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Sunday Masochism

At church the talks were about keeping the Sabbath day holy, and I renewed my resolve to forego any personal agenda. This turned out to be be rather tormenting when Sunday afternoon rolled around, and I felt a burning desire to write fiction, especially as a rationalized that I get so little time during the week to do so. When the sun was shining on such a beautiful April day, the thought of sitting down and reading a book was tormenting me, and as I couldn’t think of any good deeds to perform, I resolved to take my family into nature. Teresa humored me up until I actually started packing. Boy did I call her bluff. We drove up Spanish Fork canyon and found a free camping ground, where I pitched a tent and labored to start a fire as my ladies sat and shivered in the suddenly cold air. Eventually we roasted hot dogs (vegan, of course) and ate them on fat slabs of homemade bread. When the stars were out and we climbed into the tent, the true coldness of the mountain air hit us. Even though we had enough sleeping bags and piles of blankets, I hardly got a wink of sleep the whole night. Teresa had it nearly as bad, though her lack of sleep wasn’t due to coldness so much as the fear of wild animals. As we expected, Aspen put up a fuss for hours. As soon as the sky began to lighten, we tore down the tent, stuffed everything in the trunk, and took off, wondering why we subjected ourselves to this┬ámasochism.

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