After a nice Easter dinner at my daughter’s house surrounded by screaming grandkids and opinionated in-laws, Gail and I decided to head off for a short hike at Moccasin Kill. The trail started out with a crooked sideways bridge across a sketchy looking creek, through some mud filled squishy stream crossings. What was thought to be an easy trail proved to be a little more than easy for two old geezers. Multiple stream crossings over slippery rocks and up some steep hills, we made it around the two mile or so loop. Mildly winded, we loaded our crap into my trusty Forester, code named Whitey, due to its incredibly Caucasian coloration. We made it all the way home at which point I realized that there had been a disaster of monstrous proportions inflicted upon one of my most cherished belongings.
My mind drifts back to the day that I retired about seven years ago. On that day, in preparation for my upcoming glory days of retirement, I bought a brand new pair of Oakley Tactical sunglasses for the cool price of approximately one hundred and fifty dollars. I had protected and cherished these glasses during hikes, motorcycle rides, golf outings, and a never ending series of post retirement adventures. They had never been lost or broken in all that time. I did replace the lenses and nose pieces a few times as they became scratched and worn, but those frames had always survived. I know what this is all sounding like, and it is definitely true, that I had an unnatural attachment to my beloved Oakleys.
Fast forward to today, and I think you can guess what occurred. THE DAMN GLASSES WERE MISSING! After a brief emotional breakdown, I started retracing what had happened. I had put the glasses on top of my knit hat and must have flung them off unthinkingly when I pulled the hat off of my head. There was another couple at the trail head loading up their car while we were, and I had an imagined snarky look from them as we drove away. My imagination went wild at this point as I imagined those rotten kids seeing my glasses go flying, only to happily walk off with my beloved Oakleys.
I told Gail that I wanted to go back and look for them, but she just shook her head and said I was dreaming if I thought I could find them. Nonetheless, I drove the eight miles back to the trail head to look. Pacing back and forth at the trail head and ranting about the rotten kids that had stolen my glasses. I glanced towards the stream AND THERE THEY WERE! Glory hallelujah, it is an Easter Miracle. My Oakleys had survived another day and will potentially be cremated with me when that bright day arrives.
Thank you Jesus, thank you Lord.
