Archive for July 2019
Summertime
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is it possible to know
when we are fully honoring
the best that summer offers
with windows wide open
in short sleeves
and bare feet
fully sun-soaked
amid flowery blossoms
raspberry bushes bending
under the weight of their fruit
smells from the grill
bird songs sailing
on the wind through tree leaves
late hour sunsets
outdoor picnics
echoing laughter
kids out of school
fresh corn on the cob
outfielders chasing fly balls
sunscreen
bug spray
swimming in a lake
napping in a hammock
rumbling thunder
dewdrops of sweat
running down the outside of a glass
long grass
lawn mowers
ice cream trucks
bicycles
skateboards
sidewalk cafes deluxe
festivals of music
folding chairs
beach blankets
campers in tents
splashing in puddles
dancing outdoors on a moonlit night
lightning bugs flashing
hay wagons sagging
sand inside sandals
and this unexpected feeling
everything’s gonna be
alright
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Moon Chasing
Fifty years ago this month, the Eagle landed on the moon. I am thoroughly enjoying the 3-part Robert Stone documentary film, “Chasing the Moon” on the PBS program American Experience this week for its revisiting of the history that led up to that epic event of the first human setting foot on the moon.
Catch the ending tonight if you have access to the PBS programming.
I have enjoyed the portions of the first two episodes that reveal what was happening in the early years of my life before my awareness and ability to remember were formed. As the chronicle moves on to years when I was old enough to be making memories, it is interesting to see the mix of familiarity and obliviousness.
Even the astronauts admit to being out of touch with much of the turmoil of the 60s because they were so singularly focused and generally isolated by the space program. I’m not the only one who couldn’t keep track of everything that was happening at the time.
I find it striking to compare the awed engrossment in every launch and mission detail from those early days of space flight to the virtual invisibility of most trips to space now.
We’ve come a long way, baby.
How long before we find shuttling to visit Mars so unremarkable that nobody pays any attention?
If it happens within my lifetime, I probably won’t remember it very long, anyway.
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Still Thrilled
Is it too late to still be thrilling over the US Women’s National Team victory on Sunday in France? I am really proud of their teamwork and stamina; their confidence and sense of fun; their bravery and demand for respect (equal pay!); and the way they melded their individual strengths and personalities into such an effective cohesive unit, to dominate on the world’s largest stage.
There is so much well-deserved press available on their accomplishment, I can’t really add anything that isn’t already being said. Instead, I’ve grabbed a couple images and article links to share here for those of you who may not have followed close enough to notice…
Check these out:
Opinion: The World Cup might be over, but we aren’t nearly done with USWNT’s stars
Christine Brennan, USA TODAY
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Rose Lavelle Dribbled Her Way Into World Cup Immortality
Luis Paez-Pumar, Deadspin.
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I dream of someday being able to display a similar cool, collected confidence like Megan Rapinoe radiated in the seconds before she converted that penalty shot in the 61st minute of the World Cup title match.
I will always remember the awe I felt when Rose Lavelle deftly read the instant the defender in front of her turned her back, immediately stepping to the other side and without hesitation, releasing that powerful strike on goal just out of reach of the incredible goalkeeper for the Netherlands to give us the breathing room of a two-goal lead.
U.S.A.! U.S.A.! Equal pay! Equal pay!
I’m definitely still thrilled.
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Delaying Complaining
If nothing else has become obvious in my ten years of blogging, my quick tendency to complain about the simplest of ailments that befall me must stand out as a typical trait. Whether it’s my degenerating discs or the next poison ivy outbreak, I usually fall far short of stoically sucking up the pain and suffering privately.
Misery loves company. Don’t I know it.
I will be honest that this was exactly my first inclination when one of my recently turned sixty-year-old teeth fractured under an unexpected bite of a chicken wing bone. Sadly, this calamity contributed to spoiling our second visit to that quaint diner on the way up to the lake last Wednesday.
As I moped with Cyndie for the remainder of the drive up to Wildwood, wondering how and where I might seek treatment for this busted molar, there was a general sense that my long holiday weekend had been totally spoiled. Luckily, we had enough time in the car for me to have a change of attitude. 
