![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
We used to go camping together as a family. Hebo Lake at least once. Lots of times along the Nestucca River Road. I'm sure we camped elsewhere but those are the two areas that stand out in my mind. Camping meant a tent, sleeping bags, a camp-fire...not completely roughing it, we had a Coleman lantern, and a camping stove, and even a little heater (kerosene, I think) to warm the tent a bit. But still, not in a camper or an RV (and you couldn't get those into the campgrounds along the Nestucca River Road, I don't think - in terms of fitting it, never mind lack of hook-ups).
Scott turned on our gas fireplace tonight, and sitting in front of it reminded me of sitting in the dark at a campsite, too early for bed, too sleepy for anything else. Not much to do and not much needed to be done: the flames flickering in front of you, the heat of the fire on your face, a coat or sweatshirt on, the cool brush of the wind against you, the sleepy songs of birds going to bed or the softer rustles of the night life out in the darkness. Maybe, depending on the campground, the sound of water running somewhere in the distance - water that would be bright and shiny and laughingly fast if you went to play in it the next day.
Hot dogs. Toasted marshmallows - I lit mine on fire a number of times. So did Dad, and I think Mom. Dad used to blow his out, then eat the charred marshmallow anyway. I didn't like to, but wasting them was bad, so I'd suck the marshmallow out of the scorched shell if I could, then burn the shell off the stick (we got toasting forks later and used those, but early trips it was just a fresh stick, with the bark removed, as best I can recall...). Of course, that was when the whole marshmallow hadn't fallen in the fire before I managed to react, if I wasn't paying attention.
Quiet talk. Stories. Laughter. I don't remember the conversations, just the tone of them. Peaceful, like the surroundings.
If it wasn't in forest, looking up at the stars, though that was less impressive to me. (Up on the Ridge, even now, the light pollution is minimal and the stars are gloriously, clearly visible. Last night, Jon and I stood around in the cold for several minutes just staring up at the sky and out at the horizon before we left. It was partly cloudy, and still beautiful. The moon was part of that, of course.)
Back to camping, waking in the morning and the tent is cold and everything is cold except inside the sleeping bag. Sometimes I was nestled all the way down with the drawstring of my "mummy sack" sleeping bag pulled tight and my head drawn into the body anyway. I never wanted to get up until Mom or Dad had got the fire going a bit, but sometimes I did. Either way the air was cool, and a thin layer of dew around the camp site and on the tent (or, sometimes, simply wet from the rain...).
Walks along forest paths, with Mom or Dad sometimes pointing out a neat-looking object, or an interesting plant (or just one they could identify). I doubt I could identify most of them any more, but I enjoyed the walks.
At Hebo Lake, going out in a canoe with a friend (and why can I not remember who was with us on that trip? - maybe Luana? maybe Nathan?). For some reason I wanted to get minnows, maybe to fish, I forget why. Mostly we were out in a canoe poking around the lily pads but I do have a recollection of minnows, inevitably, slopped in the bottom of the canoe by a partial spill. I wonder if it really happened or is one of those things my mind manufactured. I know the canoe did, but I'm not sure of the minnows.
I did once (that trip?) go fishing at Hebo Lake. Went fishing with Dad several times, several places. I think Hebo Lake is the only place I ever caught a fish, and it was too small and had to be thrown back. I was disappointed, because I'd caught a fish and we didn't get to use it. I was also disturbed, because of how the fish struggled and because, basically, the fish got hurt and stressed so I could say I caught a fish (since we didn't even use it). I think I was more proud than not, but over the years it turned the other way, and I no longer want to fish. Still, I enjoyed it that day.
--
Different story - Mom told me this. I think it predates me. I definitely wasn't there, and I've lost some of the details because I never tried to get it down near to when I heard it.
