Camping can be a rush, a flop, or a mix of the exhilarating and the sublime. I’ll take the latter, thank you. Funny how rain can be a bonding experience, when my daughter Allison and I kicked back for over an hour in the car as rain came rushing through the area. We fortunately had just arrived at the campsite, so sitting there napping or reading was perfectly, actually. When you expect rain, in the field or anywhere in your life, I’d say you’re better prepared for it.
Melting things in a campfire, like glass, nails or whatever – what’s up with that? I wonder if some folks drag their knuckles up the hillside and feel most comfortable up where they can act like cavemen? At least I can say most state parks campsites I’ve visited are very clean, though I feel for the staff who might have to pick up that junk.
Some traveling Wilbury Blues during today's bus ride to work: Flat-topped roofs … fake chimneys … faux wood grain in cars …. people in idle daily traffic blowing horns … why?! Somehow reminds me of that funny movie quip, “Chicks dig grey!” Sorry, that connection is much longer and more convoluted than today’s subject line’s easier connection to Rod Stewart’s song ‘Every Picture tells a Story.’
Speaking of which … today's subject line is a paraphrased title of a recent Rush song, chosen for its dead-on summation of how well the camping weekend went. When Plan A, B & C all work in some way, and you’re Jaguar’ing on all 12 cylinders, you know you chose wisely. In our case, /preparation/ campsite/meals/activities/weather/ice cream for lunch/etc. all worked out just fine. Hope those angels keep working for all of us, though overtime not needed, thank you…