Since I’m always teaching my Classical Conversations class on Thursday, I miss the trend on Facebook each week of posting old photos. Having just discovered a couple of pages of journal entries in an old lesson-planning notebook, I thought I would bring the trend over here to my blog.
4:30 p.m. Monday – The white dog lasted exactly 28 minutes after arriving at the campsite before she rolled in the dirt.
8 p.m. Monday – The four Preteens, in riding their bikes around the campsite while speaking loudly in British accents, have caught the attention of a couple of other Preteens, who have joined them on bikes and become fast friends with them. Our pack of Preteens are now calling one of the new kids “Pipsqueak the Governor.” I don’t know why.
9 p.m. Tuesday – Five of us, ages 10 to 51, played a storytelling game around the campfire and ended up telling the Saga of The Green-Haired Mermaid and the Chicken-Eagle. Okay, I guess you had to be there.
8a.m. Wednesday – It’s raining, so Alan just checked the weather report. It’s bad enough when a weather report says there is bad weather coming, but when it also implies you are overweight, that’s just insult added to injury.
2 p.m. Wednesday – When you wake up from a nap and your mouth is all set for a cup of tea, lukewarm root beer is really not a close second.
9 p.m. Wednesday – We are at the point of the week where there aren’t enough flashlights. The toothpaste has also disappeared. But the flashlights are a real problem. Alan just felt around the table for one, found a cylindrical object and seized it, only to exclaim in disappointment that it didn’t work. It turned out to be half a cucumber.
4 p.m. Thursday – The 10 year old has reached the end of his dirt and fatigue tolerance. He just plopped down in a camp chair and sighed, “Next time we go camping, can it be on a Caribbean cruise?”
6 p.m Thursday – There’s trouble in the Pack O’ Preteens. Our four are having a serious conference, discussing What Went Wrong, analyzing the personalities of the new friends and mapping strategy for Getting Rid of Them. The 8 year old came up with the best idea: “When they come over here, let’s sing an annoying song that even we don’t know.”
4 p.m. Friday – Safely home, unpacking the trailer. I would have scrubbed the greasy camping stove from the trailer with soapy water, patience and a lot of paper towels, but the Husband offered to do it the Manly Way. He dismantled it and power-hosed it down on the front lawn.