Bags are packed. I suspect everyone's leaving on yet another tour without me. But at the last minute, Wisa lets me jump into the car.
Three hot, trafficky hours later, we arrive at a funny-smelling house on a giant hill.
I initially decide to stay in the car, which smells like home, but am lured out by the promise of snacks and belly rubs.People soon tire of rubbing my tummy and insist on going for a walk down to the "beach." Wisa tells me I'll love it. I am skeptical.
First of all, this "beach" is at the bottom of a monstrous hill. Secondly, it is filled with noisy kids, rude dogs, and water that chases you.And does no one realize we're going to have to walk back up this hill?
The beach was fun and all, but the walk back is no bag o' cookies.
And only the clinically insane would voluntarily run (or bike) up this hill.
I spend the rest of the day doing what I do best.Saturday, 7/22
The early risers go get pastries from Tomales Bakery.I like pastries...
...but no one drops a crumb.
Most folks then head to the Pt Reyes Station to check out the farmers' market, Cowgirl Creamery, Hog Island Oyster Co., and other snacking destinations.
The farmers' market sounds like a fun place to go but am told that no doggies are allowed there.
Unless, it seems, you are a small vegetarian pup.
Since I am neither small nor vegetarian, I am happy to stay at the beach house and catch up on my beauty sleep.So while I nap, the others shop for snacks:
The cheeses at Cowgirl.I like cheese. Did anyone get me any cheese? No.
The sign behind the register at Cowgirl. Everyone found this sign hilarious, but I fail to see the humor.(Click on it to see what it says.)
I say go ahead and vote Republican. The world has too many kittens.
They also stop for lunch.
Mike said they were out of doggie bags.
Likely story...
They return with a carload of dinner fixin's and start grilling oysters, making focaccia, sauteing clams, baking pies, and shucking corn.
I like pie...
The boys light the fire for the oysters.
Wisa and I watch from a safe distance.
The fire gets lit (eventually). The oysters get eaten immediately. The rest of the food makes it to the table.Again, no one drops any food.
I wish Roy was here. He drops food all the time.
These tried their best to crawl out of the pan. They very nearly made it back to the beach.
Have I told you I like pie?
Stew says that's Mike's second glass of wine.
Finally! Momma Wisa makes me a sausage!
"No Tar, that's not your sausage."
Whatever.
While I sulk, the others eat.
I hope they get fat.
After dinner: games.
Cranium, team Jenga, and a fierce spell-off.
These SJT folks know how to par-tay.
