Reality kicks anticipation in the butt

I'm in an anticipatory mood this week. Anticipation, it is said, is half the fun of going anywhere, so I'll take my half now, thank you.

First, it's the cabin, coming up later this week. And it feels like the real deal this time: Jenni will be in tow; I'm not in the midst of a hectic month of work delayed until the last minute and then piled on in indiscriminate, unforgiving heaps; and we just might paddle a canoe. (I'm obligated to mention here that we have wonderful neighbors - with a large, intimidating dog - who keep a close eye on the place while we are gone.)

Then, it's Labor Day weekend. I'm not planning on going anywhere or doing anything...except, perhaps, for a kayaking adventure somewhere about town, and packing for the trip. Really, who cares if anything happens? It's a three day weekend, and that in and of itself is reason enough to await it with vigor.

It goes without saying that there is plenty of looking forwardness - on the part of both Jenni and I - for the G-to-E canoe expedition. After all, that's "half" the reason for this blog and associated web gadgetry...it's an excuse to let the excitement build 'til it overflows onto the digital page to be shared with you.

Anticipation is often misleading, but innocently so, because it always means well. Before I left for the cabin last month, I was salivating at the prospect that I'd soon escape to the shore of a Boundary Waters lake. I'd arrive ready to soak up the relaxing-and-refreshing cabin experience, take the mountain bike for a spin, fish, and photograph beautiful sunsets. Reality was somewhat different: I didn't get much sleep the night before the 300-mile drive, so I arrived tired and zombied through the first day. The wind never let up, so fishing was lousy. (The best part, if this says anything, was when I laid on the seat of our fishing boat and fell asleep staring up at the wind-whipped clouds.) I did kayak, but mostly I sat on my butt, read magazines, and chowed junk food while ruminating on the cloudy prospects on a long-term career in media.

This was not the idolized - nor typical, I might add - weekend at the cabin. The right ingredients were there, but they never quite came together in the usual life-is-bliss-as-long-as-I'm-here fashion. Don't confuse that for complaining...it's just squaring reality with expectations.

A similar destiny awaits in September. I have a golden image of our trek across the boundary country. I see the mist burning off the lake at sunrise while the yodel of a loon echoes off the shore. I hear the gurgle of water around our paddles, and the rush of rapids along the Frost and Kawishiwi Rivers as we portage. I feel the chill of the evening air on my back and the warmth of a campfire on my face. And I'm anticipating scattered pockets of fall color bursting out among the green-and-blue landscape. Of course, the trail will get us acquainted with the realities of the journey: blistered hands, sore shoulders, rock-and-root-stubbed toes, stream-clogging beaver dams, muddy portages that seem to never end, headwinds, waves, and - of course - rain. Heck, in September it could even snow.

But out of such a character-building litany are bound to come a few stories. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to having a few tales to spin - and stretch - upon our return.

Hey, maybe we'll have a run-in with a bear!

That's anticipation at its best.