Well, the big news on the horizon is this: my brother, Blaine, is going to flit into town, much like the Tasmanian Devil on crack, and provide some much needed comic relief for this flawed family.

My brother and I have a dynamic relationship and even though I taunt, it's carried out with much admiration and a touch of sarcasm thrown in for good measure.

He is schlepping his son, Josh, who is exactly the same age as mine, over from California and, hang on to something, they actually WANT to go camping with me.

His delight over the trip began quite early as he started to call me about twice a day with some, shall we say, interesting requests, comments and questions with every phone encounter.

Here's the thing, the man, for some odd reason, thinks that Pennsylvania is some kind of enchanting, dreamy territory that holds all sorts of neat secrets and is teeming with merriment.

Rewind the clock about forty years, and this was a one-horse-town, with no opportunity, a population of goof balls and, really, was the bane of life on earth as we knew it. Oh, how age has changed this man.

I don't quite know what to make of this new-found-adoration that he has for this region of the United States but, he is downright insane over this visit.

As mentioned above, the peculiar phone calls started, I believe, the second he made the online plane reservations. He actually telephoned to say that, while here, (for barely a week), he would like to teach his son to drive a standard shift, and asked me where he might get one.

Now, do I appear to be a car rental expert of some sort? I told him to call Budget Rent a Car as I was certain they could hook him up. What else could I say?

Evidently, that didn't cut it as, about 3 hours later, he rang and requested the phone number of a person in Conneaut Lake, with whom my father was very close, named Mike Kribbs.

I have no clue how, or if, Mr. Kribbs hooked Blainey up with the standard shift vehicle. Nor do I know if that was even the nature of his call to poor, unassuming, Kribbs. I was afraid to ask.

Moving along to the next encounter, he then asked if there might be a way for us to obtain an honest-to-goodness, live tomato for his son. See, out in LA, they don't have real items like tomatoes, as everything, including the fruit, veggies and actors, is, indeed, plastic.

I guess it slipped his mind that this is a rural community and tomatoes, like zucchini, are constantly being secretly dropped into innocently parked cars, whilst drivers dash into the insurance agency, drug store or Sheetz.

Since we literally live within walking distance of Al's Melons and, authentic farmers, yes, farmers, board my pony for me, I think we are good to go with Mission True Tomato.

These words then exited his mouth, during the seventeenth call, in two days, and I quote directly: “Gee, I hope we get a good old-fashioned Pennsylvania thunderstorm while we're up there.” WHAT? Do they not offer storms in the greater Los Angeles area? I asked that very question and was swiftly, and, in no uncertain terms, told that I was off my rocker if I thought that the west coast produced anything comparable to PA drops. Oops—I forgot that “it never rains in California, but boy don't they warn ya, it pours, man it pours.” (If you don't have a clue then I cannot help you out on that one.)

On to the camping escapade. First off, I am really tickled that my nephew is into this camp deal. I have sent him tons of supplies over the last few years, including a nice tent, and he and my brother camp every other weekend on a friend's porch. I kid you not. They pitch that little tent on a balcony, of some kind, Aunt-Lisa-supplied-camping-gear in tow, and snooze under the lights of the city.

So, as you can imagine, I am thrilled to the marrow that Josh will get to have a REAL outdoor experience.

Well, Blainey's crazed manner has rubbed off as, not only does Josh want rain during the visit but, he would like it to do so whilst we are camping because, and I quote directly again, “it enhances the camping experience.”

Hmm, now, what experience might that be exactly? Oh, yes. Silly me. The kind that we have while under shelter on a friend's porch inside of a tent. Got it.

Blainey mentioned, in passing, last night, that he would also like for Perpetual, (fiance), to teach him outdoor survival skills during the trip as well. You know, the basics like skinning coons and trapping bears. Stuff like that, which can oh-so-easily be worked in amongst the other 672 items on the agenda.

I have to confess that his enthusiasm for this homeward journey has me planning, like a travel agent/camp counselor, as he has given me the bug as well. I've become out-of-control with hammock building projects slated for Josh and all sorts of other delightful jazz.

So, if you see some rental car lurching, stalling and sputtering, causing tomatoes from within to fall to the highway, you shall know that the eagle has landed and the bird has flown. In other words, they are here in this most fabulous land of ours, we like to call, Pennsylvania.

You know, fantastic PA where unicorns fart rainbows and pixie dust is sprinkled about by township road crews from here to Philly. Who knew that PA is, in fact, the land of milk and honey?

THE END.

P.S. Did I mention the flint? I guess not. Well, these two yahoos are dead set on sparking a fire, via flint. First of all, what in the world are these guys thinking? Second of all, do I really need a second of all?

This is pure lunacy however, I'm nothing, if not accommodating so, I shall “allow” this to unfold. I will be perfectly content taking in the sideshow from the comfort of my hammock. They can flint their butts off, in a separate fire ring, of course. Did I mention that I will be enjoying the “Flintstones” while hanging near the dancing flames of my roaring fire? Hold me.