More about fun

So the fun project. It continues. It has its ups and its downs. The downs: I rarely get to have fun with the people with whom I would like to be having all this fun. It's all part of the modern world--my people are a far-flung, rag-tag fugitive fleet, spread across continents, cities and small parks that can sometimes seem as vast as the Gobi. They work. They have families of their own--I know, right? THE NERVE. They have moods and desires of their own. Some of which gets in the way of, say, neon bowling with me at the drop of a hat.

But on Saturday night it all came together. Even the weather cooperated. There was fun dinner. A walk through a downtown so gleaming and new that it was like being in a different city altogether. There were fireworks, Chinese fireworks, that went on forever. There was a closed off river bridge for strolling and, if you like that sort of thing, for enjoying Chinese music. There was a grown-up nightcap under the stars by the river, as the last of the Afrika-Dey celebrants straggled home. There were lovely friends to share it all with.

And you know why I think it was such a huge success? Because I was not involved in the planning of any of it.

So please bring me your fun, people. Save me from neon bowling.

Although, if you want to go neon bowling, just say the word.

Fun is expensive

In pursuit of fun, I was persuaded to go to Heritage Park with sister and three kids, including mine. Whee! This is more like it, I t congratulated myself. This Fun Project is going to be super simple. I am so great.

As it turns out, historical fun is PRICE-Y. Admission, rides bracelet, lemonade slushies, bags of (historically inaccurate) candy, lunch (crab cakes are somehow connected to Calgary's rich past?). . . .

RCMP outfits.

I got out of there nearly $200 later. I think I could pretty easily have $200 of fun that did not involve watching a draft horse pee for 36 seconds (timed it--we were waiting for the kids to get back from their fifth ride on The Caterpillar). Fun that, for example, included gin or shoes (these Helle Comfort Winonas, for example, would make me very happy, for only an additional $9USD):

It would also be fun to get rid of those vertical lines up there, but not that much fun.

Anyone need some copywriting done? Will work for shoes--as long as I don't have to wear them anywhere "fun."

Idaho and its Discontents

When you see this sign, know that you are well and truly in the middle of nowhere:

The helpful websites that I consulted about where to hike near Sandpoint Idaho with a dog did not mention that the 16 miles of Trestle Creek Road are unpaved, cling precariously to a sheer drop off for much of the time, are approximately 1.25 Subarus wide, and, while incredibly beautiful (wildflowers, trees, blahblahblah), are also so desperately remote that were there to be trouble of any sort (like running out of secret glove-compartment gin), you would disappear like the Donner Party. No head pills. Aunt Flo. And everywhere warnings about bears. I felt like a dripping roast on legs as I began the hike up on quavering legs. In the end it turned out all right. The lake was stupid but it was there, which meant that the hike was officially over. No moose. No bear. Yay.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? (Here's where I think this post is veering off course.....Yep.) This was my much-longed-for vacation and all I could do was sigh and trudge. I'm surprised that the boys didn't just abandon me by the side of the road, what with all the clutching, the bitching, the endless fussing with the air-conditioning and the stereo and the windows and the rules regarding the use of a backseat DS.

Am I too old to have fun? Has fun changed in the last ten years? Do I need to start shopping around for my retirement villa already? Or hook up with a group of similarly dumpy and morose middle-aged people who play whist? Must I learn to play whist, for the love of GOD? Will I ever again do more than wade thigh-high in mountain lakes while everyone else (including the dog) swims?

I've never been one of those very fun people: too shy, too self-conscious, too in love with books. Dancing is fun--as long as I'm doing it alone in my office. But I think I used to be in better practice: I knew what fun looked like, knew the appropriate dosage for my height and weight, etc. I think I am just not in the habit of having fun anymore. I feel stupid having fun.

Uh-oh, I feel one of those awful inspiring moments coming on. Dear God, am I about to embark on a Fun Project?

I think I am.

Pinch me.

That'll be fun.

Off to, I don't know, braid some flowers in my hair or something.

(Every time I try to type "fun" into the Labels box, I keep getting "dream funeral." I think this project might be doomed. Or very weird.)