Yes, that's me. Yes, I know I look like a little boy. Yes, the hair looked much cuter when it was curled. Yes, the tooth fairy found me even in that remote little cabin. Yes, I was quite worried that she wouldn't.
We went back and went back and went back and Tahoe became an addiction. She's like a drug I can't quit. I can go a year without visiting. I can go two. But try to get me into a third year and I start convulsing on the couch, begging for a hit.Oh, look at that, I was at least only somewhat draped over Jon in that photo. Although, I'm sure you're hardly looking at where my arms are. Indeed, my face had been swallowed by a mask and snorkel. It's okay. I survived. So did my brother. We bear only a few scars from the fated day when our masks ate us.
If we don't get to use the cabin this summer, I'm going to put a tent up in the yard and refuse to take it down. That's how badly I want to go back. It's been a year and a half. I'm practically dying from withdrawal.
So while my heart might not be quite as warm if I owned one of those million dollars homes, and even if I still had to drive by my pea cabin every now and then, I'd certainly enjoy entertaining if I had one. I'd get my fix every, single, day when I looked out the window. I'd smell pine and swim in icy waters and raft the Truckee. And I think, on some small scale, the world would be a better place.
So are you still with me? My bank account is waiting...