I am eyeball deep in a time-consuming project involving a transfer of every digital photo I ever snapped from one machine to another. Let's just say that this will be the last time I ever do this - I liken it to cleaning out a crawl space or packing up to move homes. It sucks.
However, I am enjoying tripping down memory lane as I scroll through the photos. Looking at my kids when they were babies, toddlers, pre-teens...oh, wait - one of my rug rats still is a pre-teen. Why does it feel like he's been a teenager for three years?
Sometimes Mr. Musky gets annoyed with my photography obsession, and the sad truth is that I can remember in multiple photos when his annoyance resulted me in putting the camera down. I resolve to not do that anymore. I enjoy capturing his steely glares.
More than nostalgic, I'm feeling anxious. Excited. Ready. I'm pining for more weekends at the lake when we try new foods over the campfire.
I'll sip my post-dinner wine watching this as I float back and forth on our adirondack swing in the back yard.
The next day, we'll take a boat ride to Stone Lake Beach, or Miller's Playground, or Drunk Lady Beach, or Lake of the Giant Musky, depending on whose perspective you ask. On the way, I'll pick up a hitchhiker and let him rest on my finger backdropped by a very good friend.
After a few rounds of cards, Mr. Musky will cook us all a tasty lunch oozing with gooey cheese.
Followed by neighborly entertainment - observing these two sail out around Stone Lake.
I don't even care if on America's Birthday, the best day of the summer, it rains cats and dogs.
We'll just sit in our shed, Northwoods Redneck Style, enjoying cocktails and yet another fabulous dinner over the fire.
Why is it that all of my most enjoyable times in life involve food and drink?
I guess I'd better go jump on the dreaded, evil treadmill.