Dear Diary,

Saturday, June 26, 6:00 am

I’ve just woken up on a someone else’s mattress on the floor of an empty bedroom in an apartment I don’t know.  And I’m elated!  Why, is that, dear diary?

Because this empty bedroom is in my son’s summer apartment, and I had a sleepover with him last night.  

Yes, that could be considered odd, but diary, you of all people know how much I’ve wanted to spend time with him, and what with the hour-long drive between the campground and his apartment, plus the thunderstorms we’ve been having that mean we can’t leave Banjo alone in the trailer … it all added up to too much planning needed to hang out with him and not enough hanging out. 

I felt awkward even mentioning the idea to both Finn and Tracy when I thought of it.  What mom is willing to sleep on the floor, with no overnight bag, just so she can watch The Song Remains the Same with her son until bedtime?  Well, we also picked up a spicy Thai dinner and walked to his corner convenience store to get cider for the night.  

In other words, dear diary, it was quality time spent together, and I’m grateful for Finn’s kind indulgence to let his fretful mother stay over and soak up time with him.

4:00 pm

Unexpectedly, I did miss the trailer!  After another good meal under a picnic shelter—man is it raining a lot here—Tracy took me home, and after my first-ever night away from the Airstream by myself, it does indeed feel like home inside. 

Saturday June 26, 6:30 pm

I’m in another unlikely place, sitting inside the concessions building by the lake at the campground, waiting out a tornado watch.  

First we heard the state park tornado siren. Then our phone alerts went off.  Then we saw lines of campers walking to the nearby bathhouse.  

Pretty quickly, we joined them there, but so many people were inside it or hanging around outside, waiting for the rain, trying to get signal on their phones, planning where they would stand inside if an actual tornado showed up.  There just wasn’t enough room for us all.  

So Tracy went back to the trailer with Banjo. We left her there because we wouldn’t even try to get her in the bathhouse with all these dogs, and when the serious threat seemed to have missed us, he went to check on her. The trailer’s in a terrible spot right next to a tree, but we’re located on the edge of the tornado map, so he’s not nervous.  

When he left, I walked over to the concessions building because I thought it would be less crowded. Lo and behold, there’s a scout troupe in here.  Of course, their leader has them sitting inside against the concrete walls, following protocol exactly.  Just like I like to!  I’m with the scout troupe, now.

8:30 pm

No more tornado warning; the storm missed us.  Time for margaritas, the Grateful Dead on the stereo, and a couple of sets of gin rummy.  

Feels good to be back, especially knowing my son has an apartment secured for the school year, plus an office for his research work, and several connections already in this far-away place.

Time for us to go to an even farther-away place.  

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