I carry the weight of one who has recently been disillusioned.
It all started at lunch. I am currently experiencing my yearly voice loss (thank you, allergies) and happened to walk up to a group of colleagues chatting about what? Oh yes, homosexuality. Being without voice, this was one of the worst conversations to unwittingly join because unfortunately, I can't keep my big mouth shut about it, even when speechless.
The one teacher was talking to the other teacher about how his family had held an intervention for his brother, who is gay.
I had the 40-minute whispered argument well into our free period, even though I knew it wouldn't change his mind and that it would only make me upset. It seems so wrong that people who are genuinely good, intelligent, and caring (like this teacher) could believe this. I just can't justify telling someone that something as personal as his sexual orientation is so offensive to me that I'm going to set him down and have a public conversation about why he should change it. That is absolutely ludicrous to me.
I am mute.
I had to come back and edit this, because unfortunately I said some things that I'm sure could get me in trouble.....
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Heat Becomes Unbearable--Nature Strikes Back
Usually we joke that we come to Canada to escape the blistering heat of the South, but this year it seems to have followed us. Everyone seems to be dealing with the heat in his or her own way.
Erin: "I'm still on my second shot and I'm sweating like a man on a jog."
Chelsea: "I woke up last night sweating and burning hot, then I get freezing cold, then I wake up sweating again. I don't know what the hell is going on."
Tyler: "Ungh."
Stacey: "Don't touch me."
I, who have been growing both grumpier and more lethargic by the degree, found a reason to love the heat last night when it caused a massive lightning storm. I had been planning to take my camera up to the community house and was initially really upset that this storm was going to ruin my plans. Then I realized that it was completely awesome. Lightning with little to no rain. Who could ask for anything better? I toted my camera and tripod down to the dock and set it on a 30 second exposure. After this first strike, I was a lightning-picture-taking-fiend.
I was driven back to the cabin twice by bursts of rain, but did that stop me? NO! I was like a freaking postal worker and got back down there.
I did realize one unexpected thing--taking 30 second exposures seems like it would be a fairly quick thing, but before I knew it, it was 1:30am and I was still out on the dock. I must have taken about 60 pictures interspersed between all of the running back and forth and resetting. I was also pretty scared that some giant muskrat was going to get me. You can never tell with those muskrats. They're scrappy.
Here's my favorite from last night:
Erin: "I'm still on my second shot and I'm sweating like a man on a jog."
Chelsea: "I woke up last night sweating and burning hot, then I get freezing cold, then I wake up sweating again. I don't know what the hell is going on."
Tyler: "Ungh."
Stacey: "Don't touch me."
I, who have been growing both grumpier and more lethargic by the degree, found a reason to love the heat last night when it caused a massive lightning storm. I had been planning to take my camera up to the community house and was initially really upset that this storm was going to ruin my plans. Then I realized that it was completely awesome. Lightning with little to no rain. Who could ask for anything better? I toted my camera and tripod down to the dock and set it on a 30 second exposure. After this first strike, I was a lightning-picture-taking-fiend.
I was driven back to the cabin twice by bursts of rain, but did that stop me? NO! I was like a freaking postal worker and got back down there.
I did realize one unexpected thing--taking 30 second exposures seems like it would be a fairly quick thing, but before I knew it, it was 1:30am and I was still out on the dock. I must have taken about 60 pictures interspersed between all of the running back and forth and resetting. I was also pretty scared that some giant muskrat was going to get me. You can never tell with those muskrats. They're scrappy.
Here's my favorite from last night:
Friday, July 15, 2011
People Over the Age of "Whiplash" Should Not Go Tubing
"Let's put another shrimp on the Barbie!" was my battle cry yesterday morning. It was bright, crisp, and clear. Just like a brand new translucent dollar bill. I felt frisky.
Everyone else seemed to share this feeling, as we decided to go tubing for the first time this year. Stacey, Erin, and Chelsea jumped on first. I decided to see whether they were still functional before I went out there myself. Tyler was punishing them with one wave after another until Erin decided she had had enough. Would you like to go, Stephanie? Hm, everyone appears to be experiencing varying degrees of pain. Yes, that sounds like a great idea. Tip top. Hurrah.
My parents are arriving tomorrow. This has necessitated an all-out cleaning binge for Stacey and me. I'm sure some of our neighbors think we have both developed spontaneous OCD.
