Take a Fall Road Trip

FROM WHERE I SIT      Take a Fall Road Trip    Sept. 24, 2012       Pat Spilseth

A road trip affords a traveler numerous views and experiences not available from an airplane.  Riding in my little Mazda Miata, Dave and I encountered pounding hail, drenching rain, warm sunshine, and tree leaves turning yellow and orange with brilliant splashes of red sumac.  I didn’t have to take off my shoes and jacket, remove the computer from my luggage, and have my body scanned either by some uniformed guard or that tube machine.  What freedom a road trip grants its riders!

This past week we decided to celebrate our anniversary with a road trip.  We ventured into Wisconsin with its stands of stately pine and birch trees along the interstate and drove through rolling farm fields where the corn and beans looked good.  Traveling the back roads, we rode through little towns, each with its own beer joints where folks gather daily for a glass of foam and ale plus the requisite Friday night fish fry.  It had been years since I’d had tasty, deep fried perch and fries with cole slaw and a pickle.  My cholesterol meter went into overdrive!  The neighborhood taverns reminded me of the TV program “Cheers” where Clint and Norm had their reserved bar stools to chat with Coach and Sam, the baseball hero, with Diane slinging one-liners and her coy smile.  We were the “outsiders”.  Other patrons rolled dice and knew each other’s names.

Peninsula Players was featuring the play “Lombardi” at their playhouse.  This Big Voiced, strong personality strut and stormed his mighty way through his players, wife, and any journalist brave enough to confront the famed coach.  We sat next to true Packer fans in their green and gold jackets and caps, bundled in a hand-knit, red, white and blue afghan keeping their knees toasty warm.  The play is coming to Mpls. later this fall. 

Door County is filled with gift shops, restaurants, B& B’s, and numerous galleries.  We met several artists I’d known years ago on the art circuit who had sold their wares in my shops called “next?”  As we viewed pottery, glassware, wood, leather work, and paintings, it was fun to encounter artists I’d known years ago and see their current work.  It’s not an easy way to make a living as an artist, hauling displays and art work around the country to sell, but it’s a rewarding life for many.

We traveled down Hwy 42 through Door County into Green Bay, Manitowoc, and Sheboygan, where I had lived for several years.  Downtown, the 1873 Victorian building, which my business partner and I had purchased in the ‘70’s, has been completely restored by its new owners, a bank.  The cream brick, three-story building had new windows and a beautiful fresh tri-color paint job.  My business partner and I had restored the first floor and had the brick building tuck-pointed, but installing an elevator and completing the top two floors was too expensive.  However, our restoration earned an honored plaque from the National Historic Registry in Washington, DC.  Current staff offered to take us through the building and gave us copies of the building’s history since the 1800’s.  Our grand tour felt like I was meeting a grown-up child.

Our friend Auds in Sheboygan took us to Bookworm Gardens, an amazing outdoor display of favorite children’s books.   Bookworm Gardens has been created solely through large and small donations.  One admirer said, “Bookworm Gardens is exactly what’s right with the world.  It’s peaceful, whimsical, educational, imaginative, thoughtful and so perfect for families to spend a few hours exploring, reading, and bonding.”  We saw Peter Rabbit’s garden and the construction of The Secret Garden, Mama, Papa and Baby Bears’ chairs, the Three Little Pigs’ straw, wood, and brick houses,  the barn of Charlotte’s Web, the Magic School Bus with its fairy flying wings, kids giving Harry the Dirty Dog a bath, and a humongous tin pipe snake with knobs and buttons crawling down a tree.

The Kohler Company gifted the John Michael Kohler Arts Center to the local community.  In addition to many gallery displays, the lovely historic home has amazing bathrooms that I’ve never seen in any other facility.  The Women’s Room features over 2000 carved, cast relief, and hand-painted tiles depicting playful interpretations of women’s roles alongside colorful women’s undergarments, hats, shoes, handbags, shoes from the past 150 years.  The Women’s Room is just one of six artist-made washrooms at the Arts Center.

In Madison, we visited the gift shop which our friend Leslie manages at the Museum of Contemporary Arts.  Students, parents, tourists, and business folk are frequent customers of the well-chosen displays of handmade pottery, jewelry, gloves, purses, menorahs, paper products, and glassware, including several pieces by world-renown glass artist Dale Chihuly.   

