We've been away! Our annual pilgrimage was taken back to the door. Door County that is. We go up at the same time as a bundle of our friends and get adjoining campsites. While we are there we enjoy friends and and food and fun and food and sweet fellowship and food on hikes or around a campfire. There's family-friendly plays performed in an outdoor theater at night that are usually slapstick humor ones. It's kind of like we hit "replay" each time we go and this year I didn't take many pictures. For the MYP it's some of the favorite times of the year. For the Chairman, it is a way to be out of touch of work and responsibilities. For me? It is just making meals in a dimly lit place with about 685% less counter space and no electricity or hot water.
Camping is just so wonderful and awful at the same time. It was very apparent one morning when I needed to go to the bathroom very badly and I hopped on my bike to pedal the block and a half to the nearest restroom and realized my bike seat was soaking from rain the night before. So I was kind of doing a 'potty dance' on my bike. If I was home it would be exactly seven steps on carpet from my bed. I dared not to look up to the corners of the bathroom ceiling because that's where the biggest spiders usually hang out. The showers are available which is nice, but you continually push a button to keep the drippy luke-warm water running down your back.
Facebook told me that six years ago today, Lisi became a certified therapy dog. What tasks does she perform to be therapeutic these days? Um. Well if you count lying her sweet head on my foot when I read each morning, then she's doing a good job.
Our pet sitter is moving away. I'm happy for her and will feel the loss once we need to pack up and leave town again and maybe even before that. I was however a bit dismayed when she said Simba likes his wet cat food warmed up a bit in the microwave before eating it. So the very next morning after we got home I scooped a glop of the nasty-smelling stuff in his bowl, He just backed up and started to meow at me. I played dumb (not hard for me) and he got finally started to eat but wasn't happy.
My hands look like I'm a 68-year old rancher from Wyoming. However, in the last week these hands have fixed a dishwasher, push lawnmower, and a toilet. I promise, I have washed after every project. But when I looked down at them last night before bed, I was surprised how ugly they really are.
I have a daughter that keeps encouraging me to use wrinkle cream. It's a healthy dose of reality when I'm thinking I look ok for 50...