The nice thing about my parents driving up here from MI is that we can request things for them to bring across the border since it's cheaper in the States. Just to give you a taste of what this is like, here's an email conversation I had with my dad:
This is the mama bear--she was standing up to check on one of the cubs!
Everyone else seemed to share this feeling, as we decided to go tubing for the first time this year. Stacey, Erin, and Chelsea jumped on first. I decided to see whether they were still functional before I went out there myself. Tyler was punishing them with one wave after another until Erin decided she had had enough. Would you like to go, Stephanie? Hm, everyone appears to be experiencing varying degrees of pain. Yes, that sounds like a great idea. Tip top. Hurrah.
My parents are arriving tomorrow. This has necessitated an all-out cleaning binge for Stacey and me. I'm sure some of our neighbors think we have both developed spontaneous OCD.
The nice thing about my parents driving up here from MI is that we can request things for them to bring across the border since it's cheaper in the States. Just to give you a taste of what this is like, here's an email conversation I had with my dad:
-----Original Message-----
From: Stephanie Sefcik [mailto:sksefcik@gmail.com]
Sent: Wednesday, July 13, 2011 3:26 PM
To: Tom Sefcik
Subject: Stuff to bring to Canada
Things from Wal-Mart:
Herbal Essences Shampoo & Conditioner (any of the purple varieties, "Twisted" if they have it--NOT the combined 2-in-1 kind)
Neutrogena Face Wash--pink grapefruit
Bottled water
On Jul 13, 2011, at 4:29 PM, Tom Sefcik wrote:
Pink grapefruit / bottle water or pink grapefruit flavored bottle water?
On Jul 13, 2011, at 5:17 PM, Stephanie Sefcik wrote:
Pink grapefruit is the kind of Neutrogena Acne Wash she needs, not pink grapefruit water, you crazy!
On Jul 14, 2011, at 10:48 AM, Tom Sefcik wrote:
I'll just bring some grapefruits she can smear over her face.......
Yeah.
Other highlights:
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Worm-a-rama
Today, we went fishing in Scarfe Lake on the Indian reservation (Mississauga First Nation). Scarfe is amazing because it is uninhabited and almost entirely untouched. Stace, Erin, and I went with Rich, Nick, CR (aka Detach, aka Tatch, aka Charles), Cleary, and several Smith relatives, including the adorable Jake and Hayden, who BTW have a booming crayfish bait business going on the lake. We had Stacey,
Erin, Nick, and me on our boat along with 2 dozen depressed-looking worms for bait.
I wasn't sure worms could express emotions such as depression, but I hadn't counted on what Stacey was about to do to one of them. If you've been fishing on a budget, I'm sure you're familiar with the need to cut the worms in half. A bigger worm may equal a bigger fish one time out of 20, but those other 19 times, some shitty little fish you'll never even see is going to steal that nice long worm tail and leave you with a tidbit reminiscent of a booger on your line. To prevent this, we cut them. Stay one step ahead of the fish, that's what I always say.
There are many different methods of cutting the slimy little guys. I've heard suggestions of using pliers, scissors, knives, or ripping. I prefer the fingernail pinch method, as it is easiest (and grossest), requiring no extra tools.
Stacey invented a new method today that I do not recommend to anyone. After voicing her disgust at my refusal to "worm" her line any longer, she set to work getting her own worm. I turned my back on her to continue fishing--my first mistake. Two minutes later, I heard a louder than normal whimper of disgust and frustration and turned back to see that not only had she failed to cut her worm, she was engaging it in some as-yet-unknown form of torture. Stacey was sawing away at her worm through the side of the styrofoam cup it came in. That's right--she had ripped a tear in the cup, pushed the worm down into it so that half was still in the cup and half was hanging out on the boat, and was attempting to slice it using the styrofoam itself. That's wonderful. After this, maybe we can kill a charging rhinoceros with some butterflies.
I actually felt sorry for the worm. Little did it know, its real torture was just beginning. After I had rescued it from its foam prison (and cut it myself), I turned my back again (mistake #2). When I checked on her this time, it was to find Stacey trying to impale her worm on the hook by smashing it between the hook and the boat. Give me strength.
I'm sure Holmes didn't have to put up with this kind of shit from Watson.
Stacey's comment later, as she read this:
"To be fair, the tear in the cup was already there from when I stepped on them earlier. Their depression might have been caused by that."
