I'm moseying over to Wyoming for the next two weeks for a family reunion and memorial for my grandfather. The first ten years of my life were filled with stories, adventures, and fond memories staying with my grandparents in Green River Lake, where they were campground hosts. In exchange for cleaning bathrooms and checking fire pits, they lived in a gorgeous cabin with a great room overlooking the lake and the mountains. Stunning.
My top five memories from Green River:
1) Being paid a penny for each fly I killed. This is how I funded my ice cream habit.
2) Getting a black eye while trying to build a tree house. I swear, the branch hit me first. I have a terrible, dark history with tree houses.
3) Dancing whirlingly to Vivaldi's Four Seasons on my Walkman while Grandma cleaned up.
4) Starting my first journal at the grand old age of six. Teddy loomed large in these early entries.
5) Catching rainbow trout with Grandpa. Once, in the middle of the lake, a horsefly the size of a... well, a horse, bit me on my thumb while I watched. I was too scared to move.
I'm sure this journey back, the first in fifteen years, will shake and stir my joy and nostalgia.
Before I go, here's a good joke I read in The Joy Diet:
Two college roommates are meeting on move-in day. One is a blue-blood New Englander. Private college prep type. The other's a country girl. She went to a public high school in a rural town.
The Cowgirl waltzes in, flops her bag on the bed, and says, "So, where you from?"
Blue blood responds icily, "From a place where we know better than to end our sentences with a preposition."
"Oh," says Cowgirl. "So, where you from, Bitch?"