Once a year, the family heads up to the wilds of the Idaho Sawtooth Mountains. The Engineer and the Twin spend their days clambering up and down cliffs, catching trout and drinking beer. By the end of the week they look - and smell - totally disreputable.
They have a nasty habit of tucking their fish into their pockets when they climb back up the cliffs. I can understand that it leaves their hands free for climbing, but I'm the one who gets to do the laundry afterwards. Until the fishing duds make their third trip through the washer, I breath in shallow gasps through my mouth as I handle them. Disinfecting my hands afterwards seems like a wise precaution.
Most years I ramble around in the woods surrounding the cabin, taking pictures and catching little trout in the creek that runs by the cabin. (I do not put trout into my pockets.) Ain't gunna happen this year, though. A bad case of tendonitis in my left Achilles tendon has me waddling like a drunken goose and leaves me with no desire to wander through the woods and streams. I think I will end up sleeping an embarrassing amount.
When I'm not asleep, I have three library books and one hardcover book I actually bought (it was on sale.) I've also packed some yarn and needles. I plan to knit a couple of dish cloths to leave at the cabin as thank you tokens and to work on Christmas knitting.
Sure seems like a waste of wilderness and water