Mea culpa.
Erin, Nick, and me on our boat along with 2 dozen depressed-looking worms for bait.
I wasn't sure worms could express emotions such as depression, but I hadn't counted on what Stacey was about to do to one of them. If you've been fishing on a budget, I'm sure you're familiar with the need to cut the worms in half. A bigger worm may equal a bigger fish one time out of 20, but those other 19 times, some shitty little fish you'll never even see is going to steal that nice long worm tail and leave you with a tidbit reminiscent of a booger on your line. To prevent this, we cut them. Stay one step ahead of the fish, that's what I always say.
There are many different methods of cutting the slimy little guys. I've heard suggestions of using pliers, scissors, knives, or ripping. I prefer the fingernail pinch method, as it is easiest (and grossest), requiring no extra tools.
Stacey invented a new method today that I do not recommend to anyone. After voicing her disgust at my refusal to "worm" her line any longer, she set to work getting her own worm. I turned my back on her to continue fishing--my first mistake. Two minutes later, I heard a louder than normal whimper of disgust and frustration and turned back to see that not only had she failed to cut her worm, she was engaging it in some as-yet-unknown form of torture. Stacey was sawing away at her worm through the side of the styrofoam cup it came in. That's right--she had ripped a tear in the cup, pushed the worm down into it so that half was still in the cup and half was hanging out on the boat, and was attempting to slice it using the styrofoam itself. That's wonderful. After this, maybe we can kill a charging rhinoceros with some butterflies.
I actually felt sorry for the worm. Little did it know, its real torture was just beginning. After I had rescued it from its foam prison (and cut it myself), I turned my back again (mistake #2). When I checked on her this time, it was to find Stacey trying to impale her worm on the hook by smashing it between the hook and the boat. Give me strength.
I'm sure Holmes didn't have to put up with this kind of shit from Watson.
Stacey's comment later, as she read this:
"To be fair, the tear in the cup was already there from when I stepped on them earlier. Their depression might have been caused by that."
Mea culpa.
The Birdhouse from Hades
I'm sitting in the library staring at a book-type-publication called Leaving Ontario: Sources for Tracking Ontario Migrants. I can't help but wonder--how many Ontario migrants are there, really? So many that they need a dedicated magazine to help track them? Surely not. Wouldn't it be more useful to have a magazine called Tracking Black Bears and the Idiots Who Hunt Them? Or How to Rid the World of the Mosquito? I would buy that magazine.
Really I'm just sitting here because I wrote out my entire blog post last night in a notebook and forgot said notebook in the cabin. Of course.
Stacey and I have a list about a mile long of things we have to do before our parents get here on Saturday. Most of these things involve cleaning. You'd be surprised how disastrous a cabin, boat, and car can become when housing two people and three dogs. Disgusting. I realized we are living in sub-par conditions when I picked a sock up off the floor and found it was covered in dog hair and what looked like a dead spider.
Yesterday was pretty awesome. We went to Scarfe Lake with a good portion of the Smith gang. By the time we left, my abs were sore from laughing so hard. I'm saving one of the stories for later because that's the one I wrote down already, but there are several other choice occurrences.
"Stephanie finds log--decides to make birdhouse"
Okay. I have wanted one of those homemade driftwood birdhouses pretty much ever since I first saw one at the farmer's market in Birmingham. My parents have one in the backyard and I have birdhouse-envy every time I see it. I spotted the perfect piece of driftwood log as we were pulling the boat next to the waterfall to hike up to the lake just above. I KNEW it would be perfect.
One of Rich's friends, Cleary (sp?), came to my rescue and beasted the log into the boat so that we could take it back to the cabin. Stacey, spotting a slug on the log (which was about 7 feet long, though I only wanted the bottom part with the cool-looking root system), insisted that I first cut off the excessive top part and just keep the bottom. Cleary hefted the log back out of the boat and put it on shore, where I commenced my attempt to saw it with a fold-out serrated knife. I wouldn't really put that knife in the same category as a saw.
