My Dearest Chahles Dahlin',
The story this week wasn't really about the Fourth of July. It was about learning that life doesn't stop just because I'm by myself. As the holiday weekend got closer, I found myself getting anxious. I didn't have any plans, no family coming to visit, and no one asking, "So, what are we doing this weekend?" For a little while I thought about just staying in the apartment, but that didn't sit well with me. I finally decided that if I was going to spend the holiday alone, then I was at least going to make it an adventure.
So Thursday evening I found myself sitting on the side of a grassy hill at a little hometown rodeo. And when I say little, I mean little. There couldn't have been more than two bareback bronc riders all evening. It wasn't the rodeo itself that stayed with me, though. It was the opening ceremony. When those riders carried the American flags into the arena and everyone stood for the National Anthem, I felt a lump in my throat that caught me completely off guard. Standing there with a bunch of strangers in a little New York town, I realized just how thankful I am to live in this country. Maybe it was because it was America's 250th birthday. Maybe it was because I'm so far from Louisiana. Whatever the reason, it reminded me that home isn't always a place. Sometimes it's simply belonging to something bigger than yourself.
Friday morning I headed back to Niagara Falls. I'd already seen it with Dana and the girls, but I wanted another chance to wander around and see what we'd missed. I took my time, found a few overlooks we'd skipped, and added several more places to my list for another trip. By the end of the day, I was so tired that I climbed on the trolley to ride back to my car, leaned my head against the window for "just a minute," and slept right past my stop. I had to ride the entire route all over again. Saturday turned out even better. I pointed the truck west toward Westfield without much of a plan and ended up hiking through Panama Rocks. I had been worried my knees would not like the uneven ground and rock climbing, but surprisingly they were fine. I spent the rest of the day wandering country roads, stopping wherever something caught my eye, and came home tired in the very best way. A hot bath, a bag of ice on my knees, and I slept so soundly that I missed every single firework on America's birthday.
Sunday, however, my body had the final say. I woke up, looked at the ceiling, rolled over, and didn't wake up again until three o'clock that afternoon. Apparently all those miles of walking and driving finally caught up with me. I eventually made myself get up, do a little laundry, buy some groceries, and settle in for the night. Then, just to make life interesting, I had the strangest nightmares that night. I still haven't figured those out. Unless, of course, Tim Hortons slipped something into that chicken panini. That's the only explanation I've got.
Looking back, I realized the weekend wasn't really about rodeos, waterfalls, or hiking through giant rocks. It was about proving something to myself. A year ago, I probably would've spent the holiday waiting for someone else to make plans. This year, I made my own. I drove roads I'd never seen, discovered places I'll visit again, and found myself smiling more than once simply because I had the freedom to go wherever the next curve in the road might lead. I still wish you were riding shotgun beside me. I probably always will. But I think you'd be proud to know that I'm learning something important. I'm learning that moving forward doesn't mean leaving you behind. It just means carrying you with me... one little adventure at a time. I'm so tempted to get your handsome face printed on a customized paddle fan so you can be in the pics with me.
I miss you tremendously and love you always,
Me
