Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

I hope you all had a festive and patriotic Fourth with plenty of grilled meats, adult beverages, and things that go BOOM! in the night.

Ol’ Robbo’s day was taken up with the Big Drive with Youngest about which I posted the other day.

Things started ill-omened enough. For one thing, I screwed up my alarm clock so that when I jerked awake at oh-dark-thirty, it was to the panicky realization that I was running late. Then when we got in the car I found that the Gel’s tank was practically empty, so we had a bit of a scramble to find a gas station open that early. Finally, when we’d picked up our coffee just before hitting the highway, the Gel announced that we needed to return home because she’d forgot “something”. (That “something” turned out to be her wallet.)

Oh, Lord, I said to myself, it’s not going to be one of those trips, is it?

Well, it wasn’t.

In fact, the Gel did just fine. Granted, there wasn’t much traffic, but she still had to pick her way around some tractor-trailer rigs and it was evident she knew what she was doing. For the rest, she was calm and focused, and set a good pace without being a maniac like Middle Gel, who channels Richard Petty every time she gets behind the wheel.

Indeed, I was able to unclench pretty early on, and we wound up having a nice chat about Life, the Universe, and Everything. The drive went quite quickly.

I learned earlier that Mrs. R had approached Youngest and asked her if she really felt she needed me to go along. “Oh, definitely,” she replied. “I don’t know how to get there!” (I should note that because of the tricky backroads at the end, GPS is useless.)

I put this to the Gel on the drive. “This is, what, your eleventh or twelfth summer at this camp. How on earth can you not know the way yet?”

“I always slept in the car, remember? I’d close my eyes and the next thing we were there!”

I suppose she has a point, but being such a geography nerd myself from a very young age, I find this attitude alien.

Anyhoo, we got there in plenty of time and the Gel was delighted to be back. I duly humped her gear up to her cabin and then drove back to Port Swiller Manor.

It’s our turn to host a barbeque in a small circle of friends and Mrs. R had at first toyed with the idea of having it on the Fourth. She reconsidered, however, when she thought about how tired I would be when I got back from dropping off Youngest. In this, I applaud her good wifely sense and consideration, because I was indeed pretty beat by the time I got home. In fact, I dozed off in the hammock, waking up just in time to cook our own modest dins and then to listen to the fireworks going off in the neighborhood. (There seemed to be a lot of them this year.)

I have to go retrieve the Gel in two weeks. Because of the camp schedule, we’ll be starting back on a Friday afternoon, not a Sunday morning, so the traffic more than likely will be pretty nasty. I’m sure the Gel will be quite worn out from counseling a gaggle of nine-year-olds for all that time, so I think I’ll just let her sleep on the drive home. So far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t need to prove anything more to me.