Driving into the countryside we arrived in Briggsville where Leslie and Bill have their own pottery studio and home in the woods by a creek.  Amidst dogs, six cats (who can open doors), and frogs, is a cozy kitchen where we ate and chatted near a potter’s wheel and kiln, drying pots, slips and glazes, a quilting table, sewing machine, drafting table, and orchids.  Life at their country home is a constant menagerie of people, animals, interesting objects, and activities.  It’s a vastly different life than our life on a Minnesota lake in Suberbia.  What a fabulous trip!  899 words

Everything's Falling Apart!

FROM WHERE I SIT             Falling Apart!               August 1, 2012 pat  spilseth

Everything around me is falling apart!  Seems it all comes at once.  My dear little Buddy, our loveable family Beagle, has had his third cortisone shot and is on two pain pills, but he continues to hunch his back and cry with pain.  If Dave or I could sit all day giving Buddy back rubs, crooning pet phrases of comfort, Buddy might find solace.  We thank all of you who have responded to my columns with sympathetic notes and hopes for Buddy’s recovery. However, not only Buddy is breaking down.  This weekend my oven of 15 years stopped heating, and my cheesecake fell.  I was expecting company for dinner.  When Dave suggested baking the cake on the grill outside, the pan slid forward and the cheesecake fell apart, coating the grill’s burners with sugar, eggs and cream cheese.  We soaked the grill with buckets of water; eventually  we were able to grill yummy, marinated chicken.  We had an ice cream dessert Then my dryer went on the fritz!  The pilot light continued to burn, but the machine wouldn't tumble, tossing and drying the hundreds of towels I wash and dry weekly.  I’m washerwoman for our son Andy's Tidyboat business.  Business is booming this hot, humid summer: everyone wants a clean boat to cool off in on weekends at the lake.  Meanwhile, my laundry room is filled with wet, sopping towels. We own a handsome white Audi, our newest car (of 1999 vintage) which “Fast Eddie”, our NY brother-in-law sold to us.  Lately, its lights are flashing red on the dashboard and there’s a chugging sound in the rear.  Something or maybe MANY THINGS are falling apart.  We limped the car to our favorite mechanic Mr. Love, where it is still waiting for a "used" part.   Buy American!  These foreign car parts are expensive!  We thought we had learned our lesson when Eddie sold us a Saab, which a deer crashed into.  When we brought it in for repairs to the Saab dealer, the mechanics came out to give a diagnosis in white coats.  We thought they might be doctors.  Nope, but they doctored our Saab at unaffordable prices.   Since the weather is so hot and our sprinkler system irrigates the fast-griwubg lawn, Dave has to mow more often.  When he tried to pull the cord on our "used" mower (which we purchased on Craigslist at a very good price), it wouldn't start.  It didn't matter how often he pulled or how long he waited between pulls, it wouldn't start.  Presently, he's surfing Craigslist on the internet, for a new mower.  We’re rapidly going through cash this month.  Now the sprinkler system’s timer just busted!  Uffda!  Rain, please start watering our lawn and fill up the lake! We own a rental house near the university where Andy went to school.  He was a terrific house father to his buddies, but we’ve had fewer calls from irate neighbors and police reports since we've been renting to girls.  With the females present, we no longer have to replace busted doors, windows, and holes in the walls, but after three years of girls, the dishwasher decided to quit.   Dave is on Craigslist almost daily.  We checked out three models, finally finding a good-looking "used" stainless steel, quiet machine for a good price.  Actually, it looked so good we decided to "gift" our household dishwasher to the rental house and install the good-looking machine in our kitchen, where it's presently working just fine…and it's quite quiet. Could most of these breakdowns be occurring because we buy "USED" merchandise at good prices?  Personally, I love my Assistance League Thrift Shop sweats, T-shirts and jeans, which are not stiff; they’re broken in comfortably by its first owner.  But we'll think a lot longer before buying another foreign car, even if its mileage is said to be under 100,000 miles.  I don’t think owners can turn back those miles any more, can they?  As of today, we own 4 cars with a total of 537,985 miles on them.  I’m hopeful my sporty convertible, a silver Miata with a red racing stripe, will still be running when it hits 200,000 miles. At this point, many of you readers have probably come to the conclusion that my husband does not believe in buying new.  I haven’t had a new car since I was single over 30 years ago!   My hubby depicts himself as a conservative, in politics as well as his spending habits.  Some might say he’s frugal, perhaps even cheap at times.  A subscriber to The Tightwad Gazette, Dave’s a pro at buying “used” things cheap.  Neighbors, PLEASE, when he appears at your garage sales, send him home! Fast Eddie will continue to be our personal car salesman with the best "used" car deals. Though Craigslist may offer the best buys for lawn mowers, dishwashers, dryers and washers, I must say, when it comes to Buddy, the Beagle we love so totally, we’ll always take Dr. Roshar’s advice for meds and treatment.  When Dave had back pain, we learned that pinched nerves and bulging discs don't repair themselves quickly.  Meanwhile, we'll sit and talk to Buddy, petting him and giving him meds and back rubs.  879 words

