Date Night

Did I forget to blog AGAIN? Well, shittles.......I guess this proves that I should never sign up for anything "daily" - except maybe eating. Exercising daily? Not a chance. Daily chores? Ha! Blogging daily? Not so much. Let's just say I'll blog as much as possible. Or just whenever I want to. There, that's better.

Yesterday was "Date Night" with my husband. He's got just enough engineering nerd in him to create very detailed spreadsheets and calendar reminders such that a regular "date night" pops up on his calendar from time to time. It also appears on his spreadsheet of "things to do" which is a quadrant of "today," "this week," "this weekend," and "long term." Or something like that. You get the picture.

So, usually date night ends up being NOT a date night. As in, "Oh, Saturday was date night!" as we realize that we spent Saturday night trolling through Facebook (me) and walking on the treadmill while practicing elk mating calls (Jeff - don't even ask!). So, it's not like we always have a grand plan for date night. And it's not like it HAS to be a grand plan, but it would be nice if it just WAS. So, we try.

Because he's Jeff, my husband always has a segue. As in, since we're driving up North anyway, might as well stop at Cabela's to pick up some ammo and leave $600 later with kayak racks installed on the van. Or, this was my most recent personal favorite, "How would you like to spend a week in a mountain retreat in Colorado?" to which I replied "What will you be hunting?" I'm no dummy. He tries to entice me with visions of spa treatments in the Rockies, but I know where he's headed.

So, I'm usually all to keen to make him take me to a nice restaurant, a movie, or a picnic and music in the park. You know, girly things that have nothing to do with elk calls or shotguns. BUT, I often defer to Jeff's idea of "date night" and last night was no exception. He wanted to go fishing on the Snohomish river to catch pink salmon. Since it involved kayaking, and since he'd brought home a limit the night before, I decided it might be fun.

I really do enjoy kayaking, which is in complete contrast to my absolute fear of open water. But kayaking AND fishing is a whole 'nother story. Because, what if I fall in? Disaster. But I overcame my fear, only to have it replaced by my fear of mortification having people watch me either get into or out of the kayak. Let's just say it ain't pretty. I am terribly uncoordinated and stepping into a narrow piece of floating plastic while attempting to NOT tip it over is not my forte. I require assistance. Like an old lady crossing the street. Only not as cute.

Anyway, kayaking was a blast (never mind the detritus floating around me in the river and my vivid imagination going wild wondering how many bodies had been pulled from that river), I caught my limit (but lost my last one after a brief fight), and I had a fabulous time. The weather was perfect, the sunset glorious, the lazy cows with their sad eyes drinking at the river's edge, the hot air balloons floating overhead, the sky filled with skydivers.........it was all beautiful. And kayaking back to the river bank with my true love paddling by my side, in the pitch black, because we stayed on the water way too late.......it was lovely.

Until we realized the riverbank was gone. Apparently the Snohomish has "tides" and the river rises and falls (what the hell?) and so the narrow, rocky bank from which we launched was now under water. We paddled up to a murky, muddy bank where Jeff leapt from his kayak onto land. Clearly, I was not going to perform this circus act, so I paddled to where the bank had once been and attempted to beach my kayak. But, oddly enough, no beach = no beaching your kayak. Lucky for me, a young boy was holding on to a rowboat while his dad brought the trailer around for loading. I asked if I could hang on to his boat while I gingerly dangled my shoeless foot into the dark, deep, murky water. Ugh. Just writing that brought back my anxiety. Horrible things lurk underwater. HORRIBLE. I stepped onto a slimy rock, grabbed the row boat, grabbed Jeff's hand and made a leap of faith. I landed squarely in the mud, albeit it still standing and slid my mud-caked bare feet into my flip flops.

My feet were filthy, the fish were SO slimy, we were stinky with river water and we ended up eating at McDonald's on the way home. It wasn't glamorous, but it was the most fun I've had on "date night" in a long, long time. I can't wait till the next one!