Rainy Days and Thursdays

Dearest Rachel –

I don’t usually write about the weather – compared to all the other things going on in life, it’s a fairly insignificant part of it. Well, maybe insignificant isn’t the right word for it – it’s just there. Some days it’s cold, some days it’s bright and sunny…

…and some days it’s cold, gray and rainy. That’s just how it is.

To be sure, it’s not a pouring rain, or even what might be called a shower. Trust me, our shower sends down a lot more water per square foot than this weather does. It’s just enough water to ensure that you cannot step outside without getting wet. It’s the kind of gray in the sky where you can’t tell if it’s five or eight in the morning – and you’d just as soon treat eight like five, roll over, and go back to sleep, especially if you have to do anything today that requires going outside at all. Anything to put that sort of thing off as long as possible.

You’d probably be expecting me to complain about how unpleasant it is to take Chompers out in this, and I’ll admit, the day could stand to be warmer to have this cold water drizzled onto it like this. I’m sure that, by August, I’d consider a wake-up like this to be rather refreshing. Of course, part of the reason I’d consider it as such is because we simply don’t get these cool rains in August.

In any event, I think I would have preferred having this come down yesterday rather than today, since I was working inside most of yesterday (although that seems rather mean-spirited of me to have Daniel deal with the rain and Chompers for the day, so perhaps I should retract that and be thankful the task wasn’t too onerous for him), whereas I’m not sure if Jan will have me doing any toting and hauling of stuff today.

Don’t know if you’d be interested to know how yesterday went, to be honest. After all, I rarely discussed business with you back in the day. Part of that was because I really would rather not relive the unpleasantness that was the workday (although most of that was due to having to deal with my superior, who considered himself very much so – or maybe more to the point, everyone beneath him to be very much so). It was also partly due to the fact that I know the stereotype of my profession as being, well… boring. Dull as dishwater. Interesting as insurance. I always considered it a great compliment when, upon telling someone what I did for a living, they would respond with “huh, I would never have guessed you for an accountant.”

Nope. It was just something to pay the bills. I feel for those folks who listened to that nonsensical advice “follow your dreams!” Not that it’s a bad thing to have dreams, no, but everyone’s got to understand that the bigger the dream, the harder to accomplish. And when you think you have Talent, you forget you’re up against millions of other Americans (or whatever your country is that you’re trying to rise above the crowd in) with the same thought you’re competing in. And unless you’re phenomenally talented, or lucky, or… unethical… it’s not gonna happen.

Oh well, those tables aren’t gonna wait themselves once our moral and intellectual betters in Washington allow us to go back to restaurants again.

You did seem more interested in what I did once I started doing the books for the church, and even more so for the camp. It probably makes a difference when it’s an operation you actually care about, and want to see thrive, rather than simply a meal ticket to be endured while you save up to escape it.

Well, it’s still going to be a struggle. We only have guesses as to what kind of attendance we’ll have, and it makes a difference as to how much of a loss we’ll be dealing with this year. And yes, we’ll be losing money this year, more than likely: people are still hesitant, what with the world still crawling out of the hole we let this pandemic dig us into. Some folks are more than eager to get out, and get their kids out, no doubt. Others… not so much. Even some of the groups who used to rent the entire facility from us are less common than they used to be (and those that are appear to have fewer numbers, which also cuts into the top line). There’s not much to be done about it: all we can do is survive and pray that things continue to rebound over time.

They say God will provide. He certainly managed this year for the camp; there’s no reason to say He can’t this coming year as well.

Give Him a nudge for us, will you sweetheart?

As for how things went personally, Brian probably put it best as we were driving up there: “Look, we’ll hug it out at first, and then get on with business.” That about sums up how we dealt with it. There’s work to be done, after all – they can’t (and I can’t) let my presence be a raincloud dangling over everyone’s head all day. We haven’t got that kind of time for distractions.

And so we did just as Brian suggested, and just got on with things. Indeed, it all kind of felt like things were in the before time, and I think we’ll do well going forward.

I did note, just as we were packing up, that Larry’s wife Ingrid has your memorial card by her workstation. I almost lost it for a moment, but I pulled myself together before turning back around to everyone else.

It’s still difficult, honey. For all of us. But time marches on, and there’s so much to do. We’re hoping that one day, you’ll get to greet all the kids that have come to know Jesus through the camp, and they can tell you their story of the part you played (however briefly) in the fact that they and you are together in the greatest place in eternity.

Until then, take care, and continue to say hi to everyone from us.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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