The bed shook. Earthquake?
"Daddy," Brett called, "It's time to get up. It's 3:30. Come on." Moan from prone.
I nudged and prodded his weary, 2-hrs. of sleep body.
Zip the scent-blocked slacks. Zip the down jacket. Zip the shaving kit. Zip the suitcase. Drive sixty miles. Haul the Sweet Baby Ray's barbecued pork sandwiches, potted meat, Vienna sausages and crackers up into the deer stand. Wait. Wait.
Full moon. Too warm. Deer not moving. Didn't see any. Better when it's cold and nasty.
They're on their way home. Reverse Zips. Bet they sleep in.
It's Uncle Ben's deep-fried turkey for dinner tomorrow, our Thanksgiving.
Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.
2010 Red Convertible Travel Series