�� new old this that ��

08.25.03.12:05 pm

Weekend of weightlessness.

I'd have to say The Camp is becoming one of my favorite places to visit in the summer. Not because it's such a nice and comfortable place, but because it's a nice and wonderful place to spend time with her.

Friday evening through Sunday afternoon we spent our weekend in Northern Massachusetts at The Camp. The Camp is not a patch of land with a lean-to and a fire pit, but a slightly insulated house with a 1st floor open floor plan with knotty pine walls, a modern kitchen, a table, big bathroom, couches, a TV that gets 2 stations and an enclosed porch. The Camp does not have cots and sleeping bags but an upstairs with 3 un-insinuated bedrooms of many single and double beds, a common sitting room, and an open roof patio. The Camp does have water - a lake and a dock, and a back yard between the two.

Oh, by we, I mean me, her, and Amadeus and Georgia -- the two dogs.

I'd forgotten how much the city weighs. Busses busses cars and motorcycles followed by other motorcycles by pathetic middle aged Harleys and ignorant plastic racing bikes.

Crabby people in the dog park, just waiting for a chance to scowl when a dog doesn't act like a human and in fact acts like a dog when it barks or howls at another scowling person running by.

In the City at night I look up and see glow. No stars but the three brightest, or is that third one Mars?

The roar of airplanes in a holding pattern over the East Side. Dark silhouettes with their incessant blinking running lights of green and red.

The trash trucks picking up a different dumpster every morning somewhere within ear shot. Neighbors banging up the stairs at all hours.

The city can grow heavy without you noticing.

Of course there's urban beauty everywhere. Black Eyed Susan's and daisy's in sidewalk gardens, city trees as gnarled and ancient as any modern forest. Diversity. Music wafting from townhouse stoops and third floor apartment windows of flower boxes. The afternon banjo player 6 houses down Bowen St just about sums it all up.

There's always things to do. The bustle the movement the humanity is always exciting, but the breaks I've taken at The Camp have helped me remember where I came from.

Where I Came From wasn't that bad. The winters sucked. But it wasn't that bad.

This weekend I sailed. A small Sun Fish sailboat. It had been 10 years, but it's remembering how to ride a unicycle. Once you've learned once, you only fall off a couple more times.

Once I took the boat out and Amadeus - the Husky and German Sheppard mix followed me out. He swam after me a couple of hundred feet before I realized. I had to turn around and go back in so we could tie him up and keep him from trying to drown due to loyalty.

Another time, I sailed with her father.

I made Georgia swim, but she likes the lake as much as she likes a bath. She prefered to sit on shore and dig holes.

Saturday We grilled steak. We ate Dagwood sandwiches. We caught kivers with her father using Benneful dog food as bait and let them go. We drank wine with her mother and talked the way adults do. Enjoying just the conversation.

At night, long after Her parents went home, I sat on the edge of the dock and looked up. I sat there seeing the lack of light and stars of white - twinkling under a dome.

Sunday we took a walk to the small air strip and walked the dogs down old logging roads. We stopped and picked wild blue berries. We found beaver dams and crossed stream beds - dogs in tow.

Sunday night, back home in Providence, the city was bearable again, we left with 91 degree heat and humidity on Friday. When we came back, a cool front had come in and made air conditioners and fans unnecessary. When I slept I enjoyed the absence of their sound. The background noise of this summer.

I love living here, but getting some distance from Providence was just what I needed.

�� new old this that ��