In order to reach the lush green meadow, a bit of hiking was in order. This is generally not a problem, but it involved transporting all our supplies down a very steep hill.

Good thing I was camping with a muscle-y former Boy Scout. He hauled everything down the hill, and then I transferred it over to the meadow using my pathetic wimpy arm strength.

Speaking of pathetic wimpy arm strength, last week at the gym I had an eye-opening experience. Since I’m at the gym in the late morning with all the geriatrics, it was just me and a grandma-type working out on the upper body weight machines. She had soft grandma arms and lots of gold jewelry, and a cane. Pretty soon I realized with horror that grandma and I were working out at the same weight level. No wonder I have “bat wings“!

I decided then and there that it was time to get with the program. No more lazy recumbent bike exercise while reading Hunter S. Thompson biographies–elliptical trainer ONLY! No more grandma-style weight routines! Time to get muscles!

I actually braved a fat test at the gym yesterday (although I refused to get on their horrible scale in front of everyone with my shoes on). I was amazed that I’m in the “lean” fat category. How is that even possible, with my bat wings? What about that awful “Real Age” test that’s been haunting me for months, that claimed I have the fitness level of a 64-year-old*? Change! Change is good!

The gorgeous Cle Elum river.

Happy camping face, as in: “We found a sweet spot and there’s no one else around!”

I’d love to go back this weekend, but the Boy’s had a hard week at work and our house is in dire need of a major make-over. MAJ-UH.

The tent goes up in a flash, and it’s just the right size for two people and two dogs.

Time to get wet.

You know it.

We have a new doggy door and Bear Cub refuses to go through it, since it’s red and not white like the old one. She stands outside and barks until I let her in. Not even chunks of Swiss cheese and squirts from the whipped cream canister (they love that shit) can persuade her. What a weirdo.

Oh, the color of that pool! Fabulous.

Begging to be explored. I can’t resist.

Slow entry.

Br-rrrrr-isk.

Maggie swam with me, but not Bear Cub. We were impressed at how quickly she could cross the river, however. She’s three years old but has done very little real swimming in her doglife. She crossed that river faster than all of us!

Signature pose!

La la laaaaaaaaaa…

He didn’t last very long.

Bear Cub smugly watched us hoot and holler.

Thanks to my new goal to not have the body of an 80-year-old woman, my upper body is killing me today. Today’s goals: ship off painting! That’s right, I SOLD A PAINTING!!! This one! To a fabulous blog reader named Liz!  Yay! Happy Friday, blog-logs!

* slight exaggeration.