July's End

I cut out of work early hoping to sneak in a walk before the rain moves in. A steady soaking we desperately need. Sadly, my timing's not good. The resident meteorologist here at Casa Wags says any minute now and I can feel it in my lungs and bones. When I woke to clouds this morning, I rejoiced. I'm that gray day loving weirdo. The sun is not my friend. I spent a couple hours on the beach Sunday, most of it under an umbrella, yet still all week I've been plagued by an itchy rash. It's called Polymorphic Light Eruption. Believe me...it's sounds much sexier than it is. But my love for Lake Michigan trumps my discomfort.

Sunday was my first lake swim of the season. The water's been too cold. It took some time getting in, but boy was it refreshing and on the sand bar it was even warmish. It was such a strange day though: a milky haze obscured the reach. The absence of a horizon was otherworldly. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was inhabiting a liminal space, but there's nothing faint about toes in the sand or a lake breeze against my skin or the subtle smell of the water...musky and metallic and fresh all at once.

I miss my brother's house on the beach. It's still a vacant lot, but the Tree House at the top of the hill has it's own unique magic. We had dinner on the deck in the trees listening to the eagles pipe and chirp and other birds Merlin identified, but we did not see. It was a beautiful night and a nice ending to a weekend that was pretty chill.

The speed of summer thus far has been a self-imposed slow. I wouldn't have it any other way even though at times I almost feel guilty for it. I blame the noise, which I am usually pretty good at ignoring. As long as I have my cats, a book, a bowl of cherries, some chilled chardonnay and my peeps, I'm good.

This is the first summer in twenty some years that back to school isn't looming in the purview. The kids are gainfully employed and forging their paths. Lily is moving out of her house in Madison this weekend, but she's been home since June. She's welcome to stay as long as she wants despite the fact that she's not the neatest member of the fam. The lack of a a hard stop on summer is definitely something new and unfamiliar even as the tell-tale signs of time passing are present: the hydrangeas are browning, the grass is dormant with the drought, the fireflies light up the yard every night and me and my girl are poised to celebrate another year around the sun soon.

So while I sit here a tad wistful, I know that July's end beckons August's beginning and that's not so bad. Every new beginning might be some other beginnings end, but it's not closing time.  

fresh air

 

I've been holed up in the house the last couple days because I've been under the weather. I'm gaining on it today and just in time because it's a perfect summer day...no humidity and no Canadian wildfire smoke. There are cats in every open window. Revised to say there were cats in windows. All four of them are enjoying their afternoon sleeps in their spots.

 

The kids brought M&M over late last night and stayed long enough for a Korean beef bowl and a slice of Grandma Rose's Banana Cake. They left early this morning for Lakeside. Meryl was as happy as I've seen her in awhile and for that I'm grateful. The whole H family is converging on Lake Erie. It's been quite some time since they've all been together. I'm wishing them a beautiful week together in their happy place.

Ted's on a happy streak. He and Uncle B Bone earned the win in last weekend's Tripoli invitational. The accolades will live on long beyond the generous prizes. We got a comprehensive recap of all 58 holes last night. I would have loved to watch the shoot-out, but we had Uncle Chris's 50th birthday dinner. It was a good group for a good guy.

 

I'm happiest when my peeps are happy. It's a good day when we can celebrate someone we care for a long coveted champ title, a milestone birthday, a baby on the way, a new job, a retirement date in the purview, a move, a commitment to health and any number of other wins big and small. 

My Grandpa was known to often drop an And I should complain in a conversation or even into a stretch of complete silence. I get it. When he visited our first house, he sat in the family room looking out of the park across the street like we had a view of the Pacific and not an empty parcel of land called the Tot Lot by the neighbors. In his eyes, we were making it. We hadn't made it, whatever that really means, but we were working hard, doing well and happy. I'm sure he knew there would be bumps and bruises and a few earth shattering take downs because that's life something he was more than familiar with after seventy some years.

I have that very same pinch me feeling when I spend time with my nieces and nephews who lost their father in a terrible way at a terrible time. They didn't check out. They grew up. I'm so proud of the way they took care of each other and went on doing life. They all have loving partners and jobs and happiness. I know from experience that the loss is always there, but you cannot let it define you. I believe it's inspired them to live their best lives. And that is a breath of fresh air in these days of rampant victim hood.

the living is easy in mid july

We just returned from a late afternoon walk. It was only 87 degrees with 70 percent humidity. That's actually a cool down from the last scorching stretch. I suggested we head to the beach for a dip in Lake Michigan, but Mike went to the shower instead. I'm jonesing for a swim. The water was unswimmable for most on the 4th save for the young and brave, but rumor has it that it's in the 70s right now. That's as good as it gets, which is, by the way, beautiful. One of these nights.

