Last Thursday at 6:00 pm I embarked on an adventure with my youngest son.
I returned last evening at 6:00.
I and a dozen or so Boy Scouts, and a smattering of parents. To Up North.
It wasn't strenuous. Sitting by a pristine lake, home of a pair of loons, sunshiny days, trolling for Northern Pike, canoeing through glassy waters, hearing the bullfrogs start their burping as the sun set.
As the lone old mom I had privileges. A cabin to myself, light duty, and few cares.
I sat looking at the water, keeping an eye on the 3 scouts who didn't pass the swim test. I did my KP duty and showed up for flag raising and lowering.
Delightful, but wearing. I'm reminded of the socialite character in "Enchanted April" who appeared to have it all, but insisted that her life was "wearing." I think I get it.
There was lots of interesting inter-action going on with those boys, aged 11 to 17. Leaders emerged. Scoundrels were labeled. Feelings were hurt. Laughter and pushing. Normal boy stuff, mostly fine.
Adults tackled faith, politics, books, and junk science. Yeah. I guess it's not against protocol.
I got to read R.A. Dickey's new memoir, about finding the perfect knuckle ball. I started "Life of Pi" too. Nice choices. I shed a few tears surreptitiously. (The company I kept would hardly be amused at a weeping female).
I did not play cribbage. I prayed a lot.
My dad said a friend of his said the only things he learned from Boy Scouts was how to play Poker and swear.
Happily I did neither. I was vigilant with my son's behavior too. A parent's duty, right?
Cribbage is the game of choice for these guys, and it was played heartily. Until late at night.
I retired at a decent hour each evening, but I am tired tonight.
Just a little tired.
I returned last evening at 6:00.
I and a dozen or so Boy Scouts, and a smattering of parents. To Up North.
It wasn't strenuous. Sitting by a pristine lake, home of a pair of loons, sunshiny days, trolling for Northern Pike, canoeing through glassy waters, hearing the bullfrogs start their burping as the sun set.
As the lone old mom I had privileges. A cabin to myself, light duty, and few cares.
I sat looking at the water, keeping an eye on the 3 scouts who didn't pass the swim test. I did my KP duty and showed up for flag raising and lowering.
Delightful, but wearing. I'm reminded of the socialite character in "Enchanted April" who appeared to have it all, but insisted that her life was "wearing." I think I get it.
There was lots of interesting inter-action going on with those boys, aged 11 to 17. Leaders emerged. Scoundrels were labeled. Feelings were hurt. Laughter and pushing. Normal boy stuff, mostly fine.
Adults tackled faith, politics, books, and junk science. Yeah. I guess it's not against protocol.
I got to read R.A. Dickey's new memoir, about finding the perfect knuckle ball. I started "Life of Pi" too. Nice choices. I shed a few tears surreptitiously. (The company I kept would hardly be amused at a weeping female).
I did not play cribbage. I prayed a lot.
My dad said a friend of his said the only things he learned from Boy Scouts was how to play Poker and swear.
Happily I did neither. I was vigilant with my son's behavior too. A parent's duty, right?
Cribbage is the game of choice for these guys, and it was played heartily. Until late at night.
I retired at a decent hour each evening, but I am tired tonight.
Just a little tired.
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