Labor Day

Apparently, Labor Day is the new Christmas. Rita’s family and mine are each getting together for separate Labor Day gatherings. My family is gathering in Nashville and renting a pontoon boat on the lake. Rita’s family…meanwhile…is planning a 3-day rafting trip down the Deschutes rapids. That’s right, I’m a pontoon-boat McConville mixing with the rapids-rafting Pirkles. [But please note that my whole family is going to be on a lake during daylight hours. Now may be the time to pick up sunscreen stocks.]

Rita keeps promising that the “camping” excursion is catered. The outfit running the trip is supposed to “set up your tent and have it waiting for you”, which ought to be especially handy after the water rescue I will undoubtedly require. Last week, however, Rita’s sister sent an email asking if anyone had an extra sleeping bag because “we have one kid’s bag that will probably work for Rita, but we still need one for McC [well…she didn’t call me McC – but I still have to make sure this blog doesn’t show up when you google my name]. Schlepping for sleeping bags does NOT bode well for our “catered” camping excursion. “I told you so” is NOT going to be any consolation when the self-constructed tent collapses on us at 3 in the morning. [oh, who are we kidding – our tent won’t make it to midnight before it collapses.]

I can’t help thinking that my invitation is centered on sheer entertainment value. Tall girls in water wings are always hooty. [I bet you will be able to trace the outline of my water wings from the trail of mosquito bites.]

And just imagine the blogs.