Don’t get me wrong; I have nothing against nature. I just think our relationship works best at a polite distance. No rock climbing, cave diving, skiing, that kind of thing. And no camping. DEFINITELY no camping. The one time I went camping the bugs had a staff meeting and decided that since I’d taken the trouble to drive two hundred miles and sleep on the ground with pebbles jabbing me in the fundament all night the least they could do was have some bug interns crawl up my nose and into my ears. Not settle for just draining a couple pints of blood. I like it best when my experience with nature is as close to watching TV as possible. Sitting on a rock at the beach gazing at the sunset. Taking a relaxed stroll through a forest—especially when park rangers have survival stations set up every three hundred yards with complimentary iced espresso and ham and cheese croissants. Tonight I’m going with a friend to see Shakespeare in the Park. Take a picnic basket, spread a blanket and watch Romeo and Juliet. That’s about my speed, nature-wise. But I have two iron-clad requirements for a picnic: First, bug spray. One time some folks invited me to a picnic and I asked if I should bring some Bugs B-Gone. “The breeze keeps the bugs away,” they chuckled, as if talking to a child. But at one point during our little excursion the sun disappeared behind a cloud of black flies and mosquitoes. I haven’t spoken to any of those people for thirty-five years. My second requirement is a beach chair. At my age if I sat on a blanket on the ground for four hours I’d need a crane and a chiropractor to get up and walk to the car. “Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs,” proclaimed the Bard. Hmmmm… on that note, maybe a little smoke would help keep the bugs away…
Posted on: Sun, 18 Aug 2013 12:33:44 +0000
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