Sandy Supposes....

Today is November 19th

BLOGGING CIRCLE OF FRIENDS PROMPT November 19th: Write about World Toilet Day, or Have a Bad Day Day, or National Camp Day.

         

         

                   

Is it too late to add indoor plumbing especially in the form of a toilet to World Gratitude Day? What a convenient and comfortable blessing a toilet is. Anyone who has stumbled to an outhouse in a fierce, slashing storm or who has braved the ominous shadows of a starless night appreciates the wondrous option of a commode.No one lingers in a drafty, oderous, spider sanctuary outhouse.

         I admit to a lifetime of camping adventures and far too many excursions to the 'one-holer' , non-flush toilet in a shed.Many of those moments coincided with Guiding forays with girls new to requiring relief in such crude quarters.

         For their night time trips the girls would venture forth with beaming flashlights swinging from their hands. I never knew if what often happened was due to misplacement, or hijinks, or an attempt to create some form of ambient lighting.

         Yep, errant flashlights somehow found their way down in the yawning abyss. The horrified gasps and giggles still echo in my memories. Cries of "ew" and "gross" swelled on the evening air. Not surprisingly, no one demanded the return immediate or otherwise of their 'lost' possessions. Some sacrifices should be considered permanent.

         Did I mention this particular camp snafu involved my youngest daughter? She'd bid her flashlight adieu and most likely wondered how long the batteries would last. One of my co-Guiders had other plans.

         Without announcing her intentions, Joanne decided to rescue Danielle's already forgotten, abandoned flashlight. She borrowed a wire clothes hanger and fashioned a hook from it. Demonstrating admirable resolve and a strong stomach ,Joanne stretched an arm into the gaping maw stabbing/spearing until she snared the glowing device. Mindful of sanitary considerations, the flashlight fisherwoman dropped her catch in a sealed plastic bag before she returned it to Danielle with a smile.

         My girl mumbled her reluctant thanks and dutifully returned home with it where it languished, still in its wrap, under the kitchen sink before we tossed it.

         I cannot imagine a flashlight, a bright yellow one, without recalling Joanne's stubbornness. Why am I now humming "this little light of mine I'm gonna let it shine?"