For the first time that I can remember, I decided I would squelch my urge to share news of my woes, in order to avoid engendering focus on my problem and tarnishing the rest of the joyous holiday festivities. It helped a little that my dentist returned my call Wednesday and remotely diagnosed that my description of the broken tooth cleared me of any need for emergency treatment.
I spent the weekend trying to remember to take small bites and only chew on the other side of my mouth, and successfully kept my problem from everyone except Cyndie, Elysa, and Julian. In the end, I think doing so worked out as well for me as for my intention of not distracting others with my problem. By not talking about it, I automatically tended to dwell on it less.
There was one interesting complication that developed when I called my dentist’s office. Not only were they closed for Thursday and Friday of the holiday weekend, but also for the following week in order to allow their entire staff a long summer vacation.
What good timing I have.
Fortunately, their away message offered a direct contact number for the dentist. She said her family has chosen to have a stay-cation and she will be in town this week.
She has offered to take a look at my tooth late this afternoon to see if she can offer some relief, sooner than later.
Thank goodness. I definitely have no complaints to offer about that.
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Spectacularly Pleasant
We were blessed with a fabulous summer-weather day for our Wildwood Lodge Club annual Fourth of July games. Things started a little slow, with a pickup wiffleball game occupying some of us, while the rest of the folks made their way to the lodge.
The flag was raised to a recorded version of our National Anthem.
Shoes were kicked.
Also, water balloons were tossed (thrown), wet sponges were passed, bodies were spun, and watermelon was handlessly gobbled. Yes, it gets messy.
Greased watermelons were then wrestled toward invisible goal lines.
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Finally, a feast was shared in the lodge.
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After dinner, I played a little guitar around the fire to cap off a spectacular day of events.
The most difficult part of this precious weekend is facing the return to reality that happens today. We drive home this afternoon in a line of holiday traffic to resume our normal weekday duties.
I suppose the plus side of that is, it tends to make days like these all the more special that we get to experience them.
This year will go down as a particularly precious Fourth of July weekend enjoying summer games up at Wildwood with all the families present.
I look forward to dwelling on it for as long as circumstances will allow.
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Real Joy
We are up at the lake for our US holiday weekend closest to Independence Day and large numbers of family are in attendance. That makes for special times. Even though the earth is shaking in California and stupid statements fly in Washington, D.C., our attention is localized in the here and now.
Last night the cousins and friends gathered around a table for a rousing game of “Catch Phrase” which blossomed into a classic manifestation of unbridled joy.
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It’s as much fun to watch as it is being a contestant.
Today, the seven families of our Wildwood Lodge Club will congregate at the lodge for a flag raising and National Anthem followed by a parade up and down the driveway. Then, the games commence. Fierce competitions of coordination and silliness between teams labeled “bats” and “mice” as we toss balloons, kick shoes, and gobble watermelon.
Next, there will be a massive community feast in the lodge and maybe a few fireworks after dark.
Laughter abounds throughout it all.
Extended family, and friends and neighbors who have always been close as family, sharing time and activities together in the glorious lakeside summer sunshine.
Even though there are harsh realities in the world, moments of our freedom and independence can be celebrated among smaller communities who know how to show love to others and be loved ourselves.
We are very lucky, and I absolutely cherish these times when we get to be at the lake with the people who know us best, experiencing real joy and sharing so much genuine love.
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Passing Time
Just like that, another day is gone. Independence Day is over. The weather at the lake was a mix of perfectly summerish and occasionally rainy, and I didn’t do much beyond wallowing in the luxury of the fact it was a day off from the usual routine.
I played some guitar, read some, napped briefly, played cards, and eventually helped inflate some Rave Sports water toys.
Passing time with no agenda.
Almost as if there was some meaning to my doing so.
If there is, I’m successfully remaining oblivious to it.
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Starting Early
Cyndie and I left for the lake after I got home from work yesterday. We had no idea that Wednesday night the 3rd of July would be the time when towns would hold their fireworks shows in Wisconsin.
It seemed to me that traffic was flowing fairly well for the night before a holiday that was providing a 4-day weekend for most folks. Maybe the people who were going to be out of town had already left. We only ran into two backups.