Summer is moving right along at a clip that makes my head spin, which is strange because I haven't been busy. My mood is such that I'm happy at home with a book, a recipe, a puzzle, a cat, a nap, a chat, or the peace and quiet. Perhaps, that's why I'm dizzy...I'm frantic over all the things I'm missing. That's not it though...I'm a JOMO not a FOMO girl and I always say yes to the things I really want to do.

Things like Windmill Beach on July 4th. The weather was meh, but the company was good and the fireworks went off as planned. It's my favorite to sit on the beach and see the displays from all the little and not so little towns along the shore to the north and to the south. This slightly foggy, almost chilly night, the beach was lined with bonfires too. Cue the kumbaya.

Things like reading until I drift off no matter the time of day or night. I finished Whistler and immediately went deep into a book hangover. I loved these characters and the ending was just right, but still I wanted the story to go on. I tried to finish the last section of The Chronology of Water, but I have lost traction with the disjointed story and the stomach for the visceral everything. Upon Dani Shapiro's rec, I ordered Dog Days. It finally arrived, but it is another kaleidoscopic recounting that asks for more attention than I'm up for at present. It's summer. I want a summer read.

Things like cooking simply and seasonally. The Sour Cherry Galette is on repeat at Casa Wags, and probably will be until I make one for everyone I know, or cherry season ends. In fact, tomorrow I'm going to buy the market out and freeze all the containers I can. I made the biggest batch of herby ranch ever for Lily recently. It's quickly disappearing. That being said...dinner most nights is cheese and crackers, an egg or two, or a bowl of cereal with lots of fresh cut fruit.

These days the cribbage board lives on the kitchen island and a crossword puzzle is always making the rounds. My bed rarely gets made and the laundry sits clean, but unfolded in baskets around the house. Most mornings I roll out of bed rested at the last possible minute, put my hair up, rinse off, and take my warm lemon water and iced cold brew to go in record time. When I want something sweet, I grab a handful of cherries, and once in awhile a good old-fashioned dreamsicle or ice cream bar. These can also be dinner btw. Life is simple, the days are long and the living is easy.

 

 

Grateful Friday

Today I give thanks for...

My country. Yep, I'm going to say it because while it's not fashionable, it's true and whether you admit it or not...you know it, or most the world wouldn't want to come here. I've never shied away from acknowledging our flaws, but the people are not the problem. The politicians are. Red and blue and now commie red too. I'll save that narrative for another time. This weekend is for celebrating and that is what I intend to do.

 

My first morning view and a houseful of cats. All 4 are accounted for.

 

Crossing paths with a doe on our walk this morning and that we made it home just as the rain started.

 

 

A book that makes me excited to get up and to go to bed. Anne Patchett's characters are so full of grace.

 

Whipping up steak fajitas for dinner at 10 o'clock because that's when they come. Impromptu, but fresh and delicious and together.

 

Finally getting rid of the ridiculous chair and a half, which was always too big for our cozy family room and usually always empty because it's not practical for a gathering. We replaced it with two low profile chairs that make much more sense and are a better use of the space.

 

Room for two.

 

 Knowing who is boss. The cozy basket is the most coveted spot. The cave is second.

 

Summer things. Icy Arnold Palmer's, crisp grapes that pop when you bite into them, pop-up storms, hydrangeas as big as my head, Kopp's custard even for dinner, beer gardens for happy hour, farmer's markets, outdoor concerts, butterflies by day and fireflies after dark, pretty toes, no shoes, and freedom. 

 

 

sometimes a towel is not just a towel..

 

We've had the same set of bright striped beach towels for eighteen years. My mom bought everyone in the family their own signature color combo for our last annual family lake vacation. Her towel went mostly unused. She slept the better part of the week away. Her body was betraying her and I can only imagine the state of her spirit after being told days before that there was nothing more to do, but enjoy her final weeks. It was a missive we all found daunting, but we tried. We tried for Lily and Teddy who were 4 and 7 at the time. We tried for my mom who was equal parts stoic and scared as she was slipping away. We tried for our own self-preservation because life in those final, fragile weeks was a fever dream. One we hoped and prayed to wake up from. There would be no Thank God...that was just a dream though.

