chilly cookout

We got some dads and sons together for a chilly cookout. Not "chili," but frigid, snowy, cold... chilly. We wore lots of layers, built a bonfire, grilled burgers, toasted marshmallows and sat around talking "man stuff" while the wives and daughters went to another place for a fancy, dressed-up tea. It was a good time for all.

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One of the dads (he visits here as Frodo) said he wanted to camp outside for the night. He constructed a makeshift shelter and brought sleeping bags and an inflatable mattress. Against my better judgment, I joined him.

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The next day, I was tired and my body was racked with aches and pains. The brightly illuminated lot next door ensured that it did not get dark at all; their harsh lights flooded our field. The sound of those trucks and snow plows was drowned out by our own tarp which did not cease its furious flapping for even a moment. It sounded like a fishing boat in a hurricane. The mattress I was on deflated and became flat in the middle of the night. And let me tell you, it was super c-c-c-cold!

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People have asked why a man of my age would do such a foolhardy thing. Part of it was just hanging out with Frodo. Part of it was a desire to conquer the cold. But more than that, I wanted to satisfy a curiosity about the plight of the homeless. Their bodies must take a real beating. How do people go night after night without adequate heat or a decent place to stay?