Poor Kev. A significant part of him really wants to like it here. I know him well enough to know he isn’t being a rear end deliberately. He just can’t seem to navigate past the travel, the accommodations, and the constant companionship of those he loves most dearly, enough to enjoy himself. At this point in the venture we all become acutely aware of the fact we should have left him at home. He’s happiest when he sticks to the well-rehearsed humdrum of his daily routine. Rise early. Shower. Watch some Buffy. Iron his clothes. Dress. Make my coffee. Head to work. (where hopefully they are busy enough to keep our house afloat but not so busy he doesn’t have the opportunity to Google a magic trick or two or conjure up an ingenious invention that the world at large keeps beating him to.)

Punch out and start all over again.

Oddly I love it all. I love the smell and the modest cabin. I love the tradition and memories that are as clear to me here as the sand bottomed waters of the lake that is so much a part of me. I wonder if there is a vacation planner somewhere akin to HGTV “Designing for the Sexes”. Some system of blending our polar opposites into a week we could both enjoy. It might mean buffing up on the Civil War and pretending malls and beaches are evil but after a week like this one it might be worth a go. And from here on out, I go north without him.

Maybe.