Please identify the instrument
The old gang has appeared, in the campground. Same faces, same dogs (no cats go camping). Same penchant for circling the campfires and staying up much too late. A couple of hours before midnight, and they’re still poking and joking.
Morning involves a separate set of protocols. Waiting for shower slots. Boiling water to assure a limited access to coffee, as long as the mugs don’t blow off the table. I don’t mean empty mugs (in the beginning). Finding a place to eat cinnamon buns, while envying the neighbour that has found bacon (almost a sacramental item in the camping rubric).
We don’t toast (burn) bread anymore. The afterbite of propane no longer satisfies. In a specialty shop. I spotted toaster baggies (which keep all the crumbs close by while using a home electric appliance).
But this isn’t all about eating. Time to get on the road and find a place for lunch. Oops.
We did find a replacement for the blue ball that went AWOL. Bitter mental images of two kids in hanglow pants, throwing the original at each other to beat the boredom. School supplies are now available (can’t be too prepared, too early), so we hit the office goods depot and scored a box of four. Now we can park on city streets without fear.
And on a whim, I went guitar shopping. Virtually, in a store. You see, I knew the brand, but not the model, so the clerk took a look at a picture where the featured artist held one, identified the strain, and pulled up the data sheet. Only the “top of the line” is actually in the store, and it’s beyond my price point, but I can dream, can’t I?
