Leg 2; “Esio Trot”; Brown City Camp; a new job
IDV lost 1–0 to Atlético Nacional, which was respectable enough to attract some more kudos from the continental and global journalists.
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Last night Karin & I drove to Brown City Camp, a church camp in eastern Michigan where Karin’s mother has a cabin (she’ll soon join us, along with Karin’s little sister, Brianna). The trip was tedious. I perked up when we got near to Lansing and Flint, which I wanted to see a bit of, but we zoomed past those cities. We listened to novellas and short stories by Roald Dahl: Fantastic Mr. Fox; “The Enormous Crocodile”; and a cynical piece called “Esio Trot,” which I’d never heard of. This story was brutal even by Dahlian standards. I think even Dahl must have felt uneasy about it, because he gave it a redemptive ending that was out of step with the rest of it. (I’m also reading The Stranger Beside Me, the opus of Ann Rule, about the serial killer Ted Bundy. “Esio Trot” is more unsettling.)
When we got to the camp it was close to midnight. Karin parked in the main lot, just outside of the front gate. Suddenly we were confronted by a golf cart driven by a feeble old man and a bored teen-aged boy. They were wearing bright green shirts that said “Security.”
“What are you doing here,” said the old man.
“We have a cabin here,” said Karin. “We just arrived from South Bend.”
“Oh, all right,” said the old man. “Let me open the gate for you so you can park nearer to your cabin.” The golf cart drove away.
“That was bizarre,” I said to Karin.
“It’s after curfew,” she explained.
As we went down to our cabin we passed two other “Security” golf carts, one driven by two old women, another by a middle-aged man and woman who were extremely fat. I figured that I could outrun any of these security guards.
(On the other hand, so many of these golf carts were creeping around in the middle of the night, I’d probably be caught no matter what.)
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Prof. Robby has asked me to teach a few Spanish courses at Bethel. So that’s what I expect to do this fall, along with my other two jobs. I’ve agreed to teach Elementary Spanish II and Intermediate Spanish.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Last night Karin & I drove to Brown City Camp, a church camp in eastern Michigan where Karin’s mother has a cabin (she’ll soon join us, along with Karin’s little sister, Brianna). The trip was tedious. I perked up when we got near to Lansing and Flint, which I wanted to see a bit of, but we zoomed past those cities. We listened to novellas and short stories by Roald Dahl: Fantastic Mr. Fox; “The Enormous Crocodile”; and a cynical piece called “Esio Trot,” which I’d never heard of. This story was brutal even by Dahlian standards. I think even Dahl must have felt uneasy about it, because he gave it a redemptive ending that was out of step with the rest of it. (I’m also reading The Stranger Beside Me, the opus of Ann Rule, about the serial killer Ted Bundy. “Esio Trot” is more unsettling.)
When we got to the camp it was close to midnight. Karin parked in the main lot, just outside of the front gate. Suddenly we were confronted by a golf cart driven by a feeble old man and a bored teen-aged boy. They were wearing bright green shirts that said “Security.”
“What are you doing here,” said the old man.
“We have a cabin here,” said Karin. “We just arrived from South Bend.”
“Oh, all right,” said the old man. “Let me open the gate for you so you can park nearer to your cabin.” The golf cart drove away.
“That was bizarre,” I said to Karin.
“It’s after curfew,” she explained.
As we went down to our cabin we passed two other “Security” golf carts, one driven by two old women, another by a middle-aged man and woman who were extremely fat. I figured that I could outrun any of these security guards.
(On the other hand, so many of these golf carts were creeping around in the middle of the night, I’d probably be caught no matter what.)
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Prof. Robby has asked me to teach a few Spanish courses at Bethel. So that’s what I expect to do this fall, along with my other two jobs. I’ve agreed to teach Elementary Spanish II and Intermediate Spanish.