|Gavin is locked and loaded.|
Traditional vacation recap blog posts are kind boring, so I'm trying something newish.
Thoughts I had while vacationing at Bear Lake this summer.
- Yes! Our campsite is right across from the bathrooms.
- Ew. Spider in the toliet. I wonder if I can get my 3 yo son to aim for it when he pees.
- Why is the water all gunky? I bet it's cause the lake is so much higher/fuller this year. But it sure is gross for about 10 feet out from the shore. I can feel the grass tickle my calves and feet. It has a thin quality like damaged hair. I suppose there could be a body down there. Last year, you could've seen a corpse for a quarter-mile out, but this year, any local guido could drop off a "package" at the lake and safely have a month before anyone discovered it.
- When we were out kayaking, Molly told me about some scary vombie facts that I'd never considered. Did you know they don't breathe? They could just walk along the bottom of the lake and reach up and ravage your brains before you had the sense to knock em in the head with an ore.
- The sand is nice. Beachy. Some shells. Imported? Not really sure how that works.
- Layne has a new swimsuit. Black, pink piping, and a pattern of spiraling hearts in neon colors, straight outta the Lisa Frank design catalog.
- Cole and Gavin just left. It only took a few minutes to pack up their stuff. A Buzz Lightyear sleeping bag, some pillows, a bicycle with training wheels. 2 sippy cups, snacks for the road. Both seemed ready and pleased to hit the road. To get back to the comforts of society: electricity, hot water, a microwave.
- I could sit out on the water for a week.
- The beach has a soft breeze blowing in from the Northwest. It makes kayaking challenging, but tones the arms nicely.
- The sound of the waves nudging the shoreline is repetative and real. Not like some cheap CD with ocean and rainforest sounds. It's cadence isn't overbearing, and I feel coaxed to it's siren whisper. (too cheesy?)
- I should flip to tan my back now.
- I should work on the next section of my weight loss memoir. It's titled, "Just a girl"
- I was "just a girl" for my youth. A girl was something that wasn't isolated to gender. In my childhood home it was a role. It was cooking, cleaning, gardening, weeding, sewing, baking, care-taking, teaching. It was child-rearing. I was made to make babies.
- In later years, I discovered this as one of the most divine roles ANY person can fill, but as a teen and girl in my twenties, I treated this "role", not with respect, but rather as a job I was forced to take. I'm sure my mom tried to explain it to me with the same fervor as a priest explaining confession, but all I hear was, "You have to be a mom. If you fail at that, you fail at life."
- I approached this with both rejection and earnest panic that I might never achieve this goal.
- OK. That's good for now. My back is toasty anyway.
- Do other people sit in front of a body of water and muse that they might have the words to change the world? That somehow if they could piece together the right combination of words and phrases that their ideas would be transcendent? universal? unifying? A female voice breaking the shakles of "role" bondage?
- Why is it that everytime my family gets together, we come up with some great family business idea? I'm starting to think that my ambition is not my own, but that each member of my family is plagued? with it. The Bear Lake idea sounds pretty darn cool, however, so be watching for that launch.
- [When trying to use a bathroom in the back of a mini grocery a mile away from camp.] Ew. Why is that urinal taped up? Where is the toliet paper? Is that an earwig? Is it supposed to be mutant-sized. [then the sound of the door shutting as I fled the scene. I also made a pool of hand sanitizer in each palm to clean the ick off.]
|Layne's new suit.|
|I built a lot of sandcastles with Layne.|
|Not sure what she's saying, but we can safely assume it's, "I'm hungry." The girl eats constantly.|
|PS. These are my new shoes. Better pic to come.|
[sigh.] See you after school starts.