I had been working away at this log for about 20 minutes when I thought, surely, it was enough to be able to break the log if I put it on a rock and jumped on it. Umm, no. Not even close. Didn't even hear the slightest cracking noise. I sawed my way around the sides some more and then Nick retrieved what looked like an ancient battle-axe that has been rusting away in the woods for probably 50 years. It was terrifying in its rusted destructiveness. He swung the axe up and brought it down on the log, making almost no dent in it, but chipping away the top layer of wood. It wasn't for lack of effort that his hit was ineffectual, but because the edge of the blade was so rusted and worn that the axe was reduced to a bludgeoning rod of death. I felt slightly closer to death standing next to that axe than I would in a greenhouse full of Venomous Tentaculas.
Seeing that the axe was ineffectual for cutting but extremely good at destroying, I yelled for him to stop and returned to my slightly less futile sawing method. 10 minutes later and I had a blister on my thumb the size of China and little progress on the log. Cleary came over and we decided it would be a great idea to throw the log onto a boulder at the cutting point to try to break it. Sooo not working. By this point, it was a matter of principle. I could not let it go. I was so physically tired that I couldn't saw with just my arms any more. I locked them at 90 degrees and resorted to rocking my entire body back and forth to try to make some headway. Which now, I realize, may have contributed to the stabbing pain in my ankle I experienced today on my morning run. The stupid log is in front of our cabin now and awaiting the end of its days.
Side note: a hack saw (for metal) is also ineffectual when trying to separate wood from itself.
Stacey to add her own commentary later from a spectator's POV.
"Stephanie Stupidly Voices Fear of Leeches"
We hiked up the waterfall to the lake above, which was gorgeous. The only thing that was making me wary of jumping right in was that it looked a lot like Clear Lake. Clear Lake has an abundance of leeches. I do not enjoy the company of leeches. In fact, I rank them right up there with Great White Sharks. I have tried to determine whether or not this is actually a phobia, because it has stopped me from getting in certain bodies of water before, technically interfering with my daily life, which is one of the generally accepted definitions of a phobia. If anyone reading this has a PhD in psychology, maybe we can talk.
After waiting for several other people to literally test the waters (including the Smith boys who are virtual leech-catching magnets), I decided it was safe and jumped in. We swam around and had a great time playing keep away with the last can of beer, threw sticks for Rich's black lab, Hayley, and laughed at nothing in particular. When it was time to get out, I was extremely careful to not touch any of the rocks, possibly pulling a hamstring and rolling my ankle in the process, but I did NOT touch those rocks.
Now this is where I was stupid (well, one of the times). Walking down to the boat, I saw Erin and Stacey whisper something to each other while looking at me. I immediately checked my bathing suit, thinking that something had accidentally shifted in the water. Nope. The girls were still covered. "What?" I asked. "Is it my hair?" That was obviously the next thing on my mind.
They said it wasn't me and we kept walking until not 30 seconds later Erin pointed to my back and said, "Um, actually I think there is something on your back." Erin's acting skills are top notch. Erin is a bi-otch.
"Get it off!" I said, not too panicky yet. Instead of reaching over to flick it off, Erin backed up with a horrified look. That is when I panicked. Irrational fear took over and my mind was just a chaotic mess filled with images of a leech on my back. I morphed into crazy Stephanie and began dancing around, screeching and yelling for someone to get it the hell off of me, prompting Hayden to remind me that I owed 10 pushups for cussing (Hayden is 6). I told him to get over here and make sure there was nothing on my back, so he came over and in his haste and my jumping around, he accidentally untied my bathing suit.
I have to preface this with the fact that Hayden and Jake are the most adorable, most well-behaved and well-intentioned kids I have ever met. The 23-27 year old crew burst out laughing and taunting and Hayden was mortified. Oh, and I felt like an idiot for falling into that leech trap. I also fell for it one more time on the way out of the lake. Seriously. Do not joke about leeches. I thought everyone knew that rule.
Really I'm just sitting here because I wrote out my entire blog post last night in a notebook and forgot said notebook in the cabin. Of course.
Stacey and I have a list about a mile long of things we have to do before our parents get here on Saturday. Most of these things involve cleaning. You'd be surprised how disastrous a cabin, boat, and car can become when housing two people and three dogs. Disgusting. I realized we are living in sub-par conditions when I picked a sock up off the floor and found it was covered in dog hair and what looked like a dead spider.
Yesterday was pretty awesome. We went to Scarfe Lake with a good portion of the Smith gang. By the time we left, my abs were sore from laughing so hard. I'm saving one of the stories for later because that's the one I wrote down already, but there are several other choice occurrences.
