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Back in the day, my mother was quite the "party animal".
For the last 26 years, her college roomates, friends and families have gathered the weekend after the 4th of July, in a semi-decent campground in central Wisconsin.
This past weekend, was "Rio" weekend. Rio, named after the closest uncivilized town (they lack a wal-mart), population 984.
Every year, I look forward to it. People who have known me for years, always recall the sacred RIO weekend. NOTHING interfers with RIO.
Over the years, the campground has updated the restrooms, added more inflatable devices in the man-made lake, and hired a rent-a-cop who patrols the sites.
Over the years, we have lost members, recruited others, gotten older, and yet each year we convine to meet again to share battle stories, laugh, drink and eat. The last two are most important.
This year the goal was to drink the supply of beer in one night-Friday night. Although we failed miserably seeing your 63 year old mother-drunk, gives me the giggles. Lack of sleep, alchohol, and a headache found yours truely puking five times out of the front of his tent during a thunderstorm. Classy bitch, I'm telling you.
The weekend was an exercise in the prodigal "son", confronting gossip, and of return.
The prodigal son-because two early campers, returned: my sister, and 33 year old Brian. My sister camped ONCE, when she was little, and I have a feeling her lack of a desire to taste "granola" lifestyle, mixed with teen-angst contributed to her willingness to camp again. She came with Rutabega-
Brain, who I don't recall from early camping, was swoon over, and treated like royality. The 33 year old Brian is a nerdy computer consultant, with a book-smart girlfriend, and he is FUCKING GORG! I quite didn't understand the pomp and stance, however being that he was fucking hot, I was over him like white-on-rice. Can I get an AMEN?
The ladies like to gossip, about other campers. Mainly of Greg, who is my age, married, and has 11 children. YES, you heard me correct, ELEVEN, children, from ages 10-new born. After talking to his wife, I realise how they work as a family, communal living, and how much the Catholic faith plays a roll in their lives. ALthough I may not agree 100% with what they believe in, or actions they partake, I repect them for the choices that they have made-and find them interesting.
2008 has been a recovery period for me. Recovering from 2007. Slugging through this year, and being places that are routine (as I did them last year), keeps me REAL GROUNDED, REAL QUICK.
I like the routine.
I appreciated being out in the mosquito laded field, watching the moon illuminate the grass talking to Steph.
I appreciated Marg, asking where was Kara, and honestly stating that I didn't know, and it is a touchy subject.
As the group slowly dwindeled this morning, leaving one by one-
As I said during the goodbyes...
I reminded them....
Same time-Same Place.....
Next year.
For the last 26 years, her college roomates, friends and families have gathered the weekend after the 4th of July, in a semi-decent campground in central Wisconsin.
This past weekend, was "Rio" weekend. Rio, named after the closest uncivilized town (they lack a wal-mart), population 984.
Every year, I look forward to it. People who have known me for years, always recall the sacred RIO weekend. NOTHING interfers with RIO.
Over the years, the campground has updated the restrooms, added more inflatable devices in the man-made lake, and hired a rent-a-cop who patrols the sites.
Over the years, we have lost members, recruited others, gotten older, and yet each year we convine to meet again to share battle stories, laugh, drink and eat. The last two are most important.
This year the goal was to drink the supply of beer in one night-Friday night. Although we failed miserably seeing your 63 year old mother-drunk, gives me the giggles. Lack of sleep, alchohol, and a headache found yours truely puking five times out of the front of his tent during a thunderstorm. Classy bitch, I'm telling you.
The weekend was an exercise in the prodigal "son", confronting gossip, and of return.
The prodigal son-because two early campers, returned: my sister, and 33 year old Brian. My sister camped ONCE, when she was little, and I have a feeling her lack of a desire to taste "granola" lifestyle, mixed with teen-angst contributed to her willingness to camp again. She came with Rutabega-
Brain, who I don't recall from early camping, was swoon over, and treated like royality. The 33 year old Brian is a nerdy computer consultant, with a book-smart girlfriend, and he is FUCKING GORG! I quite didn't understand the pomp and stance, however being that he was fucking hot, I was over him like white-on-rice. Can I get an AMEN?
The ladies like to gossip, about other campers. Mainly of Greg, who is my age, married, and has 11 children. YES, you heard me correct, ELEVEN, children, from ages 10-new born. After talking to his wife, I realise how they work as a family, communal living, and how much the Catholic faith plays a roll in their lives. ALthough I may not agree 100% with what they believe in, or actions they partake, I repect them for the choices that they have made-and find them interesting.
2008 has been a recovery period for me. Recovering from 2007. Slugging through this year, and being places that are routine (as I did them last year), keeps me REAL GROUNDED, REAL QUICK.
I like the routine.
I appreciated being out in the mosquito laded field, watching the moon illuminate the grass talking to Steph.
I appreciated Marg, asking where was Kara, and honestly stating that I didn't know, and it is a touchy subject.
As the group slowly dwindeled this morning, leaving one by one-
As I said during the goodbyes...
I reminded them....
Same time-Same Place.....
Next year.