On Italian Endeavors

I wouldn't say things looked better in the morning. It was still cold. There was still sand every where. My coffee wasn't hot enough. There was too much dagnabbit smoke from the dagnabbit campfires and it was making my throat sore.

But it sure was pretty.

And mom cooked a nice breakfast. It's been a long time since my mommy cooked me breakfast.

Also my father and uncle amused me greatly as they messed about with their toys. Men. (Rolls eyes.)

And then I saw this:

Pot, meet Kettle.

After breakfast we had a rousing came of Bocce Ball.

For those of you uninitiated in Le Grande Traditione, it is a game of Italian extraction involving balls not unlike croquet, but bigger. And heavier. And there's a lot of heaving them hither and thither. In fact, I'm relatively sure the International Bocce Federation would never recognize what my family plays as Bocce at all, but rather more similar to a particularly fine game known as Calvin Ball.

All I can say is it was a great deal of fun. And in a setting like this, who can be a grump?

I still hate camping, but I really love Calvin... er... I mean Bocce Ball.