Last weekend, friends of ours invited us to join them at one of the squadron cabins maintained on the northern shores of Cold Lake. Affectionately known to our group as The Murder Cabin, it is a rough place, with crooked wooden floors, a centrally located wood stove for heat, barrack style sleeping quarters upstairs, a convenient main floor Rape Room, a bathroom with no toilet and The Sink To Nowhere. Taken all together, it is a bit like Little House on the Prairie and a lot like Friday the 13th.
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| Missing from photo: Ma and Pa Ingalls, 4 feet of snow and a goalie-masked psychopath. |
Although none of it was as creepy as the small pair of children's shoes circa 1988, tucked just behind the front door, for no reason at all. I don't know but they don't half give me the screaming shivers. Kids are terrifying.
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| Let us play with your soul. |
There were dogs and chips and beers and shenanigans and a constant stream of laughter punctuated by cries of "Don't pee there!" directed mostly at Meeker and Zak. It was fun. And after lights out, once all were settled, I was treated to an experience that I can honestly say was pleasantly surprising. For when the lights go out and the heat of the fire glows soft on your face, and you are in a big scary cabin in the bushes with no one around for miles, in a room full of men... they will giggle like children for hours until they fall asleep.
So, so much giggling.
*For Glenn, who brings warmth to every day but especially when he shows up with a high-output 80,000 BTU propane space heater. And for Adam, who continues, affectionately, to nag.
