No gold for the spectators
Odd how stuff accumulates in a camping car. Mainly, it shows that our hunter and gatherer buried by the sands of time. Today, when we needed the back seat for passengers other than the dog, we decided to offload into the campground garage; the “luggage”would have blended intold almost any any homeless park. Plastic bags will hold almost anything.
Due to certain familial pressures, we were in charge of a movement of personnel from camp A to camp B, completed without incident long before noon. An excuse to tour Charlottetown, before grabbing a “15 minute parking” spot and settling in for a meal at Water-Prince. Great food, but that lobster with its head out of the tank, watching us, was disconcerting. In a horror movie sense…
During the heat of the afternoon, we left the dog inside to play avatar for the “front seaters” (us) while we visited an upscale camping supply store. No extra tent poles on sale, although we could have hired their service staff for repairs. No thanks; I’ve already opened an account with the Eureka importer. Instead, I tried on a couple of lovely tech jackets (beyond my price point) and then sallied forth into the rest of my life. My murmured hints about matching ukes continue to be ignored.
This was my first opportunity to watch the Games. All of the contestants can run faster, jump higher, strive far beyond my personal best. Guess that explains why my role fits into the spectator class, and why my collection of gold remains limited to a single (magical) ring.
