Up and up and here we are and the sun is shining and Mr. Moon is cleaning up the boat and Jessie and Vergil are on their way with Greta, their doggie, and I have sheets in the wash for one of our house/chicken/dog/cat sitters and Hank is going to take one shift of that as well and I have to go to town and buy chips/salsa/bread/milk/butter/chicken/eggs/juice/bacon/vegetables/I/don't/know/what/all, come home, pack everything up: ice chests/rubbermaid bins/bags/clothes/chargers/electronic devices/books/booze/pillows/favorite down blanket/, make the bed up, let the dog across the street out, put him back in the house/get with the babies/greet my long-gone Jessie and Vergil, make the plan for transportation down to the coast, drive to the coast, gas up the boat, put the boat in the water, get in the boat, crack a beer, hold the babies safe, cross the bay, dock, unload the boat, drive to the house, unload everything, put it all away.
Done. That is all I have to do.
Until it's time to make supper.
And, to be fair, as Owen pointed out the other day, every night is a party on Dog Island.
So. It's just a three night, four day party with five adults, two kids, and a dog.
Party favors include sunscreen and bug spray and parts to fix the sink drain. And a new air bed for Lily to sleep on because the old one leaks.
I washed my hair and shaved my legs last night so I guess I'm ready.
Wish us luck, y'all. Pictures of sunsets and naked boys to follow.
P.S. This is my new take on what just happened in our government: The Tea Party brought a lot of rope to what they thought was going to be a lynchin' party but Obama stood his ground and let them hang themselves instead of him.
Does that sum it up?