"Stephanie finds log--decides to make birdhouse"
Okay. I have wanted one of those homemade driftwood birdhouses pretty much ever since I first saw one at the farmer's market in Birmingham. My parents have one in the backyard and I have birdhouse-envy every time I see it. I spotted the perfect piece of driftwood log as we were pulling the boat next to the waterfall to hike up to the lake just above. I KNEW it would be perfect.
One of Rich's friends, Cleary (sp?), came to my rescue and beasted the log into the boat so that we could take it back to the cabin. Stacey, spotting a slug on the log (which was about 7 feet long, though I only wanted the bottom part with the cool-looking root system), insisted that I first cut off the excessive top part and just keep the bottom. Cleary hefted the log back out of the boat and put it on shore, where I commenced my attempt to saw it with a fold-out serrated knife. I wouldn't really put that knife in the same category as a saw.
I had been working away at this log for about 20 minutes when I thought, surely, it was enough to be able to break the log if I put it on a rock and jumped on it. Umm, no. Not even close. Didn't even hear the slightest cracking noise. I sawed my way around the sides some more and then Nick retrieved what looked like an ancient battle-axe that has been rusting away in the woods for probably 50 years. It was terrifying in its rusted destructiveness. He swung the axe up and brought it down on the log, making almost no dent in it, but chipping away the top layer of wood. It wasn't for lack of effort that his hit was ineffectual, but because the edge of the blade was so rusted and worn that the axe was reduced to a bludgeoning rod of death. I felt slightly closer to death standing next to that axe than I would in a greenhouse full of Venomous Tentaculas.
Seeing that the axe was ineffectual for cutting but extremely good at destroying, I yelled for him to stop and returned to my slightly less futile sawing method. 10 minutes later and I had a blister on my thumb the size of China and little progress on the log. Cleary came over and we decided it would be a great idea to throw the log onto a boulder at the cutting point to try to break it. Sooo not working. By this point, it was a matter of principle. I could not let it go. I was so physically tired that I couldn't saw with just my arms any more. I locked them at 90 degrees and resorted to rocking my entire body back and forth to try to make some headway. Which now, I realize, may have contributed to the stabbing pain in my ankle I experienced today on my morning run. The stupid log is in front of our cabin now and awaiting the end of its days.
Side note: a hack saw (for metal) is also ineffectual when trying to separate wood from itself.
Stacey to add her own commentary later from a spectator's POV.
"Stephanie Stupidly Voices Fear of Leeches"
We hiked up the waterfall to the lake above, which was gorgeous. The only thing that was making me wary of jumping right in was that it looked a lot like Clear Lake. Clear Lake has an abundance of leeches. I do not enjoy the company of leeches. In fact, I rank them right up there with Great White Sharks. I have tried to determine whether or not this is actually a phobia, because it has stopped me from getting in certain bodies of water before, technically interfering with my daily life, which is one of the generally accepted definitions of a phobia. If anyone reading this has a PhD in psychology, maybe we can talk.
After waiting for several other people to literally test the waters (including the Smith boys who are virtual leech-catching magnets), I decided it was safe and jumped in. We swam around and had a great time playing keep away with the last can of beer, threw sticks for Rich's black lab, Hayley, and laughed at nothing in particular. When it was time to get out, I was extremely careful to not touch any of the rocks, possibly pulling a hamstring and rolling my ankle in the process, but I did NOT touch those rocks.
Now this is where I was stupid (well, one of the times). Walking down to the boat, I saw Erin and Stacey whisper something to each other while looking at me. I immediately checked my bathing suit, thinking that something had accidentally shifted in the water. Nope. The girls were still covered. "What?" I asked. "Is it my hair?" That was obviously the next thing on my mind.
They said it wasn't me and we kept walking until not 30 seconds later Erin pointed to my back and said, "Um, actually I think there is something on your back." Erin's acting skills are top notch. Erin is a bi-otch.
"Get it off!" I said, not too panicky yet. Instead of reaching over to flick it off, Erin backed up with a horrified look. That is when I panicked. Irrational fear took over and my mind was just a chaotic mess filled with images of a leech on my back. I morphed into crazy Stephanie and began dancing around, screeching and yelling for someone to get it the hell off of me, prompting Hayden to remind me that I owed 10 pushups for cussing (Hayden is 6). I told him to get over here and make sure there was nothing on my back, so he came over and in his haste and my jumping around, he accidentally untied my bathing suit.
