Dream a little dream with me

I dream of having a vintage camper, particularly a Shasta. I haven’t camped since I was 12 years old, but my heart beats a little faster when I think of camping in a tiny, cute, refurbished camp trailer.

Of course the dream camper has room only for me and maybe a dog or two, if they lie down. I’d park near a lake or creek and just relax, read, write and listen to the breeze in the treetops.

Wait. Stop. Change of dream.

Let’s park the Shasta on a secluded beach at the ocean. I’d enjoy warm sun, sand and palm trees during the day and have a little campfire for marshmallow roasting in the evening.

I’d wake up early to sit outside and watch the sunrise with a big cup of coffee while I dig my toes into the cool sand.

That, my friends, is my idea of bliss. And no, you can’t come with. Find your own camper and beach, but come over for margaritas on Saturday afternoon after my nap.