The girls love coming down here to visit. Along with all the nature, animals, scenery, etc. there is a swing. We could be in the middle of the barren desert and if there was a swing the world would be right for the girls. What’s even better about this swing is that it transforms to fit whichever girl is on it. Grandpa has baby swing and big-girl swing attachments and switches them at the will and request of the girls. I would love to show you some of the pictures I took of them today on the swing, but we’re a little technology-lite down here. I can’t figure out how to make things work without the ease of what we’re used to. Perhaps by the end of the trip this can happen. ‘Cause I’d also like to show the mayor’s house. Due to the rise in the lake’s water level her driveway is now connected to water instead of pavement. She literally could lower her boat into the water everyday to go to work.
Du and I love coming down here to visit because there really isn’t anything to do except relax. We were even forced to relax while fishing out on the lake today. When the fish aren’t biting you aren’t having to mess with catching them, stringing them, rebaiting your pole…the whole process can really get tiresome. I jest and am trying to make the best of the most pathetic of situations. We were told by the marina guy exactly where to go and exactly what fish were biting. We followed all the directions but the fish weren’t playing along. Therefore we were forced to relax on the boat. Even Reagan managed. She fished (or rather, played with her pole in the water) for about ten minutes then began her real desire: playing with the minnows and eating Doritos…with the same hands. Please quit gagging. Sidenote: we left Spastic Kid at the house with Grandma because no one would have a good time chasing a crawling, inquisitive baby around an enclosed boat space with hooks and live bait everywhere. I’m sure you can sympathize.
Dinner was a weenie roast and S’mores around a campfire. Oh Lord, there are times in my life when I really wish it were the Truman Show. I’d give anything to have video of what happened during dinner. Reagan and I were standing around the condiment table dressing our dogs. I gave the ketchup a good shake to get down to the bottom of the bottle. I opened the cap, gave a squeeze and it squirted out all over Reagan’s shirt. I swear I was aiming at my hotdog! I almost hit the ground rolling. Reagan however did not think it was that funny. I “ruined” her shirt and I “better not put this in the blog!” Sorry honey. I like making fun of myself too much. She got over it pretty quickly and I even got a picture of the “ruined” shirt. That will have to be posted at a later date. Reagan loves roasting marshmallows. The only thing is she doesn’t like eating them. She likes raw marshmallows but will most certainly cook ours for us. There’s nothing much better than a properly roasted marshmallow: initially set on fire to consume the whole mallow, for just a couple of seconds though, then blow it out and let it cool just slightly. Crispy bitterness followed by sweet, gooey goodness. Yum.
All in all we came into contact with or came close to: a cat, a dog, myriad birds, a turtle, a lizard, a snake (water moccasin at that), and some ducks. Notice I didn’t mention any fish.
On another topic. High school graduation is tonight/tomorrow for the kids in this area. The newspaper had a writeup of the valedictorian and salutatorian and their respective interests. Here is what the salutatorian’s interests are: climbing on roofs, playing with fireworks, drawing/design and running through fields. Her desire after high school is to go to tattoo school for a year then go to college. Her advice for her juniors was to be unique. I. am. not. kidding. I admire her desire to remain true to herself as she becomes an adult in this world. But climbing on roofs? Playing with fireworks? “We are, we are, the youth of the nation…” POD.