At some point, Mom and Dad were in New Orleans. And they went to a fairly famous restaurant, and couldn't make up their minds (or Mom couldn't make up hers, more accurately). So, she ordered it as a multi-course meal. The first one she picked, they asked what wine she wanted, and she looked at the list and picked one, more or less at random, in the moderately pricy range. The next thing they knew, they had the maitre d' serving at their table. Apparently, she'd picked just the wine for that food, and they thought she really knew what she was doing. (Either that, or they thought she was going to spend a fair bit; if so, they were right, I think.) She proceeded to order a multi-course meal, with a full entree for each course. I don't remember how many courses, but...she finished them. The restaurant staff was astonished. Dad was astonished. Mom was too - and when she got back to the hotel she just wanted to lie there and not move. She never did that again, but I got the impression the food was so good it was worth it, in that case, to her. (The first time she told me this, I would guess I was eight or ten. And I was astonished by the idea of eating that much food, and also by the idea of my mother eating that much food in one sitting. She was an excellent cook, she enjoyed food, she loved good food - but she didn't tend to overeat, not in that degree.)
--
And, more stories I wasn't there for, but this time ones that Dad told about college. I think these are all from his year at Princeton but I may very well be wrong! (Not all of them happened then but I think that's when he heard them if they were before his time there.)
First, the one I believe he was involved in (and even the first time I heard this story, it was a shock - a very different view of my Dad than the responsible parent and adult I always knew!). I may even be wrong about this but I'm pretty sure he was one of the guys involved. Basically, there was some work gonig on around a dorm, laying pipe. So there was trench on three sides of the dorm. Dad and his buddies (don't know if they were sober or not) decided that gee, it looked kind of like a moat. And why look, there was a fire hydrant right next to it. So they decided to go get a pipe wrench or whatever, and open the hydrant. (Folks, please don't do this. This is Not Responsible Behavior. Even if I do think it's kinda funny, in the context of a story many-many years old.) They opened it, then ran off. They came back later to see their moat, but alas, the hydrant had been closed. So they opened it, ran off, came back...closed! They opened it either two or three times before they decided that gee, there must be a pressure sensor somewhere and they figured they'd better stop, as they weren't going to get their moat, and they'd probably get caught if they kept it up.
Exactly the sort of thing I frown at now, to be honest. Even as a kid I was startled by the tale, but oh, I laughed, too....
Another story that I laughed at (with fewer qualms than the previous one), but if I remember right, it predated Dad and was just a story he'd heard: There was a barbershop in town, and it was closing. So some guys from the campus went down and asked if they could buy the barber pole (the rotating one) outside the shop since he was closing. The guy who ran the place said sure, but they explained they couldn't take it away right then because they didn't have the car - could they pay now, get the bill of sale, and then take it away by sometime the next day, at their convenience? The guy said sure, sold them the barber pole, gave them the slip of paper saying it was theirs, and that was that. Until late that night (bar closing? earlier) when the kids came by and picked up their barber pole. So, you have a bunch of college kids removing the barber pole from the barber shop in the middle of the night. The cops, of course, came up to stop them from stealing the pole...whereupon, after a brief bit of back and forth, they produced the bill of sale. (Apparently there was some friction between the police and the college - so this was done deliberately to set up that scenario and hassle the cops, or at least that was my understanding from Dad's telling of it, and I believe his as well.)
Dad told another story, but I don't know if it was a story he heard there or not, as a counterpoint to the previous story - sort of a 'good way to pick on the police' and 'bad way to pick on the police' pairing. (I'm not sure there is a good way, but if there is, the barber pole is probably one of the examples, at least.) The bad way involved some nut-bar chaining a police car's bumper to a light pole. I'm fairly sure that wasn't a college story, or at least not anyone Dad knew, but was an example of "dumb ways to deal with this sort of friction". I don't remember that one as well. It just sticks vaguely in my mind whenever the barber pole is brought up.
That's it for now, I think - there will be more later but for now my brain is all fuzzy and short on things. (Guess the cats shedding finally got in. They, by the way, are adapting decently. I think they'll favor the upstairs hall bathroom for good since that's where we introduced 'em to the house, but they'll venture downstairs now.)
And because I don't intend to be up at midnight: Happy New Year, everyone. I ask only one thing of the new year - please, less tragedy (for me and others both!) than 2006 carried. And I make only one resolution, but a big one: to try to take care of and be true to myself and my family.
