Captain's Log-5/24: Seventeen-hundred hours and three minutes: Brief layover at the school for my forgotten rubber boots. Demerits issued to the Supply Officer.
Captain's Log-5/24: Seventeen-hundred hours and thirty-three minutes: Acquisition of fishing licences at the local Stuff-Mart. As staff was currently occupied in selling a deadly weapon to a questionable-looking character, we had to wait. This turned out to be providential as the Lord clearly wanted me to buy wine coolers, Mounds bars, and three different styles of M & M candies for our fishing trip. Apparently the Lord DID NOT want me to purchase Funyuns, indicating that God loves Brad too. We spent the remainder of our waiting time determining the air mattress we would most want from the three thousand varieties available based on the packaging cover. Girl playing ukulele? No. Couple casually brushing up against each other, admiring a breath-taking vista from the comfort of a tent larger than our living room...no. Man leaning over his double-decker air mattress to pet his black lab? No...animal cruelty. A real man would be snuggling with the dog on the double-decker air mattress. We settled on the realistically-attractive couple who didn't seem entirely sick of one another and had s'more-making material in the background. From there, I was led to a refrigerated cooler located behind the aspiring serial killer waiting to be handed his weapon. Imagine my disappointment to discover that the cooler held, not my much-anticipated refreshing Pepsi, but bait. The Stoffer family stopped by to offer some comfort and encouragement. We noted that, proportionally, the cost of knives increases as the size of the implement grows smaller. A machete is a downright bargain at Stuff-Mart! Our time finally arrived and like lottery winners, we raced forward to receive our licences. Savannah sighed as I immediately engaged in fishing-talk with the masses of people in line behind us. I name-dropped the Salmon-Capital of Upstate New York, Pulaski, mistakenly declared a fondness for Cod which Savannah kindly corrected (embarrassing me in front of my new fishing buddies), and expressed disappointment that my trout-fishing companion would not be fly-fishing because I had planned to segue the conversation over to the movie, "A River Runs Though It." Licences-in-hand, Savannah and I departed after hugging and high-fiving our fishing friends.
Captain's Log-5/24: Nineteen-hundred hours and eight minutes: Received our rations via the Wendy's drive-thru window. My junior Bacon-a-tor didn't have a pickle. Decided that the junior Bacon-a-tor would be a great name for a dinosaur. Co-captain Chlo shared a small Frosty with the Chief Navigator.
Captain's Log-5/24: Nineteen-hundred hours and twelve minutes: Fueling station.
Captain's Log-5/24: Nineteen-hundred hours and sixteen minutes: Open road. As tradition dictates, I immediately launched into Willie Nelson's song, "On the Road Again." Savannah was delighted, as you would imagine. "Like a band of gypsies, we go down the highway..." I harmonized before pausing to say, "Savannah, if you can name the next line, I'll stop." Without hesitating, she chanted, "We're the best of friends." I recovered from my disappointment by popping in the Frozen" cd so she could enjoy singing "Love is an Open Door" with me before I recounted the plot of the movie to her in minute detail. I tried and failed to spread out my consumption of mini-Mounds bars to one-per-every-fifteen-minutes. As she wrestled the last one from the wrapper to hand to me, Savannah asked who manufactured Mounds bars. "Peter-Paul," I said off-handedly, shocking my daughter with my savant-like knowledge of candy. My enthralled reaction to my GPS's sudden switch from daytime-to-nighttime mode, complete with twinkling stars accompanied by my knuckle-clenching ability to take a 25 mile-per-hour exit at 55 prompted Savannah to take over piloting duties.
Captain's Log-5/24: Twenty-one-hundred hours and twenty-six minutes: Puppy pitstop. Pillowed between two parked rigs, Savannah and I walked the dogs in the rain. Certain that we would be taken, I swung my flashlight from side-to-side like a metronome.
Captain's Log-5/24: Twenty-two hundred hours and sixteen minutes: Inspired by my friend Cathy to actually make an effort to prepare a meal or two rather than just relying on Brad to catch the fish, fillet the fish, cook the fish, and clean up the dishes after we'd eaten the fish, we stopped at a late-night gas station to pick up the forgotten pancake syrup and issue another set of demerits to the Supply Officer. The girls on duty and I had a good laugh about my thinking about buying a half-a-pint of $10 maple syrup that has been sitting on their shelf since well-before either of them had been employed.
 |
| Breakfast made! |
 |
| The Co-Captain, longing for the sea |
No comments:
Post a Comment