even taking photos, or filing away observations for future characters, dialog or plot lines for my next book. Instead of entering into the merriment of the occasion, I hang back and let others have all of the fun.
Some of my best memories are of the time I lived in Augsburg, Germany, when I admittedly went a little wild and acted like a crazy person, probably because I drank a wee bit too much Liebfraumilch. Among other things, I took disco lessons (you promised not to laugh) and danced many a night away to ABBA and the BeeGees, learned to soul dance with a big black man who taught me moves so smooth I can still feel them if I try, called a 3 star general on the phone and told him what I thought about what I perceived to be a bad decision on his part, took my dog, Ginger, and went on volksmarches by myself when my fuddy-dud husband wouldn’t budge off the sofa, and drove myself to Holland and the Italian Riviera and wherever else I wanted to go, just because I could.
By the time the 80’s arrived, I had been hurt. I’d gone too far on a couple of occasions and realized certain things were very, very bad ideas. I retreated back into observation mode, sitting on the sidelines and watching as my friends lived out their fantasies, afraid to even say what I wanted, and more importantly, to follow where my heart led.
For whatever reason, in the 90’s, I went a little wild again – I climbed Pikes Peak and almost Mount Massive, left Colorado Springs and moved to Iowa to buy a house everyone else though should have been bulldozed, opened my own business, and participated in a few adventures so reckless and unthinkable that I really can’t talk about them here. Have to save something for my tell-all memoir…
But alas, when all was said and done, my soul once again felt singed. I was afraid of being hurt. I stopped riding my bicycle because my muscles and my heart ached, and I didn’t climb any more mountains because I stopped believing I could. I let myself be talked out of going to the Gaelic cèilidh on Iona when we were in Scotland because it might get too late and I didn’t insist we cross the bridge to Sweden because we might not have enough time, and I didn’t go on the side trip to take a dip in the healing waters of the Blue Lagoon when in Iceland because it cost $45 extra per person. I let so many opportunities slip through my fingers, And the more I stopped doing, the more depressed I felt, and I was always tired. I passed by opportunities to have parties or be social because I was too timid to pick up the phone and call people or because my house isn’t tidy enough, or because I weighed too much or didn’t look the way I wish I did anymore. Or because I was afraid people would reject me.
I let my light fade. In my third book, Water Lily, I wrote a scene where Michelle chooses not to join Jake and his boys in the swimming pool because she’s embarrassed about how she looks in a swimming suit. This scene is so typical of my life it is ridiculous. It is so hard for me to let go and let loose – except in my books, where my imagination takes those moments and makes them live.
So I’m in my late fifties, and I’ve had a great life. I’ve gone places and done things that many people only dream of. But to be frank, I’m at that stage of life where if I plan to do anything else, it’s now or never. It’s time to start wishing again, to go to the places I dream of seeing and – more importantly – experiencing. It’s time to live life to the fullest and seize every opportunity – because a kiss to build a dream on is fine, and I do have a great imagination, but sometimes a kiss isn’t enough. Sometimes, I want wild, passionate lovemaking all night long. I want to live. I want to fly – to be the one in the picture instead of the one holding the camera.
So my husband just came home from working over at the church and asked if I wanted to go for a ride and take in the sunset. At first I said I needed to finished my blog and then call the computer guy, who is waiting to do a backup on my new laptop. But then I said yes and went out and got in the car. It’s a start.
Gardiner, Montana is a pretty little mountain town perched at the north entrance to Yellowstone Park. The Roosevelt Arch, dedicated by Teddy Roosevelt himself, used to be the main entrance to the park and recalls a time when cars where much smaller and times were simpler. It was a thrill to drive through the gates, knowing my parents had driven the same route on their honeymoon back in the ’50’s.
The hour long ride from Yellowstone Falls to Gardiner is one of the most picturesque routes in the park. 
The loop to the east is more steep, and has lovely views of green valleys with white mountain peaks looming in the distance.
One night, we were a little late in getting back to our B&B – the moon that guided out path was lovely.
The trip was much prettier, and probably a good deal safer, by daylight!
Even a section of trees that had burned in a forest fire some years ago showed signs of beautiful new life.
The western loop heads towards Old Faithful.
Stops along the way feature hot springs that have created shimmering waterfalls of white and golden rocks.
The assent down into the valley where Gardiner sits is breathtaking. The town itself has the feel of an old west frontier town, with many building built of stone with quaint gingerbread trim, plank boardwalks instead of sidewalks and wooden railed fences.
We stayed on the 3rd floor of a Victorian bed and breakfast near a creek at the edge of town. The sound of the rushing waters from the creek was a soothing balm as we lay in our bedroom with the windows open so we could smell and feel the crisp mountain air. Although a delicious breakfast was served in a common dining room, we had our own little kitchenette, and a cute window seat that looked out over the mountains.
The shops in Gardiner featured many local artists and crafts people in addition to having typical tourist fare. I found some of the most original pottery creations I saw on our trip in an art gallery in Gardiner.
Gardiner is just far enough away from the hustle bustle and traffic of the busiest part of Yellowstone Park to be attractive.
It’s also just close enough to be the perfect jumping off point for the beauties of Yellowstone Park.
On the way home, we left the park via the southern route so we could see the Grand Tetons and a glimpse of Wyoming.
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My Heart is in the Highlands sounds a bit cliche, but when you look at these pictures, you’ll understand why I could go back there and spend weeks, months, or years… Enjoy!
Blue Belle Books... a Blog by Author Sherrie Hansen 