Promises
I make promises I can’t keep. Chris’s influence on our camping trip for instance…I’m bored with the idea. The problem is, I’ve told the stories too many times, and my brain will freeze if I attempt to write them.
Better is his dad’s email to Molly, Chris’s sister:
Dear Molly,
Chris and I just came back from camping with Mike and Mark Queijo in Northern Maine. Chris is now a man, having passed the wilderness test of being able to drink fine wine and beer in one hand, listen to Red Sox on radio with the other and then get up in the morning (not afternoon) and hike for several hours.
We have given him a local Indian name, “SOS”, which means “tall one who holds the radio.” If you’re interested in history, the short version is “radio holder” or in Chipawa “SOS,” pronounced “sauce” as in curry sauce. Happy show.
Dad
*Editor’s note: Yes, he did get up before noon, but is 11:59 really before noon?
The expanded view of Chris crossing the stream as requested by fellowphotographer with the ip number (12.148.2.90 ) equivalent of a single digit license plate.
The Kibbe addition, circa one year later. Can anyone tell what is wrong with this photo? Hint: The barely discernible black object is the gas grill, the pupurlish object is a hardy mum.
The test has gotten tougher — we only had to drink heavily and then bushwhack in the early days — Red Sox Radio’s a notch up! (‘Course, in those days, we were all expected to provide dessert with dinner, too………) ; >)
Mike’s visual challenge is probably way too obscure — he’s intimating that the deck was (literally) designed for the grill to be where the mum is. The grill was recently moved to allow deck refinishing, it just never made it back up (and now it’s going uder the addition for the season). But note the new cobblestone walk and landing……….
Comment by grandfathered — November 8, 2004 @ 2:08 pm