Column on vacation

I recently returned form vacation in Yosemite. With limited time, I flew out, so my immediate thoughts go out to the difference between first class travel and steerage. I don’t fly that often, so I was surprised that the old curtain had been replaced by what appears to be an old bank vault door. I was surprised that we still are granted a peek at the secular heaven before mere mortals enter the plane. The massages prior to takeoff seem a nice touch, as is the parade of servants carrying in their meals on silver trays. On my way out, I read a book form interlibrary loan form our excellent Hayner Library: Living into Focus, by Arthur Boers. It is mostly a screed against what technology may be doing to our capacity to develop human relationships. Some of it has accurate description of our rushed, frenzied culture, where it takes us a while to calm into vacation mode. Our daughters taught me a lot about moving into vacation ode. Left to my own device, I make it an extension of work, with a list of things I want to see and do. They carry a much smaller list and are willing to see what transpires during the day. After my first big hike in the afternoon, I was cooling down by walking a stretch on the valley floor. No one was around, and I was in a living cathedral of trees along the Merced River. I noticed my breathing slowed and had grown deeper. Boers had written that we can deepen our vacation experience by doing something more difficult than usual, as a challenge deepns an experience. I decided to climb up the old four mile trail. (It is now more a five mile trail as switchbacks have been added over the years to make it more doable.) Male ego was involved as well, as the park employees snickered when I asked directions to it. While the valley floor is populated by all sorts of tourists, only American mountain girls and Europeans were on this trail. I muttered dark warnings as they sauntered up the trial with their hiking poles saying things like, “this is a mere stroll in the Alps.” It did not dawn on me that I was the only gray beard on the trail. When the switchbacks started, I found boulders to rest. The Europeans were so kind and would say, “How smart you are to stop and enjoy the vistas; we are climbing so fast.” Really, I was trying to catch my breath and deciding if I could make the next turn. At the three mile mark of Union Point, I decided that I was not enjoying this anymore and headed down. At Union Point, a woman said that I did not need to walk a bit more to the point itself, as it wasn’t all that much. How inured we can become to seeing a succession of ever more stunning views of creation and natural processes that we spare a few steps. Of course, after the trip, reality intruded quickly. the folks in Fresno seemed determined to make sure that we missed out connecting flights in San Francisco. The booth at what is laughingly called customer service moved at a snail’s pace. As soon as I got up front, two of the turtle-paced representatives announced that it was their lunch time. I was asked if I would be interested in diverting to Cleveland and arrive in STL at 1:30 AM. I declined, but hoped I could get bumped up to first class. on another flight. It was not to be, but I carry a first class piece of serenity within, as Yosemite lingers in my soul.