I'm packed, all but the clothes I'm in right now, my lunch, and the nightgown I'll wear tonight.
I'm almost ready to leave.
I haven't gotten any photographs, having left my camera. I don't know when I'll return. The middle kid next door has stuff up on FictionPress.com, and is urging me to come hang out over there. (I remember when they were tiny little things...)
Mama's zonked. FatherSir's halfway between wired and zonked. I saw moose my first night here, and then a moose this morning, and then the teenage mother and her twins cantering down from the garden sometime this afternoon.
I had to get pissy on some asses in note_to_cat this afternoon. I really do not appreciate interruption of my vacation.
FatherSir's making cannibal jokes. Mama's cleaning up the bathroom. I have 22 pieces of spam. I'm bringing home rhubarb, books, a sweater, salmon, and sandwiches. I came here with two bags, and I'll be checking in only one coming home. Mama got the shirts, and Jez got the afghan. River still hasn't gotten his, but I have faith in Mama's ability to track him -- or his mother -- down to get his to him.
I love Alaska, and I'm sorry to leave, but I'll be coming home to 110 degree weather, no rain (did it rain while I was gone?), my Miss Kitten, and a seven-year-old who will be armed with an arsenel of new knock-knock jokes to try out on us. Erk.
And, I'm bringing home my Korman books.
I may even recruit fresh blood to LJ, who knows...