Mother Nature's Bedroom

Wednesday's blog covered some of the highlights of the camping trip - but I can honestly devote an entire blog to sleeping in a tent. Really...38 is not the age where one ought to start sleeping in tents. I mean...by the age of 38, your body has become accustomed to certain things...like heat. And a bed without rocks.  Who knew I was such a wuss??  [that question is rhetorical!]

I noticed that camping paraphernalia seems tailored to the somewhat....petite [or maybe it's just Rita's camping paraphernalia?]. While lying in the "really big" tent we used, I could safely touch my feet to one end and my head to the other end. I was one yoga pose away from being out in the elements. And everything else was pretty compact too...little baby pillows and sleeping bags that almost stretched from your toes and your head. I was waiting for someone to hand me lunch on Barbie's first tea set.

And let's just talk about the "mattress pad". I know tall city girls showing up without the right any camping gear [I had my pen & paper!] shouldn't complain, but calling this thing a mattress pad didn't really set the right expectations. It was more like a workout mat without all the cushioning. After 30 minutes of laying on it, I would lose all feeling in my hip. So I'd flip to the other hip...and then to my plenty-padded ass...and so it went all night long 'til I dreamed of nothing but rotisserie chicken. No wonder people get up so early when they camp...it's a form of surrender.

I did learn one thing though...snoring is not terribly popular in close-quarter camp sites. (Not too much sound-proofing on those tents, y'know.) It took all of about 15 minutes at breakfast to figure out that "it wasn't the train, it was Maeve snoring". Rita and I were in the camping suburbs the second night.

But all in all - I was a good sport (and I would TOTALLY do it again.)