My son and me, alone at the pond.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Today was one of those disappointing days at the Soldiers Home that would have made me cry, had I been particularly hormonally challenged. But my innards were in line, my son was with me and the elusive sun had made an appearance—and no way was I going to ruin that blissful combination with a fit.
Our plan was to grab Mike and head to the pond for some sunshine, to the public garage sale on the grounds for some shopping and to the camping area for some spontaneous bluegrass tunes. Mike’s plan was to nap.
We woke him to let him know we were there, and to drop off a chocolate McDonald’s shake and tell him where to find us, and then we looked for a backup plan. We talked to Ken Levick in the Activity Center and surprised Leo Mortell with another chocolate shake, but they already had plans for a service group’s Bingo session.
So my son and I went to the garage sale (resistible), walked through the campgrounds (entertaining, but we felt obtrusive) and headed down to the pond for some sunshine (lonely). The eagles weren’t out. The trout weren’t flopping. We were completely alone, just waiting for Mike to wake up and rescue us. We waited and waited, but it never happened.
We finally realized the absurdity of it—two people not particularly visiting anyone or serving any useful purpose—and made the most of it. Carson tried to scoop up fish with a net (unsuccessful), and we took pictures of ourselves since there was no one else around to do it (successful!). But then we had to leave.
To add insult to injury, when we got back to Mike’s room to leave him a note, he was gone. I can’t imagine how we missed him. We even drove around all his usual routes looking for him, but today it was just not meant to be.
So the visit was kind of a bust—but the sunny time with my son was anything but.
Today was one of those disappointing days at the Soldiers Home that would have made me cry, had I been particularly hormonally challenged. But my innards were in line, my son was with me and the elusive sun had made an appearance—and no way was I going to ruin that blissful combination with a fit.
Our plan was to grab Mike and head to the pond for some sunshine, to the public garage sale on the grounds for some shopping and to the camping area for some spontaneous bluegrass tunes. Mike’s plan was to nap.
We woke him to let him know we were there, and to drop off a chocolate McDonald’s shake and tell him where to find us, and then we looked for a backup plan. We talked to Ken Levick in the Activity Center and surprised Leo Mortell with another chocolate shake, but they already had plans for a service group’s Bingo session.
So my son and I went to the garage sale (resistible), walked through the campgrounds (entertaining, but we felt obtrusive) and headed down to the pond for some sunshine (lonely). The eagles weren’t out. The trout weren’t flopping. We were completely alone, just waiting for Mike to wake up and rescue us. We waited and waited, but it never happened.
We finally realized the absurdity of it—two people not particularly visiting anyone or serving any useful purpose—and made the most of it. Carson tried to scoop up fish with a net (unsuccessful), and we took pictures of ourselves since there was no one else around to do it (successful!). But then we had to leave.
To add insult to injury, when we got back to Mike’s room to leave him a note, he was gone. I can’t imagine how we missed him. We even drove around all his usual routes looking for him, but today it was just not meant to be.
So the visit was kind of a bust—but the sunny time with my son was anything but.
A big ol' bass waiting for some attention.
Bluegrass musicians gathered at their campsite on the grounds of the Soldiers Home.
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