It was about 6pm on Friday when a sigh of relief left my lips.  I was turning my car onto a snow covered dirt road somewhere in Mt. Hood forest.

My favorite guy in the passenger seat.

Both of us ready for a couple of days away.

After the week we’d had, I wasn’t sure we’d make it out there before midnight.

After winter weather caused a 3 hours commute early in the week, a police chase that closed the interstate causing more commuting nightmares, a building FULL of events and the threat of more snow, I was shocked we made it out there at all.

It was Rocky’s 38th birthday on Friday.  After spending that past 14 years trying to celebrate his birthday (many failed dinner attempts – he has the WORST luck on/around his birthday) I wanted this year to be perfect.  Not dinner at his favorite restaurant without issue perfect, but one of those he’ll remember for years to come.

So I found a cabin.

In the woods.

Along the Sandy river.

And I booked it.  Crossing my fingers it would be perfect.  Crossing my fingers it would be mostly private.  Crossing my fingers the bed would be comfy, the shower tall enough and the fire place nice and warm.

Crossing my fingers nothing would go wrong as things tend to do around February 8 each year.

So there we were, pulling up to a very dark, snow covered hillside.  A narrow stone stairway zigzagged up the hill towards a tiny, red and white log cabin, a soft glow from a cluster of vintage lamps falling across the trees outside of the windows, snow flakes falling around us.

And another sigh.  This would be perfect.

We scrambled to get inside and explore.  Every inch was comfortable.  Every inch had character.  Every inch was magical.  This WAS perfect.

We spent two nights there.  I cooked some of his favorite dinners.  We shared bottles of wine.  We listened to record after record.  We gazed for what seemed like hours over the snowy banks of the river.  We warmed our hands in front of the fire.  We hugged.  We cuddled.  We played dominoes (he won).  We played rummy (he won).  We loved.  We found respite.

This weekend was one more chapter in a story of connection – of slowing down and taking stock – of treasuring what is truly important.

I hope his 38th birthday was the best yet and I can’t wait to see what 39 brings… and 40… and 41…


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