Ob-la-di, ob-la-da

I sent emails to everyone I know with kids in the Cub Scouts to see if any of the wives were going camping this past weekend. Responses ranged from "you couldn't pay my wife to sleep in a tent" to "no way, I use that night to celebrate the quiet house and drink wine with the other women." But every answer, bar none, said that lots of women go. It's just that no one could name any names.

Sure enough, there were a few women at the campfire -- namely the few that were with me to sign our kids up last week (i.e., all newbies). But alas, in the morning, there were none. They all friggin' left. All but me, that is. Was it because it was less than 40 degrees Faherenheit outside? So cold that it was impossible to sleep? Or was it because men can easily pee on trees and women have to go into a filthy, feces encrusted, stink-hole of a wooden shelter to go to the bathroom? Maybe it was because even after the kids went to bed, a few of the men stayed by the fire and sang campfire songs thereby rendering sleep impossible. Perhaps it was the thousands of geese that, unbeknown(st) to me beforehand, squawk all night long. Apparently it's just roosters and other little birds that awaken at dawn. Geese are partiers man.

The whole scene was surreal. Our tents were pitched in the forest. With the darkness and smoke, the experience took on a bit of a Lord of the Rings mystic quality. Missing: One Viggo Mortensen.

Dinner, on the other hand, was a culinary smackdown. Each kid placed whatever he wanted in a tinfoil pouch (e.g., hamburger, potatoes, mushrooms, corn, onions, taco seasoning), folded the ends and placed the pouch on the fire. Voila! A fully cooked meal with a minimal effort and a whole lotta fun.

I think the best part for the kids, in addition to being with their friends, was playing on a giant tree that had fallen in a storm. Its upended roots alone stretched a good 12' in the air so there was plenty of climbing to be done.

Ah well. Chalk the weekend up to yet another new, kid-related experience. Happy ever after in the marketplace . . . la la how the life goes on.

Under where?

Along with traditional necessities (e.g., sleeping bag, insect repellent), the list of items to pack for this weekend's Cub Scout camp out includes "Spair Socks & Underware." One item missing from the list: a tent. Hmmm.

My favorite part, however, is the list of what NOT to bring:
• Bows & Arrows
• Sheath Knives
• Axes, Hatchets or Mauls
• Stoves or Liquid Fuel
• Fireworks
• Drugs or Alcohol

Oh well. I guess I'll have to wait until next weekend for the crystal meth-meets-hatchet celebration. Darn 'dem strate laiced skoutz.

Wilderness Light

Last night, my neighbor Liz and I, along with our kids, went "camping" in her backyard in a makeshift attempt to pretend we were on vacation. It was a beautiful night. Bonfire. Tea lights. Pitcher of sangria. Outdoor screening of Inspector Gadget. The kids put on a midnight dance performance, with multicolored glow sticks, that rivaled the Blue Man Group. (Or maybe that was the vino talking.)

At some point in the wee morning hours, it began to rain. Second only to a backdrop of waves crashing on the shore, awakening to the sound of raindrops tapping a tent cover is really calming.

I need a real vacation right about now. And a nap.

Honeoye Lake

My girlfriend Meg invited the kids and me to spend the weekend with her family at her in-law's cottage this past weekend. Aside from it being a little too cool in the shade, we had a glorious, sunny weekend. We took the paddle boat out a couple of times and the kids had fun swimming, fishing and playing a game that was new to me: redneck golf. (Turns out there is a "sport" I'm good at after all!)

Her daughters, my boys and I also slept in a tent for the first time together which I loved -- except that I could barely sleep because every little noise freaked me out.

I read a story years ago about forgiveness, of all things, written by a mother whose youngest daughter was kidnapped from their tent while the family camped in Montana. The kidnapper quietly slit the tent while the whole family was asleep inside, pulled the daughter out, and later killed her at his nearby house. Although the story told about this woman's prayers for her daughter's safety and prayers/compassion for the kidnapper (who ultimately called her one night, they chatted for an hour and he was subsequently arrested), I have never been able to get the horror of this story out of my head.

But really, what are the chances of something like that happening? Close to nil. Yet reason and logic vanish in the middle of the night. The story played in my head over and over. I even dreamed of a dead girl speaking to me about her brother. Not exactly relaxing.

I need to get over this, though, because I used to love camping and don't want this irrational fear to ruin it for me. I'm thinking of taking baby steps: I'll start by "camping" in our backyard and gradually work up to pitching a tent in Manhattan. And I'll pack some mace.