I sat down to write this blog post a couple of weeks ago, and then again this morning. Each time, something happened: Anne needed something, or I remembered something I had to do that was more important, or at least more urgent, than blogging. So this post has sat in my little Draft area, wondering if I'd ever come back. I feel something like anger about this--anger that my writing time, which has always been sacred, keeps getting ousted from my schedule by stuff--some of it sacred, most of it not so much. So now that I have exactly nine minutes to write something, I'll go ahead and write something. I'll publish it and be done with it. It'll be short and sweet, but at least it'll be done. And maybe I'll write something more later.
My family will soon be leaving for several days of "woods therapy," which, as you might imagine, consists of time in the woods. We'll be staying at a campground in a National Park, hiking and leaf-peeping during the day, and sitting around a campfire and sleeping in a tent at night.
Several months ago, I reserved this tent-only, walk-in site at the campground.
I made the reservation back in our primitive car-camping days, when we used a backpacking tent and had no real accoutrements for camping, beyond a couple of ice chests and a few old bins for packing stuff.
Over the last few months, though, we've accumulated some stuff. We now have a hammock and a fold-out kitchen. We bought a 10' x 10', seven-foot-tall tent--a luxury tent compared to anything we've had before. So now I'm concerned that our little walk-in site, which is 30' long by 20' wide, is going to feel crowded. It's a dumb thing to worry about, but my mind has been in "worry mode" for a while now. It's all because I haven't had any quiet-time in weeks; I don't remember the last time I took a few hours on a Sunday afternoon for some alone-time.
I'm feeling angry as I write this, and I'm hoping that anger will dissipate once we are in the quiet woods, in our small but generator-free camping area.