Tickle, tickle.

Vernal Fall in Yosemite National Park. Picture taken by my hubs.

We went hiking this summer in Yosemite National Park. My husband and I flew to California to hang out with his best friend and wife, and we joined their small group in a cabin on a lake. They’re the friends that you can pick right back up with each time you see them — even though you live states away or became friends at first only through husbands and isolated trips to see each other.

We laughed, ate In-n-Out like it was going out of style and spent time in the national park. My anxiety picked up this summer — another post for another time — and as we rounded switchbacks and mounted slippery steps up the mountain, we caught glimpses of the valley, waterfalls, peaks and lines of cars inching below us, like an army of fire ants in slow motion. It was awesome and scary.

My hubs wondered aloud if in heaven, falling down a mountain like the one we were on would tickle. Plummeting down a cliff, hitting jagged rocks, snagging your skin on a tree … you get the drift … would feel like a feather brushing the back of your neck. Or a puppy licking your toes. Heaven, doesn’t have pain, right? Each formerly excruciating (on Earth) run-in would be like landing on a puff of cloud, giggles ensuing. So pain here would be like tickles there.

That sounds, well, heavenly. Until I think about when my husband tickles me: arms and legs flailing, screeching and screaming, threats to pinch him if he doesn’t stop. Once I even slapped him across the face. And there ends the beautiful vision of heaven for me.

Anyone else have ideas of what heaven could be like?