Now you have to understand, the weather in southern Illinois has been acting like it has split personalities. One day it’s Arctic survival training. The next day it’s sunscreen and regret. This particular day was pushing 70 degrees. The kind of day that whispers, “Be productive.”
So I tell Odie, “Buddy, we’re going out to the camper to organize the pass thru.”
He gives me that look. The one that says, “I’ll supervise. But remember… lunch is at 12:15. Not start making it at 12:15. Served. On the placemat.”
That dog runs a tighter schedule than NASA.
Now if you’re old enough to remember Fibber McGee’s closet, you already know how this story ends. If you’re not old enough, just imagine opening a door and the contents of a small hardware store tackling you.
I start on the driver’s side. Feeling confident. Freshwater packout? Perfect. Leveling blocks? Lined up like Marines at inspection. I look at Odie and say, “We’ll be done in no time.”
That right there is when fate starts laughing.
I move to the passenger side.
Three totes.
Blackstone griddle.
Two chairs.
Pop up canopy.
Jet Boil.
Fold up table.
Odie’s bed.
To get it all in there originally must have required a degree in structural engineering and a slight grudge against future me. Because nothing moves without removing everything.
So now my backyard looks like a campground exploded.
First tote says “Decorations.” That’s Dawn’s department. Wind chimes. Welcome signs. Happy Camper signs. Enough signage to guide aircraft in for landing. And now I’ve got that song stuck in my head. “Signs, signs, everywhere a sign…”
Second tote, grill supplies. Of course that one’s perfect. Food equipment is sacred. If the griddle’s ready, morale is high.
Then I open the third tote.
Friends… it was a portal to another dimension.
Flag poles. Outdoor rugs. Tarps. Awning lights that should have been in the Decorations tote but apparently declared independence. Clothes pins. Citronella candles that do absolutely nothing except smell hopeful. And a small box with Dawn’s name on it.
I did not open it.
Some mysteries are meant to stay mysteries.
I glance at my watch. It’s almost noon. And suddenly I feel a presence. I turn slowly.
Odie is staring at me.
It is 11:58.
We abandon the operation. Tactical retreat to the house. At 12:14 sharp his gourmet lunch is served. Turkey, rice, green beans, peas, squash. I grab a bologna sandwich and a Mountain Dew. Somewhere along the way, I lost control of the food chain.
After lunch, Odie decides he has fulfilled his supervisory duties and retires indoors.
I go back out, repack everything like I’m playing Tetris in reverse, and decide to sweep out the pass thru while it’s empty.
Now let me tell you something. There is no graceful way for a 65-year-old man to crawl head first out of a camper storage compartment. None. You either roll, wiggle, or pray.
But I get it done. It looks beautiful. Organized. Ready for March 20th.
I walk back inside feeling accomplished. Like I conquered something.
Dawn walks in, looks at me, and says,
“Are you going to do anything today? It’s too nice to be inside.”
And that, my friends, is when I realized… the pass thru wasn’t the real test.
Marriage is.
Now pass me another marshmallow.” 🔥😄
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