"Go Fly a Kite"

Sunday morning, my husband, the dog and I piled into the Blazer, towing the pop-up camper, and drove to Mclain State Park in Michigan’s UP. I just love it up there, and I know I have blogged about it before so I will try to stay focused on the story at hand.

Every morning when we are up there, we drive to a little township park a few miles up the road from where we are camped so that Dino can frolic in Lake Superior and I can hunt for pretty rocks. The hubby usually is along for the ride or the walk as it turns out.

Our first morning there this year, as Dino and I were on a mission on the beach – one of us to find rocks and the other to just plain play in the water – the hubby found a discarded kite in the sand. By the time I had walked far enough up the beach to have filled my pockets so full of rocks that my thighs looked like chipmunk cheeks, he had the kite aloft and was having a great time.

This is a talent I do not possess; I cannot get a kite airborne. Hubby, though, has never had a problem flying a kite. And I will never win an argument with him by ending it with “go fly a kite” because he would gladly go outside and do it.  

Even Dino the wonder dog thinks that Daddy is talented.