It is week thirteen of our travels and we are currently in Tucson. I'm sitting in the Tap Room of the historical Congress Hotel where stories of haunted rooms and a place to enjoy a good séance happens. Mike is having an afternoon nap after eating six glorious tacos. We've purchased tickets for the Saturday night séance but that's four days away and it is unclear if we will still be here - the road takes us to strange and curious places and we stick and move as we feel. I hope to experience it but we probably won't. We are wandering and don't stick around long. We've already been in Tucson longer than our norm. Favourites things so far? The stories that are told.
I love a good story. People's lives are made up of stories and if they can tell them well, even better. Not everyone likes to hear other people's stories. Some people just aren't curious enough. I love it. Like the guy who grew up in New Jersey and found himself divorced at 47 years old working at the Grand Canyon and becoming a local wrangler. He couldn't be further from a cowboy but had a desire to learn and heart of gold. He fell off a mule going down the Canyon and broke so many bones it took months to heal. He didn't care. He loves his life now. We toured with a woman in her 60's driving her RV across the country while her husband is home in Washington looking after things. "What he's looking after, I have no idea." she says. But she's happy and living her life. And the guy in Sedona who works at a crystal house. He only works barefoot because he feels safer. He kicked a box with shoes on once and a nail went right through his foot so he decided barefoot was the better way to go. Keeps him from kicking things, he said. I met a young girl at the bar in Tucson who was so upset because her blind date went horribly wrong. She would not stop talking about it and him - a firefighter. Must have been love. There was our Uber driver who took to the road with his wife for five years. When they got tired of road tripping, they moved to a retirement community. To supplement his income, he bought a car to become an Uber driver, and they cruise the open road on their motorbikes now. He was alright. The kind of guy you could easily sit and have a beer with around the campfire. I watched an older guy - certainly well into his 70's - sitting on his own in a restaurant with a desert hat on, looking pretty content. I was surprised when he pulled out his camera and took a picture of his food. It made me smile. For his grandkids, perhaps? A story I'll never know.
Right now there are two young girls sitting at the bar laughing their guts out telling each other their stories. Friendship stories are the best stories. They are laughing so hard and loud the other five people in this bar can barely hear each other. It's cracking me up.
Everyone has a story whether they think they do or not. I still hear new stories from Mike after 23 years. Yesterday he told me the time he and his buddies were t-boned in the Florida panhandle while on vacation as young college boys. They all walked away unscathed. I don't recall hearing this story or perhaps there have been so many over the years I've forgotten some of them. I'm ok with that. If you have a life filled with stories, I hope someone is listening to them. If you think no one wants to hear them, someone does. I always do.
