R IS FOR RIVER

This is my river. Hmmm. No, it actually owns me. It is 231 miles long, and it winds itself around me each and every day. Miles of memories are kept in my mind. New memories are constantly being made.

I cross this river in my car on an almost daily basis. There are three bridges I can take depending upon where I am going. To get to my mother's home, which is six miles from mine, I must cross one of the bridges. I have yet to ever be on that bridge and not take long looks at my river. Each time I seem to "see" something different.

 

This is the river where childhood friends and I would ride our bicycles. Our destination was typically the dam. It looked so powerful with the water pouring over it, sparkling in the day's sunlight. We would sit and eat our packed lunches and ponder just how we were going to walk across the base of it to reach the other side. Ah, the stupidity of youth and the fearlessness of the dangers we were dismissing as we contemplated which stones would be the ones we would step on to make that trek to the far side of the dam. We never made it completely across, but we sure made it halfway before turning back.

 

Some days I am taken back to those very early times in my life when I learned to fish. Daddy took the four of us girls to the river, bamboo fishing poles and minnows in our possession. He had a friend who lived on the river who gave Daddy carte blanche to use his dock to teach us how to fish. I can still remember him laughing when either one of my two older sisters would feel the familiar tug of the fishing line, and my younger sister and I would dash to that exact spot to hopefully lure a fish to our lines.

 

I remember the lazy Sunday mornings when he would drive all of us along the river on the narrow road that ran parallel to it, so very close to the water. Mom would join us for that outing, and we would take in the changing seasons' effects on the water and the trees. It was heavenly. It was comfortable. It was familiar.

 

There are those times when my car comes to a stop on the bridge, awaiting the traffic light to change. I glance to my right, and I look longingly towards the area of the river's bank where we had our family portrait taken on several occasions. The setting was beyond perfect. The last time we had a family portrait taken there was just prior to the onset of my father's illness.

 

I also laugh myself simple recollecting other things, newer memories. When I met my husband, he liked to fish. I happily went with him to my river. I had long since learned how to cast a line. He thought he had it down pat, too. And so we would fish. One time I laughed so hard I cried. He was having an awful time with his casts. He blamed it on the line. I said nothing...until he brought his arm back, flicked his wrist, and cast his line right into a bunch of overhanging branches, snaring his lure and line. My, my, but he spoke some very colorful words while tugging and yanking at the line he ultimately had to cut. Say goodbye to the lure securely nestled in those branches.

 

There was the time the hubby and I took our boat to my river for a day's bit of skiing fun. It was the first of our boats, and its modest motor was not powerful enough to pull a skier when very many people were inside the boat. My eldest sister opted to sit out on the rocks along the shore while I skied. Hubby steered the boat, and my two other sisters sat back and took in the sunshine. All of us noted my eldest sister waving to us. We waved back to her. We saw a man approach her on the rocks where she was perched. Nothing appeared to be amiss. She looked to be chatting a bit with him. Yet, she kept waving to us. We kept waving back. ::smile:: It was not too terribly long (but seemed like an eternity to her) before we realized something was wrong. I dropped and climbed into the boat, and we took off toward her. The man had disappeared, so she was alone. Shaking. Upset. The fellow had asked her if he could massage her toes. She politely declined, but he was fairly insistent. She freaked out. Thus, the waving at us. It was a plea for help that we misread. We embellish the story sometimes and talk about him wanting to suck her toes. The thing is, a couple of us DO recall her saying he had suggested sucking her piggies would accompany the massaging. ::cracking up::

 

My children have taken a shine to my river. They boat on it. They learned how to ski and go tubing on it. Both learned how to fish there. Hubby and I taught them. They have seen and admired the beautiful falls located a mere stone's throw from our home that feed into my river. Both have fed the many birds that flock to the water's edge. When my son was in a crew rowing league, one of their regattas was held on my river.

 

These days, I find a tranquility when I go to my river. I bring bread crumbs and other goodies to feed the ducks. I find the perfect rock to sit on, and I toss my offerings to them. More and more congregate once word is out that food is to be found in abundance. I discovered a curious and amusing thing about the ducks. They all become synchronized in their focus on my proffered hand. It was by accident that I discovered that...and then my almost sadistic nature kept me doing it again and again, accompanied by nonstop giggling. I had brought back my hand to hurl the piece of bread, and just as I was bringing it forward, I stopped. I decided I had been tossing the food in the same spot too many times and needed to alter where I aimed it. Well, it was comical to watch a huge flock of birds move their heads at EXACTLY the same time and way. Synchronized movement if I have ever seen it! So, naturally, I did it numerous times just to watch...looking for perhaps one duck who realized I was faking them out. Nope. None did. They kept up that mirrored movement all through my hysterical laughing. Yeah, I can be sicko at times. They were rewarded, though, with hefty treats of bread for a good long time afterward.

 

My river can bring out the bawdy side of me, too. Driving along that very narrow portion of the road that parallels the river, I found the perfect spot to have car sex. Climb into the back seat and have hot and sweaty sex. Hubby was not happy I wanted to do such a thing in public. Pffft. I put the top back up on my car, so it was not as if anyone would SEE us. He begrudgingly and nervously joined me in the back seat...his eyes fixed to the back window. ::grin:: He soon forgot about passing cars. He soon forgot about being in public. But, he won't soon forget about how utterly delightful that back seat was.

 

Ah, such a wonderful river. Right here close to me. Always to be a part of me. Here before me, here while I am here, and here long after I am gone.

 

"How could drops of water know themselves to be a river? Yet the river flows on." ~Antoine de Saint-Exupery