The Weight of Comfort

When I'm backpacking in the wilderness there are certain extravagances I must have. The weight factor is a consideration I take into account when choosing and hauling my personal pleasures. Thus a small pack is preferred due to less weight that can be carried. I always have space for my chair that encases my sleeping pad; the ounces are worth the back support. Lately we've been using a GPS unit and debated whether the decreased anxiety out weighed the bulk. I have since made room in my pack for the unit, easing our anxiety.
A mind-candy type of paperback book is another necessity. Once in camp, I've often wondered, "now what?" I kick back in my chair, delve into my mystery, and sip a cocktail from my lexan plastic bottle. Another luxury I bring is hard alcohol: tequila, whiskey, vodka, or rum. More bang for the buck. If a lexan is used it won't absorb the smell from the booze.
These are weighty matters as one decides how to luxuriate in the wild.

Flamboyant Flashes in the Night

I woke up last night to a rumbling noise and wondered if a train was coming down the tracks into town. No, I live in Escalante, where no trains can venture. But the loud boom had the same intensity as a train's horn: it rattled the windows and my teeth. Flashes of brightness, like disjointed strobe lights, made me realized this was one crazy lightening storm. A calmness descended, then, Kaboom! The flashes and blasts were coincided. I fantasized if this was like the bombings in Baghdad. Could the lightening pierce through the window glass and strike me?
The thought of my computer being struck got me out of bed to unplug it. Rocquette, my dog, was whimpering and shaking. She found her refuge under our claw-foot bathtub as I watched the flamboyant flashes while I disabled my computer. I didn't feel any safer walking around nude, so I snuggled close to my husband in bed. The thunderstorm seemed directly over us. I cringed as the turbulence erupted inside our small bedroom. Rain pounded on the roof. Wind streaked through unknown cracks. Gradually, the thunder became fainter and the flashes more occasional. I rolled over to my side of the bed and listened to the steady pitter-patter of the rain and fell asleep.

Dabbling Dilettante

Warning to readers: this blog my contain grammar errors. I do not claim to be a professional author. I see this blog forum as a glorified journal. There are never ending possibilities of ideas to explore and if I get hung up on being perfect in my execution, I wouldn't be able to give birth to my perceptions. I don't want to be self-conscious that I'm not fitting into the collective norm of writing standards. Perfectionism can also hinder the listener to a musician who can not read music but who is singing or playing his heart out. Or the simple painting not seen for its orginal beauty. Flawlessness is a curse. I want the freedom to write my opinions without the fear of being criticized by the "superior" writers.
So excuse my mess. I hope you get my point.