And now, I think the cats are about to get shut in for the night. (We're still doing that for the moment - working on getting them to stay off the table and stuff. Also, I need to check whether all the plants we were given are poisonous to cats, what their care requirements are, etc., and trim the supply of potted plants down. At least all I have to do with flowers in vases is fill them with water and eventually toss them! I do love the plants, but at the moment I have a minor jungle on the island in the kitchen.)
Scott turned on our gas fireplace tonight, and sitting in front of it reminded me of sitting in the dark at a campsite, too early for bed, too sleepy for anything else. Not much to do and not much needed to be done: the flames flickering in front of you, the heat of the fire on your face, a coat or sweatshirt on, the cool brush of the wind against you, the sleepy songs of birds going to bed or the softer rustles of the night life out in the darkness. Maybe, depending on the campground, the sound of water running somewhere in the distance - water that would be bright and shiny and laughingly fast if you went to play in it the next day.
Hot dogs. Toasted marshmallows - I lit mine on fire a number of times. So did Dad, and I think Mom. Dad used to blow his out, then eat the charred marshmallow anyway. I didn't like to, but wasting them was bad, so I'd suck the marshmallow out of the scorched shell if I could, then burn the shell off the stick (we got toasting forks later and used those, but early trips it was just a fresh stick, with the bark removed, as best I can recall...). Of course, that was when the whole marshmallow hadn't fallen in the fire before I managed to react, if I wasn't paying attention.
Quiet talk. Stories. Laughter. I don't remember the conversations, just the tone of them. Peaceful, like the surroundings.
If it wasn't in forest, looking up at the stars, though that was less impressive to me. (Up on the Ridge, even now, the light pollution is minimal and the stars are gloriously, clearly visible. Last night, Jon and I stood around in the cold for several minutes just staring up at the sky and out at the horizon before we left. It was partly cloudy, and still beautiful. The moon was part of that, of course.)
Back to camping, waking in the morning and the tent is cold and everything is cold except inside the sleeping bag. Sometimes I was nestled all the way down with the drawstring of my "mummy sack" sleeping bag pulled tight and my head drawn into the body anyway. I never wanted to get up until Mom or Dad had got the fire going a bit, but sometimes I did. Either way the air was cool, and a thin layer of dew around the camp site and on the tent (or, sometimes, simply wet from the rain...).
Walks along forest paths, with Mom or Dad sometimes pointing out a neat-looking object, or an interesting plant (or just one they could identify). I doubt I could identify most of them any more, but I enjoyed the walks.
At Hebo Lake, going out in a canoe with a friend (and why can I not remember who was with us on that trip? - maybe Luana? maybe Nathan?). For some reason I wanted to get minnows, maybe to fish, I forget why. Mostly we were out in a canoe poking around the lily pads but I do have a recollection of minnows, inevitably, slopped in the bottom of the canoe by a partial spill. I wonder if it really happened or is one of those things my mind manufactured. I know the canoe did, but I'm not sure of the minnows.
I did once (that trip?) go fishing at Hebo Lake. Went fishing with Dad several times, several places. I think Hebo Lake is the only place I ever caught a fish, and it was too small and had to be thrown back. I was disappointed, because I'd caught a fish and we didn't get to use it. I was also disturbed, because of how the fish struggled and because, basically, the fish got hurt and stressed so I could say I caught a fish (since we didn't even use it). I think I was more proud than not, but over the years it turned the other way, and I no longer want to fish. Still, I enjoyed it that day.
--
Different story - Mom told me this. I think it predates me. I definitely wasn't there, and I've lost some of the details because I never tried to get it down near to when I heard it.
At some point, Mom and Dad were in New Orleans. And they went to a fairly famous restaurant, and couldn't make up their minds (or Mom couldn't make up hers, more accurately). So, she ordered it as a multi-course meal. The first one she picked, they asked what wine she wanted, and she looked at the list and picked one, more or less at random, in the moderately pricy range. The next thing they knew, they had the maitre d' serving at their table. Apparently, she'd picked just the wine for that food, and they thought she really knew what she was doing. (Either that, or they thought she was going to spend a fair bit; if so, they were right, I think.) She proceeded to order a multi-course meal, with a full entree for each course. I don't remember how many courses, but...she finished them. The restaurant staff was astonished. Dad was astonished. Mom was too - and when she got back to the hotel she just wanted to lie there and not move. She never did that again, but I got the impression the food was so good it was worth it, in that case, to her. (The first time she told me this, I would guess I was eight or ten. And I was astonished by the idea of eating that much food, and also by the idea of my mother eating that much food in one sitting. She was an excellent cook, she enjoyed food, she loved good food - but she didn't tend to overeat, not in that degree.)