NEW writing class "Tell Me A Story" in Wayzata

WRITERS’ CIRCLE “TELL ME A STORY”

“Once Upon A Time...  Stories help us understand problems, empathize with others and develop strategies for tackling life.  Stories are where the troubles of human existence get worked out. Stories communicate social values that the community lives by. 

Our memories become a cumulative story:  Storytelling minds are factories churning out true stories when possible, manufacturing embellished truths when it can’t.  Stories make us human.

Join my fun, four week writing class, “TELL ME A STORY”.  This class will push you out of mud holes you get stuck in, and you’ll be joined by amiable writing companions.  Let me provide weekly prompts, motivating you to write short stories which can be compiled into a memoir or chapbook.  The class will offer optional assignments, deadlines, and critiques promoting polished drafts ready for publication. Publication opportunities will be provided. 

This class is a workshop for writers who want to “move on” with their writing.  Don’t be “stuck” any more!   Get rid of flat, dull characters, listless plots, and easy to anticipate outcomes.  Dump melodramatic, unrealistic actions and scenes.  Turn on to dialogue that “nails” the character.  Word choice and sentence construction will be emphasized.  In a playful, risk-free way, we’ll be using objects, music, memories, art, nature, and food to expand our senses

Pat Spilseth, weekly columnist & published writer, offers a new writing class:

“TELL ME A STORY” is open to those who wish to tell their stories

Class meets September 5, 12, 19, & Oct.3

Class will meet at 3233 Casco Circle, Wayzata, 6-9PM

We’ll share a light, potluck meal, ideas & writing in Pat’s home.

Cost $95.00 payable to Pat Spilseth, 3233 Casco Circle, Wayzata, MN 55391

RSVP to participate in class by Sept. 1, 2012.

**Warm up with a walk in the woods, watch the lake from a dock or the clouds from your lawn chair.  Play with images.  Look for objects in the woods or in the house that attract you.  Enjoy writing your observations for five minutes.. 

Dreaming of COOLNESS

Driving around the lake yesterday I saw a few tree leaves with tinges of red.  Is fall coming or are they distressed trees proclaiming their protests to this hot, humid weather? 

Friends tell me, “I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving.  I can’t wait for the snow to fly.  At least I can put more clothes on.” 

There is a limit to how much clothing one can shed.  A neighbor, living behind stockade fences, gardens, and pine trees, enjoys watering her plants in her underwear.  but how many of us have foliage to shelter our almost-naked bodies from unexpected visitors?  Dave was out in the neighborhood campaigning for his political favorites when he entered the neighbor’s sanctuary.  His eyes spotted a seemingly nude figure watering her plants: he did an about face and ran.  That would have been an embarrassing encounter for both parties.  I doubt he would have gained her political support.

Even my brain is sluggish along with my lethargic body.  No matter how much ice water I consume, or how often I dive into the lake, I can’t get my groove back; I have no energy.  The lake feels like bath water, but if I dunk my head under the water numerous times and remain in my wet swim suit, life feels better.

Dreaming, I’m planning my Thanksgiving table with a big, fat turkey and all the trimmings.  I’ll serve Mom’s delectable cranberry cake with the butter-rum frosting oozing over each piece.  The Thanksgiving platter, chips and all, will be placed in the center of the table which will be covered with the once-a-year cloth purchased in Provence, France.  We’ll invite scads of guests to enjoy the feast and play games afterwards.  Buddy will attempt to catch any tidbits falling from our plates.  All will have stuffed tummies and enjoy a nap following the meal.

Sweaters and corduroys, wool skirts and thick socks, skates and cross-country skis fill my dreams.   Cooling off improves my moods and my body feels better simply dreaming of cold nights and flannel PJ’s.  Christmas music will flood the house and I’ll start planning my Christmas tree trimmings.