The first one was at a roundabout, of all places. The very system that was created to minimize congestion at an intersection was not achieving its potential when we arrived. There was no zipper merging happening because someone in our lane was intent on waiting until no other cars were anywhere in sight before executing their right turn.
The second backup happened as we approached Shell Lake. Several hours before darkness was to arrive, officials had already closed Hwy 63 and were detouring traffic through town to create a safe zone for the fireworks show. We didn’t wait around to see the spectacle. It seemed a day early to us, but maybe it had something to do with the holiday falling on a Thursday.
We stopped for dinner at a local diner/gas station that won our hearts after our first visit there last year. In this case, the second time wasn’t the charm. It seemed so dang impressive the first time we ate there. Last night, our experience was surprisingly underwhelming.
It’s all relative, I tell ya.
Makes me want to try seeing things with the joy and wonder of the first time, regardless of how familiar it may have become. I’ll have a good chance to practice this over the next few days. We are up at Wildwood for the annual 4th of July festivities, including the long tradition of games between the “bats” and “mice” teams.
Water balloon toss; shoe kick; watermelon eating contests; relay racing.
We’ve been through this routine so many times, it is easy for me to become jaded over it. When it was still fresh to me and I was much younger, I was so moved by the experience that I wrote a song about it. The excitement has faded as I have aged.
This year I have a new goal to look at the weekend with the wonder I felt the first few times I came up here and to send a lot of love to all who show up to participate. What’s the worst that could happen? I might have as much fun as the year I wrote that song.
Go, team, go!
Happy US Independence Day everyone!
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Look Closer
Just as soon as I go spouting off about there being few raspberries on our bushes, I discover that I was wrong. While mowing the lawn yesterday afternoon, I noticed the potential bounty that Cyndie was referring to the other day. Closer inspection revealed a good number of future berry blossoms developing on bushes in a variety of locations around the yard.
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The fruit might be ripening later than usual, but it does appear that there could eventually be a similar yield to last year’s big volume. That would be a real treat.
I rushed home from work yesterday to mow in order to be free to head to the lake this afternoon for the annual weekend of 4th of July games at Wildwood.
As I mowed past the fence-post where our rain gauge is mounted, I noticed an inch of water collected there. Our yard is an interesting mix of spots that are very wet and spots that look like they are starting to get too dry. Why is it always one or the other extreme around here?
Delilah will stay home this weekend with Maddie, who is caring for our animals while we are gone. There will be a full house up at the lake, and plenty of neighbors will bring their dogs, so we are going to simplify our visit by leaving Delilah behind.
I hope there won’t be too many fireworks popping off while we are away, so Maddie won’t have to endure the endless barking that Delilah does in response to the sounds. Of course, there’s always the possibility that the dog will behave like a little angel when someone other than us is taking care of her.
That kind of thing has been known to happen… However, I won’t be holding my breath in anticipation.
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Latest Observations
Okay, I admit it. I am officially getting old. In the good ol’ days, my lovely wife luxuriated in the summer heat while I sweltered. We rarely turned the air conditioner on, preferring to let all but the most humid of summer days fill our living quarters for her comfort.
It’s no longer like that today.
I walked in the door yesterday and immediately sensed she had turned the air conditioner on again, after we had opened up the house on Sunday night. It was cold enough for me that I needed to put on long sleeves.
I am now the one who gets cold while Cyndie is too warm.
It reminds me of the decorative flowers Cyndie planted around the grounds. The petunias appear to be perfectly happy, but the marigolds haven’t changed since they were put in our soil. Maybe the marigolds were old.
Or maybe it’s just been too cold for them.
Last weekend was basically our first real heat of the summer. Progress for many of the growing plants around here is looking rather stunted, now that I think about it.
The old saying, “knee high by the fourth of July” is just not happening this year. Fields that did get planted are all maturing just about as fast as Cyndie’s marigolds.
Our wild raspberry bushes looked like they weren’t going to bear fruit at all until just recently. I haven’t seen it for myself yet, but Cyndie says they are just starting to blossom with hints that there might be a lot of berries. I love her optimism, but I fear the amount and size of berries are more likely to be less than impressive, given the stunted growing conditions.
Maybe I’m not getting old. It’s probably just the type of weather we’ve been having.
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Relative Something 