We have our own little getaway spot here in central Texas… a friend of ours who is on the board of Michael’s company has a house and guesthouse on a ranch in the middle of Blanco County. In good years, the Blanco River runs right along the edge of the property and there is swimming and tubing; this year, you can hike the Blanco and admire all the rocks and not get the least bit wet. Our friend Bobby tries to make sure that Michael gets occasional R&R from the company, so he lets us know when the house isn’t in use and we go out and do the combination lock on the fourth cattle gate and hang out for the weekend. That’s happening this weekend, and the karma of the place for us is such that I’m going to wait to pee on the First Real-Shot Stick (as opposed to the Wishful Birthday Stick and the What The Heck There’s Just One Left In The Box So What If It’s At Least Two Days Too Early Stick) until Saturday morning when we’re out there. Logically, I know that the result won’t be a bit different between the two zip codes, but emotionally, it would be neat to be out there if yes and comforting if no. (And either way, word will be spread… there is wireless Internet. We like to get away, but not that far away!)
And while I’m being naturistic and superstitious, let me also add that the Perseids are about to start, and every shooting star is a wish, right? I had one wish-full August night lying on my back on the dock at Camelot Island watching those stars… being out at The Dirt is kind of like that, only without the water or the 65-degree nights (though it’s much too hot for mosquitos, it seems, a trade-off). I don’t remember what I wished for 12 years ago in Minnesota. But I’m pretty sure I know what I’m wishing for this year in Texas.