As the torrid sun beats through my windows, I can feel my body sweating.  It’s back to reality.  It’s 92 degrees outside.  The lake is not filled with swimmers and boaters.  It’s too hot and humid.  When will summer come to an end and we can enjoy the coolness of fall breezes and wool clothing?

When To Say Goodbye?

Beloved pets are not humans.  I realize that.  But humans and dogs, cats, and other pets hurt and suffer with pain like humans.  We don’t have living wills for pets, but caring pet owners face difficult decisions when told the pet needs an operation.  And the operation may not be successful; there are no guarantees the pet will recover and health will return.    

How long should a pet owner let the beloved pet endure pain?  Each of us hopes that in time they will get well.  How old does a pet have to be before the operation seems too difficult when the pet has to be put under anesthesia?  What chances are there for the pet’s recovery?  What expense is too much?  Every decision seems to have a question mark attached. 

When is it time to say good bye to our beloved animals? 

My family faces these questions today.  Buddy, our frisky Beagle, our good friend, is in pain.  Usually, he’s such a happy, energetic, loving dog.  Buddy loves to chase squirrels, butterflies, birds, even chipmunks...they tease him, then begins the chase where they easily get away from Buddy.  The chase is a delight, and the possibility of catching the teaser totally tantalizes our Beagle.  And he never gives up!  Quitting is not in Buddy’s vocabulary. 

Buddy is a determined, action dog, ready to move at the slightest noise.  His Beagle howl is well known throughout our neighborhood, though as he’s aged, he doesn’t vocalize as much.  At eight years old, our small dog Buddy is now in middle-age, approximately 54 human years.  He’s much more demure; he’s content to quietly keep guard over the lawn from his perch on a stuffed lawn chair on the deck.

Buddy is not a watch dog.  If someone or something invades his personal territory, he’s quick to acknowledge another’s presence with a little woof; that’s it.  If the invader is bearing any morsel of food, his tag begins wagging exuberantly; he jumps off his perch and rushes to greet the invader.  He’s a marshmallow dog when it comes to protection.  Treats, lunch, and dinner are some of his favorite vocabulary words.

But his reckless energy got the better of Buddy last week   Tiny chippies were hiding in the hosta plants bordering our deck.  Scurrying in and out through the thick green leaves, the noisy chippies were enjoying their play time.  They teased Beagle, begging him to begin the chase.  Buddy rose to his full stature, stood on all fours, howled his signature Beagle howl and dashed for the hosta-hiding chippies.  Leaping and soaring 3 foot over the thick, green plants, he landed on the lawn inclining to the lake.  Checking both ways, he inspected the territory and began the hunt with noisy sniffs for the scent in the lawn.  Buddy on a mission to hunt the invading varmints.

When Buddy landed, he must have jarred his body.  His neck became painfully stiff; it hurt to raise his head.  Dr. Roshar, our neighborhood veterinarian, tells us Buddy’s neck and back are similar to human’s troublesome backs.  Sometimes the discs in our back are crushed and the pain becomes unbearable.  Buddy couldn’t lift his head; he began having trouble walking up and down stairs.  He wasn’t interested in eating, not even treats when I hand fed him.  His right front paw drooped, and his front leg became lame. He cried when I picked him up to go to the vet.  Nerve pain radiated from his neck into his front leg.  He had trouble lying down to rest.  He began to favor his left side to lie on.  Buddy was miserable.  So were Mom and Dad!

And Buddy started to cry.  Remember how agonizing it was to hear your baby cry?  Well, Buddy’s cries have my husband and me running to him, gently massaging his neck and back, offering water and treats,  murmuring comforting words. 

We just returned from our second visit to the vet in a week.  Dr Roshar cautioned us that perhaps the cortisone shots and prednisone pills would not be effective.  Further options are an animal chiropractor or back surgery.  There are no guarantees that Buddy will return to his former frisky loving personality.  He’s aging... 

Neighbors, distant friends, and family call and email inquiring how Buddy is feeling.  He’s loved by so many people and his dog friends Sailor, Sunny, Dallas, Fletcher, Luna and Yankee.   The questions remain: do we let our dog friend be put under for an operation?  Will this latest shot help?  What if the shots and meds don’t work?  Should we risk an operation?  Is it time to say goodbye to our much loved Buddy?  

