Where were you when the mountain blew?
Anyone younger than 30 hasn’t much chance of knowing what I’m talking about, but those of us who were around when Mt. St. Helen’s blew her top on May 18, 1980, will instantly be able to say exactly where they were and what they were doing that Sunday morning.
Major catastrophic events are like that. Indelibly branded on our brains. My generation clearly remembers the day JFK was shot. The day Neil Armstrong took “one small step for man.” The terrorist attack on the World Trade Center.
But we each have our personal “major events” memories, too. And although we may not remember the exact date, we remember the day we got our first car, the day we bought our first house, the day we experienced any “first” that meant something to us.
I remember catching my first steelhead, running in the girls’ state track meet, getting my first teaching job, taking my oral exam to complete my master’s degree, being published for the first time, winning 11 state newspaper awards for my personal experience column, making the last payment on my mortgage—all very good things!
And while those memories are all positive, there are, of course, some I’d just as soon forget. My marriage is in that category, but we won’t go there today. Today I’m focusing on those things definitely in the plus column.
Just look at Mt. St. Helen’s as she looks now! Arisen from the ashes, so to speak, just as we all must take our lumps and manage to go on. Carpé Diem!