{flashback friday: blog}

Flashback Fridays are collections of short stories I've written -- some fiction, some non-fiction -- that I share each week. You can read more of them {here}.

I stood by the front door of the shopping center, waiting for Tanner. I was humming to myself, rocking back and forth on my heels with my hands clasped behind my back when I noticed an elderly gentleman standing a short distance away from me. He was wearing an adorable jaunty cap, the kind that little British grandfathers wear to the market on Saturdays.

"Hello," he said to me with a smile. "Do you feel important standing there like that?"
I laughed. "Very important," I agreed. "In fact, all I need is a clipboard to make me feel more official."
"I can probably arrange that." He tapped a weathered finger to his lip as he looked around, finally landing his glance on a sales pamphlet lying on a tabletop. He handed it to me and I assumed my best stoic face as I pretended to take notes, nodding solemnly to each customer that left the store. The gentleman laughed appreciatively.

"Are you waiting for someone?" I asked him.
"My son and his wife," he agreed. "They're still shopping."
We stood quietly for a moment, young woman and elderly man, until I leaned closer to him and said, rather conspiratorially, "I like your cap."
He lit up and tugged on his argyle hat, revealing a number of colorful pins attached to it. "Thank you!"
"What do the pins say?" I leaned closer to read them outloud. "Yellowstone, Denali, Nepal... have you been all these places?"
"Oh yes! Some of them. My daughter brought me back the one from Nepal. I collect the pins."
"I do, too!" I said. "Mine are from the ski resorts I've been to, though. I wish I had a fun hat to display them on, like you do. Those sound like fascinating places to visit."
The gentleman puffed up happily and said, "I've been a lot of places. I try to get my daughters to go with me on my adventures, but often they're not as keen about it." He scrutinized me carefully with a weathered eye and asked, very seriously, "are you a cyclist?"
I smiled. "I like to think so, but in a town like Portland, so many people are better at it than I am. I cycle mostly for recreation. Are you a cyclist?"
"Yes," said he. "I'm also a hiker."
"Really! Me too!" said I. "That's definitely my favorite thing to do around here. Where's your favorite hike?"
"I hiked Hood last year." He said it in an off-handed way, but I could tell he was very proud of this statement.
"Around Mt Hood?" I asked, incredulously. "You mean the 40 mile Timberline trail?"
"Oh, yes. I made my daughters do it with me."
I laughed. "They didn't want to?"
"No. I had to talk them into it. 'But this will be my only 70th birthday!' I told them. They finally agreed, and they grumbled the whole time!"
"They couldn't keep up with you?" I smiled.
"They complained about the length of the trail, and the weight of the packs, but I think they enjoyed it, after all," he said, winking at me.
"There are some beautiful places along that trail," I agreed. "It's hard not to enjoy it."
"Yes," he said. "It's beautiful. Pictures can't even capture it adequately."
"I'm glad you had a good time," I smiled.
"I have a blog!" he said suddenly.
I blinked, not sure I heard him correctly. "What? A blog?"
"Yes, yes! I write about my adventures!"
"You do!" I was so stunned I didn't even think to tell him that I do the same thing.
"Yes! I've been writing for some time. You should read it! It will give you ideas of where to go hiking."
"Oh!" I laughed. "Oh, I'd love to!"
The elderly man fumbled with his wallet for a moment, reaching for something in the pockets. At that moment his son walked up to us, wife in tow. He saw his father with his wallet and rolled his eyes at me, saying,
"Oh, no. He's talking about his blog again, isn't he?"
I laughed as the father handed me a small, plain business card. It had his blog address on it, and written at the bottom it said: I do not give out email addresses.
"Here!" the man said happily. "You should read it."
I clutched the small white card happily, saying, "I will!"
"C'mon, dad," the son said, nodding toward the door. He smiled at me rather apologetically, but I was completely enamored by the old man. 
"I talk about Mt Hood in there, too," the gentleman said to me as he waved, and the three of them left the store together.
I stood staring down at the little white card for a moment, smiling and hoping that when I turn 70 years old, I'll be wearing a jaunty British cap, still regaling tales of my adventures to aspiring young blog/adventurers. A good New Years Resolution, I think.