It's Not As Easy As It Looks

Thursday night, the night before I took off, and I was still packing and sorting. And doing a bit of revision. My friend H came over after work to see me one last time. My mom and grandma were watching TV and overseeing me. H wanted to know if I had set up my tent yet—I’d had it for a couple of weeks by now.

“Nope,” I replied. “No time. Busy packing and all that stuff.”

H chided me and ordered me to set up the tent NOW. Mom ordered me to keep packing. After ten minutes or so of this from the two of them, like antiphonal choruses in a Greek tragedy (or maybe it’s a comedy, I’m not sure), I went to the other room that had stuff to pack and worked on that pile.

After I finished packing, at least to my mom’s approval (yes, I really am 47, but I know what fights I will not win), I went outside to see about setting the tent up on the deck. In the dark. (There is one small outside light there.) And not only is it drizzling lightly, but the roof of the deck leaks here and there, so I would be setting up the tent on puddles.

“You’ll have to set it up on damp ground when you camp,” H informed me.

Not bloody likely, I thought. If it’s wet out, I’m getting a motel room.

“Okay,” I agreed politely.

I’m glad he was there to help me, because I was so tired and so overwhelmed and so stressed I’d have cried when I realized I had no idea what part was a “door” and what was a “window” and whether or not the tent was even right-side out! When we finished, I was so proud I took a picture.

And I still stayed up until just after midnight, winding down.