Typically, it's the people.
But more recently, it's been creatures. He calls me the Snake Charmer because 5 of the last 6 outings we've gone on, I've found snakes. And almost always after I sarcastically say, "Wait! Our day is not complete until I find the snake!" This declaration also happens to work on lizards. I found this to be true after hiking onto a boulder and announcing exasperatedly, "Come on! There's GOT to be a lizard here."
Bam. There he was. Three feet down the side of the rock. His blue belly in all its glory.
So far, this has yet to work on money...or celebrities...or ACME anvils.
Monday came this week with its share of exaggerated sighs and usual drudgery. Until one little 4-letter word changed all of that.
B-o-a-t. And I was going to be on it and the weather was going to be hot and the Falls were going to be low enough that we could hike around and birds would be singing and there'd probably be a rainbow and maybe my smile at a stranger would inspire a random act of kindness and...world peace.
My day was pretty much made. (It's worth noting that there was no rainbow. But there was also no flood...)
We hiked all over the dry rocks and cooled our feet in the streams that managed to find a way over, under, and through. We saw crawfish/crawdads/mini-lobster-looking-things, both dead and alive. The guy, who I was certain was reeling in an old boot, actually caught a chubby little fish. Paddle-boarders and kayaks were abundant. And the Scenic Tours helicopter made an alarming amount of passes over us. I'm sure our re-enactment of the Hunger Games had nothing to do with it. (Not to worry, the man I accidentally shot with an arrow is quickly getting used to his prosthetic...and can't identify me in a lineup.)
When we had seen about as much of the Falls as we could, we took the boat back out into the water and ate dinner. And for reasons still unknown to me, the emotional burdens I had been carrying became very heavy then. And when that happens, my normally chatty, sarcastic, laughing personality closes up shop and my mind just continues on in a low, constant hum.
And if you are a man, you know how brave you must be to approach an idling woman. (Sean was sitting on a towel, which I now believe to be his cape.) But he did, and he asked me if I wanted to talk about it.
Why is it that whenever someone says THOSE words or expresses concern or gives you a hug, that the floodgates open? I did, in fact, want to talk about it. My quivering chin was making that a little more difficult. A few tears were shed as I told him about the 3 weights I had on my heart's shoulders. My heart was broken over how little Eric's dad actually cares for him. My mind was heavy with having to spend 5 out of 7 days each week around a person who does. not. like. me. And having to be the bigger person all the time just ends up making me feel like a big sucker. And my childlike spirit was disappointed about Sean's work schedule interrupting my gleeful 30th birthday plans because GIRLFRIENDS' BIRTHDAYS ARE SACRED.
Or something like that. Whatever. I'm turning 30. I plan on keeping my age a mystery by using far more juvenile behavior.
And all this came out. In the boat. In the middle of the river. So I moved my soggy self to the back of the boat. Sean wrapped his arms around me and just sat quietly. And I watched those burdens wash downstream.
And then, beavers! With a sharp smack of a tail, it drew our attention up several yards. Two of them were streamlining, without a single ripple, through the river. I have never seen beavers before. One was headed upstream and the other downstream, towards their little beaver house. Which I envision looks just like the one on The Lion, the Witch, & the Wardrobe.
Because what else would it look like?
We sat and watched them for a couple minutes when I decided that the situation called for wine. Celebrate the little things, right? Or toast the beavers. Or offer "Salud!" to the creepily hovering helicopter.
Whatever floats your boat.
