It's casual

Another rainy day. Another restless night.

Packing and picking our accessories

Only 3 days of work this week. Lyn invited Katherine and I to accompany her and her girlfriends to Seldovia, Alaska's best kept secret, for their annual bike trip. Early tomorrow morning we will drive five hours to Homer then ferry across the Kachemak Bay to the beach where our yurt and tent space awaits. I have mountain biked only once…and that was Tuesday afternoon. Camping, though, is another matter. Camping in the rain, camping in the snow, camping in the heat, camping in the camper (the wind blew ferociously and we couldn't get our tents up so we crowded into our grandparents motor home), camping in Texas, camping on the Appalachian Trail, sharing a tent with little brothers, sharing a hammock with my smelly socks, waking up with the Buffalo, not going to sleep because someone else's dad was snoring.… I've been camping. However, I have not been camping in the kind of clothing that I will be wearing this weekend. I will be sporting a stained and well worn raglan styled sweatshirt from the 80s, too-big-for-me multi colored woolen mittens, and Uncle Stuart's faded sweatpants. Hopefully it will rain so I can lace up the draw strings and wear the even larger blah-green rain pants!
Alaska is comfortable. No one seems to care who designed my dress, where I got my purse from or if my shoes say genuine leather on the soles. I continue to play dress up most mornings as I prepare for work but now I do it because I enjoy it, not because I am trying to draw compliments from the people around me who have also bowed to the pitiless scepter that fashion and society wields. We long for her to acknowledge us. But every time she extends her elusive, glittering rod, she pulls it back faster than before and our enjoyment is unsatisfactory, the pleasure increasingly hollow.

Camping. Double dont care what you wear.
Bring it. I'm stoked.