For the next few days, I'm going to post some stories from our Colorado trips. We went to Colorado every year on vacation and camped at Moraine Park in the Rocky Mountain national forest.
In retrospect, I could measure the progression of Jim’s dementia by our annual camping trips to Colorado. In 1995, putting up the tent was a fiasco.
“This is the way it goes together,” Jim said, picking up a pole from the pile of different length rods. We tried slipping the rods into the canvas only to find our final creation was not a tent.
“Okay, now are you ready for me to dig out the instructions?” I asked with as much patience as I could muster.
“I guess so,” he said grudgingly. Between the two of us, we managed to slide out the rods.
Even with directions, it was hard to figure out what went where.
“That’s not right,” Jim insisted.
“Humor me.” I huffed and puffed in the thin mountain air as I struggled with the poles.
After a lot of stress, strain, and cuss words, our home away from home looked like it was supposed to.
“Let’s get the equipment out of the van,” I said.
Finally, camp was set up to our liking, and we could relax in our lawn chairs. Jim was the official camp cook, and I really didn’t know how the stove worked. I watched him and offered help when he couldn’t quite get things right. That year, I helped a lot with meal preparation. Overall, the problems weren’t too bad and it didn’t discourage us.
Copyright © December 2016 by L.S. Fisherhttp://earlyonset.blogspot.com