And by work, naturally, I mean wandering around through the woods and looking for a gazebo and dipping my feet in the lake.
You will no doubt be delighted to hear that I achieved my goals and, in fact, exceeded them by putting my feet in the water more than once.
Three times. Because I am an overachiever, apparently.
Before heading down into the town square, I decided to find the last, most elusive gazebo in town. Being a hot-shot visiting artist guy, I have an in with Margaret, a town selectman, who sent me detailed direction to the hidden gazebo, which is apparently only known to a few people in the universe.
I followed her direction precisely–direction, which I feel I must say, included biking up a hill that was longer and steeper than Mt. Everest–and wound up here:
|Private Property. Keep Out. We Mean It.|
I followed one small trail a few dozen feet before it petered out. Not wishing to wander too far and wind up on the news (Stupid Artist Dies of Exposure 13 Feet From Huge House. And Gazebo), I grabbed my bike and headed back to the house to pack up my supplies for a few hours of work downtown.
|Ready for action!|
I stopped in the local bookstore and demanded to be allowed to sign books, whether they were mine or not. "I AM AN IMPORTANT PERSON! LET ME SIGN BOOKS!" I cried.
"Is that a bottle of wine in your backpack?" the kind lady behind the counter answered.
"I HAVE A PEN!" I bellowed.
It's lucky that they did have a delightful display of my books on hand, or I would have wound up signing some frightful diatribe by Rush Limbaugh or something.
After my grueling few minutes acting like a famous author, I spent a few hours alternately working and dangling my feet in the lake.
|This is the dangling station. Please note the tragic lack of a message in a bottle on the raft. It is a loss that will haunt me forever. WHAT DID IT SAY?|
|This is my feet in the water. Because you needed to see that.|
|This is a close-up of my feet in the water because I have nothing else to write about or show you.|
|This is the water. At this particular location, it s full of weeds and probably 60 foot squid-like monsters, just waiting to drag me under and swallow me whole. Or not whole. It really doesn't make much difference at that point, does it?|
A few people stopped and asked me about the boat rentals. I explained that I didn't actually work there, but when they kept asking, I offered to collect their money and send them off on the boats. Then they left me alone so I could work.
I was hard at work on my plans for starting a black-market boat rental business when Kerri called and said that she was coming up with the kids for the night so we could go see the northern lights.
I was, of course, delighted to have them come up, but obviously didn't give that impression. I may have stressed how easily I had adjusted to the life of a childless bachelor. I may have stressed it a few dozen times during dinner. Or a few hundred.
Despite my calloused disregard for the feelings of my nearest and dearest, they did not ditch me during the meal and we went off in search of a good place to view The Northern Lights or, as I now like to call them, The Whole Buncha Driving Around For Nothing Lights.
We did not locate them, although I did snap a few pictures of the night sky.
|The night sky. Please note complete lack of beautiful lights.|
For comparison, here is a photo I accidentally took of the inside of my pocket the other day.
|My pocket. Please note spectacular display of colors.|
Next time, I think I will just stick my head in my pocket and save the gas.
No matter how quickly I acclimated to childless bachelorhood, it was a great night with my family and I was delighted to have them join me even if they refused to put their heads in my pocket to see the awesome view.