Somewhere in the late 1980's, Maureen and I planned a camping trip to Inks Lake State Park. Along with all our camping gear, we brought with us her three-year-old son, Chris, and my fourteen-year-old niece, Aimee. Our departure time was delayed and we didn't arrive at the park until well after dark, so imagine the scrambling to get unpacked, get the tent put up and beds ready for the night, all the while trying to be as quiet as possible because some people around us had already gone to bed.
It was a long night. Chris had slept in the car for most of the drive, so he was very alert when the rest of us were ready to konk out. There we were, lying in the dark, Maureen and I on air mattresses and Aimee on a cot. Chris was lying next to Maureen. Then the three-year-old questions started. "Why are we here?" Who are these people?" "Why do I have to sleep on the floor?" He rolled off the air mattress and begged his mom to pick him up and put him back on the mattress because it was "too high" for him to get back on himself. On and on this went for hours. At first Maureen tried to quietly answer his questions, hoping he'd eventually get tired and go to sleep. I decided the best tactic was to stay absolutely silent and leave it all on Maureen. Aimee was a real trooper; she had one of those hand-held, battery-powered personal fans and the closest she came to complaining was to sigh deeply and switch on the fan for a few seconds to cool off her face as the night dragged. Somewhere near 4:00am he dropped off and we finally got some sleep, only to be woken by one of our neighbors when, at the first light of dawn, he stood outside his tent and whistled the entire song, "Morning Has Broken." I hate that song.
Thanks for stopping by today. I'm posting late because my husband took me to San Antonio for a wonderful Valentines Day dinner and we just got home. I hope all of you were able to be in touch with someone you love today. See you tomorrow.