Jazz asked me if I was planning on coming home in July for the family camping trip. I’m on the fence about all traveling until Tunisia in August. I need to watch my budget. The good thing about the camping trip this year is that it won’t cost much because we’re having it in my sister’s back yard! All I’d have to pay for is the plane ticket up there and whatever food they make me bring to the BBQ, which will most likely be buns.
It’s a family tradition that the bachelor, or least responsible one, is in charge of bringing buns. They’re cheap and easy. Brother Alf used to bring the buns, but he went and got a lady and is all grown-up, so they promoted him to meat/veggie platters.
“I brought buns one year,” Jazz said. “Large Costco sized bags. There was something like 84 total. By the end of the weekend we were just throwing ‘em on the fire.”
I chuckle imagining Jazz reversing into the camping spot, honking to get one of the grandkids out of the way, popping open his trunk and it being stuffed full of buns. He stands over it all proud like it was an elk or bear. I’ll be doing the same, only instead of the trunk they’ll be spilling out my suitcase.