Good memories continued....
That moment on the Little River above Desoto Falls when I parked my kayak and floated on my back and the cool water flowed around me as I stared at the clouds float across the blue sky and a dragonfly landed on my nose.
Desoto State Park, 2013

I've decided good memories help fight the blues. So my newest weapon is writing short sentences or paragraphs, or sentences as long as paragraphs, which mention a great memory. I want this to be a list of memories which were heart-stopping, amazing or beautiful in some way. I don't mean this to be a bragging list of amazing things Lisa's done in her well-traveled life - it's a list of memories for which I'm extremely thankful. You may not realize it, but you have moments like these as well. They may not have taken place on top of a mountain in Switzerland, but maybe they happened on top of a mountain in North Carolina, or Colorado, or even Alabama. Yes, we have mountains in Alabama.
So, here's the one about...
...that time my family drove and drove and drove in the pouring rain looking for a Bed-n-Breakfast because it was too wet to camp and the sun finally came out and there was a beautiful full rainbow and Dad said let's drive to the end of the rainbow and we did and found the cutest B&B where Bridget Bardot had once stayed and we ordered salad with our dinner and the cook walked through from the garden to the kitchen with a lettuce he had just pulled from the garden and then after dinner we went upstairs and slept on feather mattresses and it was magical.
-- somewhere in France, 1983

Yesterday I had to go to Kirklin to get my monthly menopause shot. The shot that put me into and is keeping me in menopause - about 10 years earlier than expected. It was not a good day. I had to wait for 2 hours to spend 5 minutes with the nurse giving me my shot. It hurt. A two hour wait in a waiting room full of sad people. And then getting a shot that HURTS. I cried when she gave me the shot. And she looked so sad and said, "I'm sorry I hurt you." And I whispered, "I know".
I want to see an empty infusion/chemo waiting room. Empty because we're all well.
I really want to go camping and sit for a long while inhaling the fresh air only trees can produce.
I want to sink underwater at a pool and feel the refreshment of cool water.
I want to take another hike. Maybe a shorter one this time. And in cooler weather.
I feel so tired.
But I'll keep fighting.