Haven't checked in for a couple of weeks, largely because of life and it's many accessories. Been writing a bit, without terribly much inspiration or leeway, but pecking away nevertheless. I once had an English professor who compared writing to, well, diarrhea - you just gotta get it out there, and it ain't always pretty. Still, I'm determined to finish the (Next) Great American Novel...by 2014.
Took McKenzie camping last weekend, a 24-hour getaway to Bastrop with five other dads and their lil'uns (10 all told). Have to report that, for a kid/princess who sleeps with a rhinestone-speckled eye mask. goes through multiple costume changes a day and rarely leaves the house without pearls, she hung in there pretty well. True, she was a bit mortified when I told her to go squat in the woods - "Dad, that's just gross" - but she went fishing (no luck), roasted marshmallows, told a non-sensical ghost story around the campfire and took three slugs out of a beer. Not bad for a rookie.
She did, however, manage to break the zipper on our tent 'door' as we hit the sack. If you recall, it was a bit chilly on Saturday night - 28 degrees. Together, we slept like a s'more.
Asked Jenn if she would want to go as a family sometime. I received the same look as in '99, when we were driving home from our first and only camping trip together. We were dating then - courting - and she seemed adequately keen on the idea of a camping trip. So we got a fancy tent and the fixings and went on an overnight stay with friends. I thought it was a blast; Jenn, apparently not so much. Seems camping is a dating, not a married, thing. Bait, if you will, like the time she told me she would "love to" learn to play golf...
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