I was so excited.

For years I have wanted to see the ducks march in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel in Memphis. Outside of Graceland, this is probably one of the most popular tourist attractions in the area.

They march from their palace home on the hotel roof, taking the elevator down, then are escorted by a red jacketed duck master, like a circus ringmaster, into the travertine marble fountain in the opulently decorated great room.

They march down to the lobby each day at 11:00 in the morning and are escorted back to their palace home on the hotel roof each day at 5:00.

Knowing this could be a standing room only affair, my friend and I got to the hotel early enough to take a quick look around the roof of the hotel. We managed to get back to the lobby just as it was starting to fill up with camera-toting tourists.

I couldn’t believe our good fortune. We got the last two seats at the lobby bar and had an ideal view of the grand march. (We also found the perfect spot for indulging in a Peabody’s special okra topped Bloody Mary).

The Peabody Hotel is a wonderful old hotel with an incredible history. The first Peabody was opened in 1869. At the time, it was considered the grandest hotel in the south. After years when it served different functions (It served as a hospital during a yellow fever epidemic), it was re-opened in an even grander Italian Renaissance style in 1925. It even had air-conditioning.

In 1932 the general manager and a friend (a ringmaster from the Ringling Brothers circus), after a night of drinking, put live duck decoys in the lobby fountain as a prank. The guests fell in love with them.

A tradition was born! Trained Mallard ducks occupy the fountain during the day now. Before each procession, a duck master, wearing a red jacket with gold braids on his shoulders, tells the story of the Peabody Hotel and explains the history of the duck march.

At 10:45, comfortably sitting on tall stools at the bar, we studied the duck master as he announced the imminent arrival of the ducks. His voice was clear and booming. He spoke with great pomp and affection for the tradition. He sounded as if he was introducing the Queen of England or some such dignitary.

Hotel guests and other visitors got their cameras ready and moved to the edge of their seats in anticipation. The duck master then introduced an eight year-old blond girl wearing a peach dress and a matching bonnet. It was her birthday, and she was designated to preside over the final steps of the duck march.

The duck master handed her an official-looking certificate and a scepter with a carved wooden duck-shaped handle. And then — at precisely 11:00 — the elevator doors opened and the five mallards waddled towards the fountain, hopped up a short set of red-carpeted stairs, and jumped into the fountain.

It was all over in a flash.

I snapped several photos but they failed to capture the moment. Thankfully, my friend did a little better at photographing the blur of the ducks ascending the red stairs and then jumping into the water.

It made me think. Aren’t we all living like tourists walking on this earth? We want to capture images of things we expect to be beautiful, but we also want keep our eyes open for scenes of unexpected wonderment.

And then, it’s over in a flash. The scenes we try to imprint in our memories or even our lives.

We can’t possibly take pictures of everything. We can’t fully take in everything that might be remembered as precious. But we can remember the love we feel in any moment — the sense of being fully present.

Being present to witness a great tradition or an eight-year old girl’s birthday celebration is no small thing.