FROM WHERE I SIT   Neighborhood Fourth of July July 4, 2012       pat spilseth

This is the place to be on the Fourth of July.  Much like many small towns in Minnesota, my neighborhood has established a great tradition.  Kids, grandkids, aunts, uncles, and grandparents come from far and close by to be here on the Fourth.  Flags fly from every mailbox in our neighborhood; loud patriotic music is piped from speakers encouraging biker riders to round Casco Point at breakneck speeds; people dress in patriotic colors , and  kids race to the candy site...it’s another annual Fourth of July celebration on Casco Point.

Several neighbors are decked out as Uncle Sam, colorful residents appear with tall top hats and flag sun glasses. Gals dress themselves in flag shirts and sparkling T-shirts with patriotic necklaces in glittering stars.  Kids are the big attraction: this is THEIR event of the year!  Every kid from teeny babies in strollers to little ones with training wheels and the almost-teens, decorate their bicycles and wagons with flags, hats, sunglasses and patriotic shirts and shorts.

We know how to celebrate in this neighborhood!  This year a wailing fire truck was filled with kids, sweating adults waving fans, and resident dogs.  Several smiling junior Miss Casco Pointers rode in a convertible with mom and nana.  We were among the many appreciative neighbors who arrived early to set up lawn chairs for perfect parade viewing.  The neighborhood’s presence is counted on by all the parade participants.  We clap and yell, flinging candy at the participants and offer rolls and cooling fans to beat the heat and humidity.

This was the hottest, most humid Fourth of July in memory...and we’ve been celebrating JULY FOURTH in this manner for over thirty years.  The party planning began with long-time residents whose grandparents lived on the Point.  Today, it’s been passed on to younger moms as our kids grew out of the bicycling and candy fighting stage of life.  Moms still push babies in strollers with flags fluttering.  Kids still decorate their bicycle wheels with red, white and blue crepe paper strung between the spokes of the wheels; golf carts and convertibles continue to feature pretty girls, hovering parents and doting grandparents.  Even a horse marched in the parade a few years back.

Lawn chairs are set up early on

Casco Circle

for neighbors to view the parade, drink coffee and eat rolls.  Neighbors here enjoy getting together.  It’s a perfect time to meet new neighbors as well as reacquaint with grownup neighbor kids.  We toss appreciated candy at the parade participants who pedal around the Circle numerous times to collect more candy into their bulging pockets and mouths.

The parade is an annual event all of us look forward to.  It’s a valued Casco Point tradition.  Several neighborhood kids who have grown up on Casco Point now have children of their own who participate.  We love to see the resemblance of neighbors’ faces in their grandchildren.  This is Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegon country “where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.”

So many kids and relatives returned this year for the parade, swimming and fireworks, including our daughter Kate and our Mexican son-in-law Bernardo.  He turned out in an Uncle Sam top hat, red, white and blue sunglasses, flags and fan.  Kate, as always, loves to celebrate and arrived in a red, white and blue outfit.  Son Andy remembered his bicycling days on the Point and chuckled at the exuberance of neighbor’s grandkids.

This is a generous neighborhood that enjoys getting together.  Neighbors host an annual party of brats and hotdogs, potluck goodies and revelers who appear yearly to celebrate.  Lawn golf, volleyball, an open pool and some cooling lake breezes are always available.  Sparklers and fireworks are saved for the evening.  Cascading stars and exploding colors can be seen from at least four locations at our screened porch and dock.  Hundreds of boats, kayaks, water skiers, and floats make their way out to Big Island for parties while other revelers find spots on the various bays of the lake to view the exploding show once darkness falls.  We sit on the deck surveying the parade of boats jockeying for a position as they stream through the Narrows passage from the Upper Lake to the Lower Lake.  It’s a mish-mash of boats, their operators hoping to avoid a collision and arrest.  That would put a damper on the celebration.

July is the perfect time to celebrate the freedoms we enjoy here in the United States of America.  Independence Day, our nation’s birthday is important to remember.  I hope our children will always learn that our ancestors paid a price, often with their lives, for the freedoms we enjoy.  Freedom and independence aren’t gifts for people everywhere.  806

Backyard Enchantment

FROM WHERE I SIT             Backyard Enchantment June 19, 2012  Pat Spilseth

When summer arrives in full bloom, there’s a special kind of enchantment.  Summer breezes smell extra fine.  Grass feels softer.  Waves gently lick the shore.  Hammocks swing slowly between backyard trees, and we fall into a deep sleep.

