Early, early last evening, I pulled an afghan up around my chin and lay back with my head resting on a wadded up throw. It was just a little “resty” period. I woke up sometime later, sort of dazed and thought, “Gee, I guess I’ll go to the bathroom.” Not as a tourist, you understand. Someone banged on the door and demanded, “Who is in there!?!” and I felt like yelling, I’m peeing as fast as I can.

I was not gracious about it, since there are other bathrooms and stalked off to put my afghan not up to my chin but over my head. Then I woke up and wondered how long until dawn. TWO-THIRTY IN THE AM. It was going to be a long wait and I sighted and got up for a drink and a look at the internet news . . . like are we still status quo or is an asteroid coming? Then I looked up some reference material on a book (Bull Canyon: A Boatbuilder, a Writer and Other Wildlife by Lin Pardey) I’d finished about building a sea-going yacht over a three year period in a dry canyon near Lake Elsinore, California. No electricity, phones and, belatedly realized, yearly wild fire threats.

Now it’s an hour later and it’s still a long way until dawn, so I’ll finish my drink and lay down and pretend I’ve been out in the cold and have stumbled on a warm cabin with a fire laid and waiting to be lit. Then I’ll savor the feel of my imagined sleeping bag and feel my eyes go heavy as I watch the imagined fire. Or so that is the plan.