The car is LOADED. My faithful slave child (Chris) came over and helped me harness the cats then compact the carpet scraps and get them all into the trunk along with 2 ski tubes, four camp chairs, 3 tarps...then I folded 3 loads of laundry & fitted them next to the new litterbox & bucket of litter, and bucket of cat food in the back seat. Tomorrow first thing I shall leash/cage the ferocious beasts and load them into the front seat.
I am declaring myself QUEEN OF PACKING! And I dedicate this award to my father, who taught me by example (come on y'all anyone who saw him load the truck and boat for Lake Powell know EXACTLY what I'm talking about!).
I fully expect that upon arrival at Willows I will crack the door, and the car will unpack itself like a can of prank peanuts.
Scott has braved the beginning of Memorial Weekend by himself. Fortunately the weather has kept the riffraff down.
I'm hating leaving work, and it's gonna be really strange not to see my friends every day. I keep extracting promises to visit...I really hope some of them actually come see me. They really are my family, and I feel like I'm leaving home.
That sounds odd since I actually am leaving home, but in a way I'm just moving my stuff to a portable part of my home. I'm leaving my couch, my kitchen, my closet, my tulip tree, and moving my whole life into a small studio apartment on wheels. But I'm so excited! I love being a camp manager. No wonder it's a lot of peoples' dream job.
It's beyond late, and the two balls of fur in my lap are both tired and grumpy. I think I'll lead them to bed in hopes of lulling them into submission for morning. Wish me luck!
-m
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