My memories of that week at Power's Lake are complicated. No shit! I just scrolled through the pics to find the image above and I don't trust our smiles we wore. I viscerally remember the unbearable pain behind them. The remnants of which are just one of the samskaras I own.

I held on to those towels because in some way I felt my mom was still with us. They were an homage to her and her beloved family lake vacays. But eventually they were misplaced or retired and only three remained. Today I decided it was time to order new beach towels, and I'm telling you it was not an easy decision.

I miss my mom but a towel is not going to change that. 

 

Mom's towel with one of the hats she wore to protect her bald head that week. 

The Glad Game

I almost cannot believe I didn't mention the weather in yesterday's post. Don't worry...back to regular programming. It's cat on a hot tin roof scorching. It's supposed to be. It's almost July. I'm not a heat seeker, but I'm going to Windmill Beach this weekend and Lake Michigan is still in the refreshing 50's so a little hot air is all good to tease the cold plunge swimming will be. I'm feeling extra patriotic this 250th birthday. And while we are still a baby nation, we should be mostly proud of what we have achieved in our infancy. We're on a precarious precipice without doubt, but this is not the time to cut down and divide...it's a time to celebrate, lift up and look ahead with a shared resolve to mend and grow. And to notice that we are better than this dumpster fire we can't seem to extinguish.

This morning when I opened the blind, I was greeted by the best sign of hope. Our resident bluebird was perched on the telephone wire seemingly looking right at me. I decided then and there that I was going to channel my inner Polyanna all day and maybe all week. I'm playing the Glad Game.

By the time I made it downstairs to make my mug of hot lemon water, which I have neglected lately for my new iced coffee obsession, the cranes were in the yard at their watering hole. They are the coolest creatures. The other day I went to put some seed down for them and they started to approach me from the middle of the yard. I was a couple feet from them, which was surreal. Mike and I laugh that we are are now those people who fuss over the birds in the yard.

It was a short day in the office for me. I'm not feeling work much this week. It's a good thing the rest of the world seems to share that sentiment. If it were up to me, there would be shut-downs the weeks of the 4th, Thanksgiving and Christmas through New Years. Luckily I have the flexibility now to make that happen, but for the better part of my working years, if the stock market was trading, I was working. Life is so much better now.

I came home early to snuggle Hazel and start Anne Patchet's new novel, Whistler. My parents brought it as a hostess gift on Father's Day and I have to say that a new book is my new favorite treat for having a party. I was in after just a couple pages. I'm going to have to show restraint so that I can bring it to the beach this weekend along with our new cabana towels, my sour cherry tart, and the ingredients for refreshing transfusions, my summer drink.

 

 

Answers

What brings me here? Nothing in particular and everything. Capisce? 

I was one of those English major geeks who decorated my mortar board with a literary quote. It was fitting because what I did not know thirty-five years ago was how often Zora Neale Hurston's words would give me comfort, pause, purpose. She wrote, "There are years that ask questions and years that answer." These words have stood the test of time.

Saturday I reunited with an old friend who was like a sister to me after what we agreed was a fifteen year hiatus. I wasn't apprehensive because I was sure that we'd pick up as if no time has passed. I didn't just know her. I understood her. She got me too...the good, the bad and the ugly. I had faith that that kind of knowing remains. I was right.

Over the past decade and a half, I thought about her now and then (usually when I was cooking) and had an idea of how she was from her cousin who I would see periodically. I often thought, I should reach out, but I didn't. I didn't until a couple months ago when I saw something on Instagram and decided it was silly to be living on the periphery. I'm grateful I got over my ego. Ego was never a thing with us so why was I making it a thing? It was time to stop asking but, what if and just act. This past weekend...my question was answered.

That's the real beauty of this well done middle spot I'm in. Time is a commodity and knowing this and also finally myself, well...what can I say...I'm answering questions with a clarity and certainty that was elusive when I was younger and definitely not wiser. 

The other beauty of age is that instead of ruing and regretting the lost time, I'm jazzed we reconnected and buoyed by the fact I think we'll not pick up where we left off, but anew.

Something tells me this is going to be a year of answers because I'm ready for and open to them. That's a good place to be.