You know how life can perk along with numbing sameness, all comforting routine and no drama? Well, two recent adventure/calamities have made me yearn for that blandness.

The first occurred when I went for a solo hike last Sunday on the Eddy-Ballantine Trail, which starts just south of the Swope Park Blue River Golf Course. It's a rugged traverse that snakes up steep hillsides and through rock outcroppings and splashes through several streams. Water bottle, cell phone, and trekking poles in hand, I headed down the path marked by orange tree blazes. For hours I hiked like a happy puppy, proud of staying faithfully on the trail—until the orange markers vanished.

Desperate to find my way out, I kept walking, but found myself moving in circles, found the sun sinking, found my shorts-clad legs shivering, and found a knot of panic growing. In the end I called 911 and waited, mortified, while a police helicopter located me (!) and four armed, uniformed officers bushwhacked through the woods to rescue me (!) This will be a story for the grandchildren one day, but I'm still shaking at the peril and embarrassment I felt. The officers, though, were the heart of kindness. "We don't really get to help people all that often," they said.

The second drama occurred the next day, when my husband, Mark, doing handyman work at our cabin in Utah, was knocked off his ladder by a loose beam, tossed to the ground, and dashed on a wooden fence. Two ribs are broken and one lung has partially collapsed. The docs won't let him fly, so I'll be heading out to drive him home, my chance to perform a rescue. Meanwhile he's being tended by cabin neighbors, learning to let them shower him with home cooking, cartons of Cherry Garcia ice cream, and naggings about taking his pain meds. Being cared for is a challenge for Mark, but he's embracing the concept well!

Where's this going, you ask? Straight to page 7, where you'll find a heartfelt plea for some of your generosity toward this small but mighty newspaper. Please read it and then act to whatever level you can. Help The Best Times keep providing the information you want and need. Let your contribution be a gift to yourself, your own small rescue.

Thank you, and joyous holidays to all!