The eve of a great adventure
Even though it's a family tradition that we've practiced since I was very young and stupid and wore baseball hats for teams that I didn't even know anything about, I still find myself a little wary of the annual family camping trip at Lake Quinalt.
Some of you may recognize Quinalt, either because you read "The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" or because you or your loved ones are compulsive gamblers and therefore have been to every single reservation casino in the state. Seek help.
Well, my family is chalk-full of cheap bastards and between my dad and his two brothers there are two eagle scouts (we never forget to remind Uncle David that he didn't quite go all the way)--what this adds up to is the concept of "vacation" that only my family seems to maintain. We're not staying at the famous Quinalt Lodge, nor are we getting rooms at the casino, and we're certainly not renting a cabin. WE'RE CAMPING. Which is actually great fun, it just takes on a new twist of stress and awkwardness when you're camping with your grandfather; your estranged aunt who may or may not hate you; your uncle, his "indoor-girl" wife, two kids, and two shrill, yappy, dropkick dogs; your other uncle who used to be fun but is pretty much annoying now, his even more annoying wife who never seems to leave her elementary school teacher persona in the classroom, their two kids (only one of whom I actually like) who do flash cards for fun, and their new puppy that craps everywhere and runs away every five minutes.
Plus my own family which includes my dad who will march around in swim trunks regardless of the time of day or type of weather. If he's not out sailing on the lake then he's sleeping. My mother who will read six books while we're there, including all of the ones we brought for ourselves, and usually before we have a chance to finish them. She's a book hijacker. My mother tends to feign deafness while on this trip and responds to no name, scream, cry, or whistle. She kind of just checks out. My sisters and I refuse to shower, opting instead to simply go for a dip in the lake. This may be the only thing that gets a reaction out of my mother. We stay up too late, get in trouble for being noisy, make rude jokes, spend too much money at the terribly over-priced Quinalt Mercantile (affectionately referred to by the locals as "The Merc" and loathingly referred to by my penny-pincher pops as "The Damn Store"), and terrorize the clean, paying guests at the Lodge. It's really quite a blast.
And then there's the sailing. Lake Quinalt was carved out by a migrating Glacier pretty much a very long time ago. The result is a kind of chute with ranges springing up from either side of the lake. This creates a sort of natural wind tunnel effect. To my family that means only one thing: GREAT WIND. So my dad usually brings three sail boats, a whole pile of windsurfing gear and some kyaaks. Uncle David will probably bring two sail boats and a canoe. Uncle Mark usually brings a canoe and one sail boat, but he's in Iraq right now treating soldiers with war related psychological disorders. I doubt that his family will trailer the boat out since he's so far away being a hero and couldn't make it home for camping this weekend(just goes to show that we're all affected by the war in the most bizarre ways).
Since Uncle Mark is busy trying to help heal some of the mental wounds that the "W" has inflicted upon our U.S. soldiers, this most beloved of family traditions will not be the same. It will not be as fun, as good, as comforting, as beautiful as it has been in my memory. To try and cope with the guaranteed devastation of Uncle Mark's absence, everyone invited friends. As my mother said, "we might as well make it into a four day party so that we're all too distracted to concentrate on how much we miss Mark." So I'm packing alcohol. But it's very dangerous to be intoxicated around large bodies of water. So that's exciting.
Oh and Mom said that anyone is welcome, so if any of you guys don't have anything to do starting tomorrow at 8 am, just call me.
Some of you may recognize Quinalt, either because you read "The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" or because you or your loved ones are compulsive gamblers and therefore have been to every single reservation casino in the state. Seek help.
Well, my family is chalk-full of cheap bastards and between my dad and his two brothers there are two eagle scouts (we never forget to remind Uncle David that he didn't quite go all the way)--what this adds up to is the concept of "vacation" that only my family seems to maintain. We're not staying at the famous Quinalt Lodge, nor are we getting rooms at the casino, and we're certainly not renting a cabin. WE'RE CAMPING. Which is actually great fun, it just takes on a new twist of stress and awkwardness when you're camping with your grandfather; your estranged aunt who may or may not hate you; your uncle, his "indoor-girl" wife, two kids, and two shrill, yappy, dropkick dogs; your other uncle who used to be fun but is pretty much annoying now, his even more annoying wife who never seems to leave her elementary school teacher persona in the classroom, their two kids (only one of whom I actually like) who do flash cards for fun, and their new puppy that craps everywhere and runs away every five minutes.
Plus my own family which includes my dad who will march around in swim trunks regardless of the time of day or type of weather. If he's not out sailing on the lake then he's sleeping. My mother who will read six books while we're there, including all of the ones we brought for ourselves, and usually before we have a chance to finish them. She's a book hijacker. My mother tends to feign deafness while on this trip and responds to no name, scream, cry, or whistle. She kind of just checks out. My sisters and I refuse to shower, opting instead to simply go for a dip in the lake. This may be the only thing that gets a reaction out of my mother. We stay up too late, get in trouble for being noisy, make rude jokes, spend too much money at the terribly over-priced Quinalt Mercantile (affectionately referred to by the locals as "The Merc" and loathingly referred to by my penny-pincher pops as "The Damn Store"), and terrorize the clean, paying guests at the Lodge. It's really quite a blast.
And then there's the sailing. Lake Quinalt was carved out by a migrating Glacier pretty much a very long time ago. The result is a kind of chute with ranges springing up from either side of the lake. This creates a sort of natural wind tunnel effect. To my family that means only one thing: GREAT WIND. So my dad usually brings three sail boats, a whole pile of windsurfing gear and some kyaaks. Uncle David will probably bring two sail boats and a canoe. Uncle Mark usually brings a canoe and one sail boat, but he's in Iraq right now treating soldiers with war related psychological disorders. I doubt that his family will trailer the boat out since he's so far away being a hero and couldn't make it home for camping this weekend(just goes to show that we're all affected by the war in the most bizarre ways).
Since Uncle Mark is busy trying to help heal some of the mental wounds that the "W" has inflicted upon our U.S. soldiers, this most beloved of family traditions will not be the same. It will not be as fun, as good, as comforting, as beautiful as it has been in my memory. To try and cope with the guaranteed devastation of Uncle Mark's absence, everyone invited friends. As my mother said, "we might as well make it into a four day party so that we're all too distracted to concentrate on how much we miss Mark." So I'm packing alcohol. But it's very dangerous to be intoxicated around large bodies of water. So that's exciting.
Oh and Mom said that anyone is welcome, so if any of you guys don't have anything to do starting tomorrow at 8 am, just call me.