Ms. Mar and I recently returned from her hometown in Minnesota, a place recently voted the “Coolest Small Town in America.” That’s pretty cool (I’m such a cute punster)?
It’s been lots of years since she took me back, but it hasn’t changed much.
One morning I summoned her for a head scratch when she invited me for a hike. Ms. Mar and sisters decided to hike up to the highest point in Minnesota called EAGLE MOUNTAIN. At 2301 feet, really? It can not be called a “mountain.” They should have named it Eagle Hill but I guess that doesn’t sound majestic being the highest point in the state.
“I let Ms. Mar know that she was no spring chicken (yum) and maybe shouldn’t do that hike, but she would hear none of that. “I did it in high school, and it wasn’t that difficult.” I told her that high school was a looooooooooong time ago. She laughed and off she went disregarding my advice. I shook my head, said a prayer before dozing off for my mid-morning nap. I wasn’t about to tackle that hike.
A few hours later (make that 7), I could hear her moaning and groaning as she walked down the hall. I guess it wasn’t as easy as she thought. She had to tell me all about it. She classified the hike into sections:
1. Flat . . . Easy peasy (for the first 5 minutes)
2. Flat with rocks … Rocks, Smocks. I was born to hike (for the next 1.5 hours)
- Enchanted Forest … who the hell cares at this point (very pretty but lots and lots of tree roots to navigate); and finally
I told her so. 🙂