Meanwhile, back in North America, a double blessing

Sunday, driving up for a day on Mount Hood, Carlos and I marvelled again and again at how blessed we were to experience such an enchanting landscape. Neither of us had ever imagined that in our lifetimes we would find ourselves in such a beautiful wintery wonderland.

Timberline lodge is definitely worth the rather intimidating drive up. Words can't possibly do it justice, but these photos from Timberline's site may.

Sunday was a dark, brooding, snowy day. Literally driving through the clouds, we couldn't see out over the mountain or up or down -- only the beautiful snow-laden trees that lined the road. Occassionally we'd catch an expansive glimpse of vast forested mountaintops that had been hidden by the clouds around us. It was eerily beautiful.

The lodge is a historic landmark, made of stone and huge timber beams. Fires in the huge fireplaces. Snow covered roofs and large hanging icicles, just like in the animated Christmas stories that were so enchanting in childhood. Watching skiiers through the beautiful snowdrifts on the restaurant windows while eating the wonderful food was just as marvelous.

About 1000 ft. down, in Government Camp, you can tube at a private facility for $10 a tube. Definitely not worth the money. Carry a tube back up the slope for the 10th time or so, and it's gotten pretty old. We found that one pretty underwhelming.

We headed on over to Snow Bunny, a free slope in a beautiful forested location that was recommended for sledding. Or so we thought. Until a fellow waiting room patient at the Tigard urgent-care facility informed me that sledding's not allowed at Snow Bunny -- tubing only. Why? The incidence of injury. The slope is not manned by the Forest Service on the weekend, so that's when people go to sneak in some sledding. I don't recall seeing any signs saying that sledding is prohibited, though.

You may have figured that the second big blessing of Sunday was that none of us got seriously injured. Alex wiped out a few times and shed some tears. Carlos got off incident-free. Up on the fastest hill, I asked for the smooth way down. Ended up hitting two deep potholes in a row anyway. On the second impact there was a neck crunching noise so scary that I thought I was a goner for sure. Apparently it didn't look pretty, because Carlos ran as fast as he could through the snow, panic on his face. The jovial fellows who recommended the path got quiet all of a sudden. The heavy plastic sled had cracked in two with the impact. I was still laughing, not wanting to face what comes next.

But fingers and toes wiggled, head moved, and x-rays say no fractures, only some disc degeneration. For the second time in 7 years I was praising God for strong German bones, and surely the little extra padding didn't hurt!

It's curious that in French the word blesser, root word bless, means "to hurt" or "to wound". Since reading a particularly sage adage somewhere (can anybody point to it?) advising us to look for our greatest blessings in our hurts, I've since wondered if somewhere back in time, those wise to the ways of the world morphed the French word into the English word "bless", or "blessing". Etymologists say no, but I truly wonder if they've missed some connections there.

After Sunday's blessings, I'm thanking God, in advance, for a third blessing. (No, not Coedine). I'm talking about physical therapists -- truly modern miracle workers.

New Orleanians, Portlanders or anybody else: before you venture down the street, across town, or across the country into winter wonderland with a sled, do yourself a favor and Google "sledding safety" (and while you're at it, Google "ladder safety"). What you read may scare the bejeezus out of you, but it will make you super-careful. Fo' sho'.