The Church of Baseball

We leave for vacation on Wednesday, at some ungodly hour of the morning. Just two days left to pretend to work and throw way too many clothes and shoes into a suitcase. How does a girl with 20 pairs of flip flops narrow it down? So Wednesday morning, we board a plane bound for Cooperstown, NY, home of the Baseball Hall of Fame (which we will not be visiting). Also the home of James Fenimore Cooper and his lovely touristy estate, which we also not be visiting. Oh, and Barnyard Swing, Cooperstown's newest miniature golf course, which we will totally be visiting. We will be staying in a house on the shore of pristine Lake Otsego (according to the chamber of commerce). We will be without television, without internet access, and likely have very spotty cell phone reception for seven whole days. I will easily not worry about work, or bills, and I will struggle a lot to not worry about the four bedroom house in Anderson Mill that I'm in love with and desperately hope has not been bought out from under us while we're out of town (I would paste the link to the house here, but you would just buy the house for yourself and our friendship would be ruined). I will be laying on the dock, reading a trashy romance novel or riding around in Rob's grandfather's 80 year-old wooden boat, or attempting to hunt for non-baseball themed souvenirs. Try not to be eaten up with jealousy.