Fantasy Camping

On Sunday, Larry and Theo and I went to the storage place to inspect our pop-up trailer - you know, the one we bought 6 years ago because Larry likes to camp and I don't, but marriage is forever? It was a surprisingly uneventful task - no gross bugs had taken up residence over the winter, no water had leaked through the new protective cover Larry bought last year, everything was there and sort of, well, organized.

But no flowers or throw pillows - we're not THAT good.

Larry and I sat there and stared at each other.

"So," he said, "I guess we're good to go?"

"Yeah," I said, checking inside the storage containers. "Looks like we just need paper towels and some trash bags."

Larry moved stuff around so I could sweep and wipe down the metal floor and the seat cushions. He opened his handy-dandy Coleman storage case that holds all his kitchen stuff and we checked that, too. Plates, bowls, silverware; metal pots; dish soap...all there.

"Is this for real?" I said. "We MUST be forgetting something."

I mean, hey, that's what we do.

Larry kept looking around. "Here's the stove," he offered, knowing I remembered the 2014 trip to a Maine WalMart, looking for a campstove to replace the 2 (count them, 2!) stoves we had managed to leave at home.

"There are 5 chairs in here," I said, checking the storage bench. "And they all work. What the heck?"

It's worth the effort. Really, it is.

"You know, it's a nice camper," Larry said, going around and unzipping the canvas windows to air it out.

"Yeah," I agreed, "like a screened-in porch on wheels. Sleeping in it's nice."

So we basked for a bit in our unaccustomed efficiency, daring to dream of a successful (i.e., not rainy) camping trip in non-humid Acadia, land of granite mountains and blue sea -- a veritable Eden where hiking and kayaking reign supreme, and children are never miserable about being forced to camp with their parents.

Look, I SAID it was a dream, okay?