We live in a middle class suburb of Orlando. A neighborhood filled with hardworking families, young singles and college students due to the proximity of our local university and several of our local colleges. You don’t play in the front yard because lets face it some of our neighbors, myself included have lead foots and I’m not sure I can’t rust you guys not to run out in the road at an inopportune moment.

Instead we spend time in the back yard more often than not with neighbors next door and their pack of dogs, to which our beloved Maya seems to be long as well. We’ve been blessed to see hawks, mockingbirds and doves line our fence. We’ve had turtles come through holes in the fence and armadillos invade much to consternation of the dogs. We’ve faced the problem of wood rats eating daddy’s sweet potatoes.

We’ve grown Roses and Orchids. We delight together with each new bloom and in despair when a plant succumbs to our not so green thumbs.

What I’m saying my dear children is this; we live on a small plot of land. It is our home. Our sanctuary. A place where we can be ourselves. A place where we can relax. But, it is not the things in it that make it any of those, it is the people in it. We build memories and no matter what patch of land we happen to be on as long as we are together we are home.

Soooo we went camping again. The group of us were all equally ready for the weekend and being away from our responsibilities. So we packed up or respective cars and headed out to the campsite. Out into the wilderness where we wouldn’t have access to anything other than emergency calling, a pavilion and a “chemical” toilet. Trust me when I say that there weren’t enough chemicals. That, it turned out would be the least of my problems. (No this isn’t a bitch about camping post)
 

Anywho we knew it was supposed to rain, but the day turned out to be overcast and cool (lovely for Florida). We all arrived and set up our tents, at least three of us did.

Two of the guys set up hammocks with tarps. One was complicated and took over an hour to set up, the other went up in a half an hour. Both worked equally well. Meanwhile we unpacked our respective cars and set up camp.

My friends brought their air mattresses, I mocked them much to my dismay later on. Much later on. After hot dogs for lunch and steak and vegetables for dinner around a roaring fire.

We laughed. We talked. We convinced ourselves that the people who were supposed to be in the camp site next to us had chickened out. That we were the brave ones, the ones who had triumphed over the witch called weather. So confident were we, we didn’t put a tarp over the fire wood, nor the lid on the plastic container that held our card games. Though we did manage to put the garbage in the car and store the coolers under the benches of the picnic table.

All was well until three in the morning. When something woke me. It was the sound of a torrential down pour. Which was fine because we were warm and cozy in our tent. That was until, I awoke knowing something was wrong. Wrapped warm and snug in my husbands sleeping bag on our egg crate bed. I put my hand out and realized that we had water in the tent. Yep by the end of the night the hubby and I were huddled on a four foot section of egg crate, the quilt and the sleeping bag soaked by the very water that turned the bottom of our bed into a water bed. Turns out those air mattresses kept you out of the water.

Even if you float a little.