--
And, more stories I wasn't there for, but this time ones that Dad told about college. I think these are all from his year at Princeton but I may very well be wrong! (Not all of them happened then but I think that's when he heard them if they were before his time there.)
First, the one I believe he was involved in (and even the first time I heard this story, it was a shock - a very different view of my Dad than the responsible parent and adult I always knew!). I may even be wrong about this but I'm pretty sure he was one of the guys involved. Basically, there was some work gonig on around a dorm, laying pipe. So there was trench on three sides of the dorm. Dad and his buddies (don't know if they were sober or not) decided that gee, it looked kind of like a moat. And why look, there was a fire hydrant right next to it. So they decided to go get a pipe wrench or whatever, and open the hydrant. (Folks, please don't do this. This is Not Responsible Behavior. Even if I do think it's kinda funny, in the context of a story many-many years old.) They opened it, then ran off. They came back later to see their moat, but alas, the hydrant had been closed. So they opened it, ran off, came back...closed! They opened it either two or three times before they decided that gee, there must be a pressure sensor somewhere and they figured they'd better stop, as they weren't going to get their moat, and they'd probably get caught if they kept it up.
Exactly the sort of thing I frown at now, to be honest. Even as a kid I was startled by the tale, but oh, I laughed, too....
Another story that I laughed at (with fewer qualms than the previous one), but if I remember right, it predated Dad and was just a story he'd heard: There was a barbershop in town, and it was closing. So some guys from the campus went down and asked if they could buy the barber pole (the rotating one) outside the shop since he was closing. The guy who ran the place said sure, but they explained they couldn't take it away right then because they didn't have the car - could they pay now, get the bill of sale, and then take it away by sometime the next day, at their convenience? The guy said sure, sold them the barber pole, gave them the slip of paper saying it was theirs, and that was that. Until late that night (bar closing? earlier) when the kids came by and picked up their barber pole. So, you have a bunch of college kids removing the barber pole from the barber shop in the middle of the night. The cops, of course, came up to stop them from stealing the pole...whereupon, after a brief bit of back and forth, they produced the bill of sale. (Apparently there was some friction between the police and the college - so this was done deliberately to set up that scenario and hassle the cops, or at least that was my understanding from Dad's telling of it, and I believe his as well.)
Dad told another story, but I don't know if it was a story he heard there or not, as a counterpoint to the previous story - sort of a 'good way to pick on the police' and 'bad way to pick on the police' pairing. (I'm not sure there is a good way, but if there is, the barber pole is probably one of the examples, at least.) The bad way involved some nut-bar chaining a police car's bumper to a light pole. I'm fairly sure that wasn't a college story, or at least not anyone Dad knew, but was an example of "dumb ways to deal with this sort of friction". I don't remember that one as well. It just sticks vaguely in my mind whenever the barber pole is brought up.
That's it for now, I think - there will be more later but for now my brain is all fuzzy and short on things. (Guess the cats shedding finally got in. They, by the way, are adapting decently. I think they'll favor the upstairs hall bathroom for good since that's where we introduced 'em to the house, but they'll venture downstairs now.)
And because I don't intend to be up at midnight: Happy New Year, everyone. I ask only one thing of the new year - please, less tragedy (for me and others both!) than 2006 carried. And I make only one resolution, but a big one: to try to take care of and be true to myself and my family.
And now, I think the cats are about to get shut in for the night. (We're still doing that for the moment - working on getting them to stay off the table and stuff. Also, I need to check whether all the plants we were given are poisonous to cats, what their care requirements are, etc., and trim the supply of potted plants down. At least all I have to do with flowers in vases is fill them with water and eventually toss them! I do love the plants, but at the moment I have a minor jungle on the island in the kitchen.)
