Christmastime is a great time for us to get away for a few days. Being empty nester\'s and living in the California wine country, Yosemite National Park is an easy five hour drive from here. Well, its a five hour drive for people that are intent in getting from point A to point B but for me it could easily stretch into eight hours what with stopping for this or that little gadget I've decided would be just perfect in our 24 year old VW camper. I'll give myself the time to do that these days.
For most of the year, the problem with Yosemite is that it's full of people that are intent on having what is for them a perfect vacation. They scream insanely while walking up trails through what I think is a silent, sacred wilderness. They stop their cars smack in the middle of a busy road to be dramatic about the romantic scene of a herd of deer grazing in a meadow.
"Oh, don't move a muscle! Look at Bambi! Don't you just want to pet her?"
I\'m sure those people haven't seen their carefully nurtured roses chewed down to nothing but nubs by deer. People that live in forests accept the wild forest animals as wild, not as pets in disguise. Eventually, the love struck move along and the next car does the exact same thing a minute later.
But at Christmastime, the park is almost completely deserted mostly because people in California don't want to go camping in sub-freezing weather. After all, this is sunny California and what's the point of going anywhere without having nonstop fun in the sun? And what do coastal Californians know about snow and tire chains and walking on ice?
For me, this if-its-cold-don't-go attitude works out perfectly because as I age I've grown to become more interested in the solace and quiet of the vast wilderness of Yosemite. The valley is a real winter wonderland in late December with stark, flocked trees and sparkling dew turned to ice, frozen air in the full moon night.
Our favorite meadow with it's plain, open armed view of Half Dome was deserted. With not even a car in the street, the world stood still. Turning from the silent and commanding 5000 foot high face of Half Dome, we stomped through the meadow and then the forest that surrounds the river to the next meadow that holds an open space between Yosemite Village and the Ahwahnee Hotel which is itself nestled in a small wood.
We were cold, happy and alone as we roamed in the dappled moonlight until suddenly (and nothing happens suddenly for me after several decades in that park) we came upon the a view of the grand dining room of the hotel which actually faces west and away from Half Dome. What was sudden and unexpected was a scene that could only be comprehended in terms of a Hollywood production. Just through the trees was a huge, tall windowed dining room filled with the merriment of people dressed in tails and lavish evening gowns sparkling like animated snowflakes under clouds of candelabras in the high vaulted room. Servants (not a politically correct word) all dressed in formal black fluttered about officiously and a string quartet added its high brow sophistication.
The sight was simply unbelievable as we stood in the snow maybe 20 feet from the windows totally unnoticed by the revelers dressed to the nines. I couldn't stop from feeling like poor Oliver Twist standing there in the freezing rain and snow wearing the same jeans I wore three days ago when I was rolling on the ground trying to figure out what tire chains really are. We stood with blank stares, holding hands through two layers of gloves.
I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be cared for like an orphan child and let in from the cold and brought to a table bearing huge crystal bowls of hot cider. And I also realized that I was a well paid consultant in San Francisco and didn't really deserve even one blessed nod through those beveled glass glinting windows. There was a disappointment deep in my heart of not being a part of that self-important party.
And yet we were also really happy. We laughed at the pretentiousness and the oppression of a ten year waiting list for this party (which probably is the truth) and we laughed at ourselves wearing muddy jeans and I in a jester cap. We shrugged just as the party goers would have shrugged and stomped off again through the flocked woods, out in front of the moonlit Half Dome standing alone in the sky like the true monarch and back to our hippie VW camper (no, it doesn't have flowers painted on it) where we made hot chocolate and had lots of propane to keep us warm and had each other.
No, we aren\'t on a ten year waiting list to have an idyllic fantasy. At this point in life we have already done all the waiting and now it's time to live life, not wait for some wished for future when everything will be perfect. Everything is as perfect as it's ever going to get right now. The accumulated decades of watching the seasons pass on those high crags on Half Dome and watching each other's face deepen with the wisdom of age is the life we've waited for.