Remember when your mom told you to go out and play?  You did.  Kids got up a backyard ball game and played ante ante over the shed storing rakes and mowers, winter skis, skates and toboggans.  Little tykes blew bubbles through the wire wand of the bubble bottle, chasing them in until they burst far up in the clouds.  Some created plays on backyard stages.  You stayed outside all day long until the supper whistle blew, then raced home to eat with the family at the kitchen table. 

Do people still take time to enjoy relaxing in their backyards?  I hope so, but with both Mom and Dad working; the kids in day care or school, and grandparents living many miles away...who uses their backyards anymore?  Kids’ schedules are crammed with supervised lessons in every sport, music and language.   Do children today have free time to play?  Is the backyard another sign of oblivion like the front porch? 

When I was a kid, we used to play dress up with neighbors’ cast off hats, trailing bridal veils, and bridesmaids’ bouffant, pastel dresses.  We paraded with measured steps, pretending to be part of a wedding party. Some backyards had a swing set and a slide.  Jeanie Zimma’s grandparents had a play house in their yard for us to have tea parties and play with our dolls.  My backyard had a sweeping, weeping willow tree where I would sit with my pals on a high branch, lean back against another branch, and swap tales.  No parent or neighbor could see up through the leafy tendrils hanging to the ground.  How cool the shade felt on hot summer days sitting in the tree sharing our dreams.

When Dad was sheriff, my backyard at our jail home was across the street from the red brick Lutheran church.   Kids would gather before choir practice and confirmation classes to roll down our huge, grassy hill, squealing with delight.  We’d pick dandelions and braid the yellow weeds into crowns. Lazy summer afternoons we’d stretch out on the sweet smelling grass and search for four leaf clovers to bring good luck.  If we were lucky, we’d find one or two, press them into the thick Webster Dictionary, and save them in a special box.  On the cement sidewalk, we’d draw hopscotch squares with chalk and jump from one block to the other, scattering those nasty, sandy ant hills with our white tennis shoes. 

Mom’s laundry was hung on our backyard clothes lines on Monday, her designated wash day.  Her clothes pin bucket was a tiny dress whose skirt held the wooden clothespins anchoring clothing to the lines strung between metal posts.  White bed sheets flapped on the two outside lines; panties, slips and bras, BVD underwear, night gowns, and pajamas were hung on the inside line.  No one was supposed to see these “unmentionables”.  

We created a camp out tent by pinning Dad’s gray, wool, army blankets to the clothesline.  Though we wanted to spend the night outdoors, often we got too scared or rambunctious in the tent telling ghost stories.  The pins holding the tent would pop, and the blankets collapse on giggling girls underneath.  When we remembered that the jail prisoners were only a few feet from our tent, it spooked us.  Our imaginations, the starry black night, and those unidentifiable monster sounds frightened us so thoroughly by midnight that we’d abandon our tent and run to the safety of the back door. 

Mom and her friends enjoyed coffee and cookies while they visited in the backyard’s metal lawn chairs, which could get blistering hot.  The soft grass cooled our feet, especially after the Courthouse caretaker Herman Quist mowed the lawn, making the air sweetly scented with newly mown grass.  His helper, friendly Lee Sorset, would often stop to visit with us until Herman appeared; then Lee tried to look busy once more.

Dad liked to relax with a cigarette in the evening.  He sat in a lawn chair in the backyard watching the traffic on

Minnewaska Avenue

.  He could see who was walking down the sidewalks towards downtown, veterans going in for a drink at the Legion Hall, someone being booked at the police station, and ambulances bringing bodies to Hoplin’s Funeral Home.   We had quite the view!

Sitting in the backyard on Sunday mornings, we could see who was coming to church services at Glenwood Lutheran Church.  Of course, we also noted who wasn’t coming to church.  It was a thrill to watch brides in their veils and long white gowns, bridesmaids with their big skirts and bouquets, and the groomsmen in their black tuxedoes.   Photographer Vernon Hegg would shoot pictures of the guests throwing rice at the bridal couple.  I loved hearing the couple’s car with tin cans and noisemakers attached making a huge racket as they drove away for their honeymoon.

As a kid, possibilities seemed endless when it came to wasting away a summer day.  Finding a soft patch of grass under a tree to lie on my back, I’d gaze dreamily into the floating clouds in the sky.  English politician John Lubbock wrote, “Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under the trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.”

I love perfect summer days in my backyard, hearing neighbor’s grandkids laughing as they jump off the dock into the lake.  Summer doesn’t last forever... Take time to dial back to those empty days of a simpler time.  Give yourself the luxury of enjoying summer in your backyard. 991