Not a creature was stirring

It’s Christmas Eve, and the rain hasn’t stopped since yesterday morning.

A few days ago, it was the shortest day of the year. I felt like it was time to go to bed at 4:30 pm. The darkness encroaches even further into daylight hours with this storm. Usually in December, we still have brilliant sunshine. Maybe this is what it feels like to live places where they have a real winter.

I know I’m not supposed to complain about rain when our whole state has been in a drought for years. It’s a joy to turn off my sprinklers. But rain raises the stakes for my daughter crossing the Grapevine down from Northern California. Our grandkids might get snowed in up in the San Bernardino Mountains. I won’t be able to seat some of my Christmas brunch guests outside by the pool. Complications I usually don’t have to consider.

Other places in California that are still recovering from wildfires will now have flooding and mudslides. Fortunately, that doesn’t affect our town, but we remember those displaced people in our prayers.

If rain brings nature’s renewal, I welcome it. Too bad this year with its continuing troubles couldn’t be washed away with the rain as well. It will be cozy to sit by the fireplace and sip hot cocoa. I can see the twinkling Christmas lights through the eyes of my seven-month-old grand twins.

It’s Christmas Eve. A quiet one this year but a refreshing deep breath as we turn the page to next year.

Deer in the forest

deer

Because of pneumonia, I saw three deer in the forest.

Six long months ago, I booked our camping trip at the beach. Those of you who have made reservations at California state beaches know the degree of difficulty is at least an 8. But I did better than that– I booked one of the sites directly on the cliff at Carlsbad. These camping spots are wide, and trailers are allowed to park sideways so that your dining table window is facing the ocean. In order to secure those sites, you have to be on the ReserveAmerica website at exactly 7:55 am on the first– wait a minute! I’d better not reveal my secrets.

Six months later, time is approaching for our trip. The October weather forecast is promising days of 80 degrees and nights down to 60. Perfect. I’ve made my camping checklist, scheduled each day to do part of the prep work. School’s been tough, and I’m ready to check out of the desert for a weekend.

Three weeks before the trip, our six year old grandson goes into the hospital suffering pneumonia. His mother, my husband’s daughter, is a nurse practitioner, so we know she’s on top of everything. All of the family takes turns visiting him. After a week of treatment, the doctors send him home. Everyone takes a sigh of relief.

But one week later, our grandson goes back into the hospital again, sicker than he was at first. Raised voices from his parents produce a specialist who determines that our grandson’s lungs need a procedure. By now, his mother, who knows too much, and did I mention she’s in her first trimester of pregnancy, has become officially hysterical. (Who could blame her?) Her husband has now become the last sane person standing. Family members come and go to the hospital, like the changing of the guard.

A few nights before our camping trip, my husband and I look at each other. How do we dare leave the area while all this was going on?

I called and cancelled the reservation.

Meanwhile, our grandson started to recover, and that weekend, the weekend we had planned to go camping, he was allowed to leave and receive treatments at his home. Sunday the family was getting together to celebrate. But we had Saturday free.

A friend called and asked us to ride with him up to the mountains. After all the tension of the past weeks, we were ready to jump on our Harley and escape the heat. We rode up Highway 18 to Lake Arrowhead for lunch. We sat outside eating sandwiches, enjoying the sunshine and crisp cool air. After that we rode through Big Bear Lake. Our friend suggested we take Highway 38 through the mountains down to Yucaipa, a little used road that served as the access to a few campgrounds and fire roads.

Leaving the traffic of Big Bear behind, we cruised up the narrow winding road that would through the towering pines. Forest surrounded us on either side, and for most of the way there were no other cars. We swooshed back and forth in the curves like snow boarders. Lulled by the hum of the motorcycle engines and the rustling of the trees, we settled into the rhythm of the road.

Then three small heads with pointy ears turned our way from the forest’s edge. We had startled some young deer, which stared at us with suspicion, and then showed us their white tails as they bounded away. Although we had frequently visited our local mountains, this was the first time we had been far enough away from humans to catch sight of any wildlife.

If not for our grandson’s pneumonia, we never would have seen them.