What year was this camping trip? Hell, I don't remember. I don't even remember where this was at other than it was Colorado--New Castle maybe? Here's Doooders admiring the roses while I sipped on a brewski--in the public park, of course. Wouldn't be a camping trip without a little law-breaking.
One of my favorite birthday cards that I gave away once was a picture of an old lady with a bubble over her head, and she was saying,
"My memory is so bad." Another bubble pops up and says,
"How bad is it?" and the old lady replies,
"How bad is what?"
Well, the past two years, we've been trying to remember what we did shortly after this picture was taken. I KNOW that within this time frame, we found a super cool little tavern, and we went in for a "on the road brewski."
The only thing is, we can't remember the name of it, where it was located or when we were there.
"I'm not sure we were even there," Doooders remarks thoughtfully.
"But I distinctly remember this charming old tavern," I retort. "It was shortly after this picture was taken. It was even a brick tavern, and I remember looking in through the window!" Doooders shakes her head and looks doubtful.
Maybe we DIDN'T go in and actually have a beer. Maybe we just drove by a cute place. How could our memories be that leaky? It was after this trip that I started writing down everywhere we go. Apparently, no matter how much fun we have, if we don't write it down in the camp log, a year later, we forget all about it like it never even existed.
Aging, beer-drinkin' and camping--
it's a dubious mix, that's for sure.