We’d promised ourselves a Sunday morning kayaking jaunt. It was a bit breezy so we didn’t plan to go far, just around the point to paddle along the shoreline for a while. It’s a different view of the world from the water.
After all of that paddling, we hung out on the beach for a while and watched the boats in the bay. I find that endlessly fascinating, by the way. We have some excellent water skiers around here.
The guys decided they wanted to take a drive. Up a mountain. Come on, they said, it will be fun.
I no longer think mountain drives are fun. It’s a “been there, done there, don’t want to die” thing. And if you have ever driven across the Skalkaho Pass in western Montana, you would know exactly what I’m talking about.
I strongly urged the men in my life to drive up whatever mountains they wanted while I stayed home and read the latest Peter Bowen book I’d just picked up from the library (curbside pick up only, sigh).
Banjo Man and Will wouldn’t leave without me. They promised an easy road outside of town, they promised to turn around if the road made me queasy, they promised not to laugh at my terror of high places with no guardrails.
So…off we went.
And it was fun! The wide road was well-maintained and, because it followed a huge creek, cut between mountains and was not scary at all. We drove about 13 miles and stopped at an isolated little camping area.
And then we headed back down to town and eventually back home to eat dinner on the porch and play a few rounds of Canasta.
We have played a lot of Canasta this summer. I created a Summer 2020 Canasta Score Book. There are always snacks. I mostly lose.
The three of us have been living together almost three months now and we’re perfectly content with our daily routines. We’re a relaxed little trio this summer as Covid and riots rage elsewhere. We’ll be forced to abandon the Lake Bubble eventually, but for now? Peace and cards and pie reign supreme.