I have to preface this with the fact that Hayden and Jake are the most adorable, most well-behaved and well-intentioned kids I have ever met. The 23-27 year old crew burst out laughing and taunting and Hayden was mortified. Oh, and I felt like an idiot for falling into that leech trap. I also fell for it one more time on the way out of the lake. Seriously. Do not joke about leeches. I thought everyone knew that rule.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Canada Gets The Business
I am in Blind River, Ontario. For those of you unfamiliar with Northern Ontario, it is a sometimes paradise filled with lakes, overly-friendly townspeople, and bears. The mosquitos here are of a breed that I must assume has had some rabid honey badger mixed with it at some point in recent history. The people here have only one personality setting. Friendly. Except when they are feeling really generous and then they shift into hyper-friendly.
Enough of the boring.
So we're on the lake. I would like to go fishing. Stacey, Molly, Erin, and BK would also like to go fishing. Nala the dog would like to come, too. We pile into the bigger ski boat since we have so many people and head down to the Cataracts where we saw some schools of bass earlier. I am driving. Normally, my dad drives the boat and handles the fisherly-type-things. He is not here.
9:06pm-- We decide fishing is a great idea.
9:10pm-- We realize we have no fishing poles. We set off for the Ernsts' cabin to retrieve their fishing poles.
9:14pm-- We have our equipment and are ready to ROCK (bass).
9:25pm-- We reach our destination down the river to the cataracts.
9:26pm-- Stacey is lying in the front of the boat under a blanket saying "Worm me. Worm me."
9:27pm-- BK has cast his line into the water and immediately hooked a fish. I am trying to get his fish off the line. Stacey is still saying "Worm me."
9:32pm-- Molly and BK both have fish on the line. The boat has drifted into a tree. Stacey, "Worm me." I am beginning to question the wisdom of this trip.
9:36pm-- Molly's and BK's fish are both back in the water. I am ready to put a worm on Stacey's line. She is flinging it all over the place. I say, "Do not hook anyone with your line, guys, that's all I ask."
9:37pm-- Stacey hooks me in the shoulder.
9:42pm-- All is quiet. Everyone seems happy. I am feeling good about this.
9:43pm-- BK catches a fish. He is so excited about this that he swings the fish right into Molly's face. Nala is trying to catch the fish while it is dangling in the boat. Stacey is giggling. The boat has floated into another tree.
9:44pm-- Everyone else hunkers down to avoid the swarms of mosquitos. I swallow one. I decide it is time to go home.
Enough of the boring.
So we're on the lake. I would like to go fishing. Stacey, Molly, Erin, and BK would also like to go fishing. Nala the dog would like to come, too. We pile into the bigger ski boat since we have so many people and head down to the Cataracts where we saw some schools of bass earlier. I am driving. Normally, my dad drives the boat and handles the fisherly-type-things. He is not here.
9:06pm-- We decide fishing is a great idea.
9:10pm-- We realize we have no fishing poles. We set off for the Ernsts' cabin to retrieve their fishing poles.
9:14pm-- We have our equipment and are ready to ROCK (bass).
9:25pm-- We reach our destination down the river to the cataracts.
9:26pm-- Stacey is lying in the front of the boat under a blanket saying "Worm me. Worm me."
9:27pm-- BK has cast his line into the water and immediately hooked a fish. I am trying to get his fish off the line. Stacey is still saying "Worm me."
9:32pm-- Molly and BK both have fish on the line. The boat has drifted into a tree. Stacey, "Worm me." I am beginning to question the wisdom of this trip.
9:36pm-- Molly's and BK's fish are both back in the water. I am ready to put a worm on Stacey's line. She is flinging it all over the place. I say, "Do not hook anyone with your line, guys, that's all I ask."
9:37pm-- Stacey hooks me in the shoulder.
9:42pm-- All is quiet. Everyone seems happy. I am feeling good about this.
9:43pm-- BK catches a fish. He is so excited about this that he swings the fish right into Molly's face. Nala is trying to catch the fish while it is dangling in the boat. Stacey is giggling. The boat has floated into another tree.
9:44pm-- Everyone else hunkers down to avoid the swarms of mosquitos. I swallow one. I decide it is time to go home.
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