Eggs In One Basket

I'm in the middle of the first of the final three camp weeks for the year. We have 206 kids, which means an extra room has been converted into a cabin (really more of a dorm than a proper cabin, I suppose, but "cabin" sounds more camp-like). I've been telling stories in the morning because Scooby, who usually does it, isn't around this week. I keep meaning to record them, but haven't gotten around to it. One of the stories exists in written form, but it has changed enough through constant retelling that it's virtually unrecognizable from its origins.

Willow is out seeing One Direction and Five Seconds of Summer tonight. She keeps worrying about something she calls "Post Concert Depression", which is her way of describing the feeling of sadness after the concert, long anticipated, is over. It's almost like she makes up things to feel sad about. I've never once felt sad after seeing live music. Kids these days are funny.

Here is a photographic reminder to disperse one's eggs. These are real chicken eggs, and although the basket is really a miniature flower pot instead of a basket, I think the meaning is still clear. These eggs, being tiny and oddly shaped, are the reject pile. Most of them were laid by Penelope, who bequeaths us about one egg a year. Jeanine puts them in the pot, and they remain on the sill above the kitchen sink.

Here's a bonus photo of the sunrise, taken around 11 hours ago:

There was a nice sunset today too. It's nice to have a day book-ended with beauty.