In Season

When I was four we moved to a house that had a peach tree in the backyard, and so summer mornings meant padding outside barefoot in our pajamas to choose a perfectly ripe peach to eat, warm and juicy, for breakfast. A couple years later blight forced my parents to take the tree down, but to be honest, I mourn it still.

Peaches are the one fruit that I refuse to buy out of season. The apple is admirable in its longevity, berries and asparagus from South America, while not preferable, are edible, and I can even work with those hard greenish tomatoes, but crunchy winter, sour spring, or mealy fall peaches? No thank you.

Today on our trip north from Atlanta, we made a peach pit stop. It's usually easy to pass those well-advertised places by, knowing that most of the their inventory is limited to pickled peaches, peach preserves, peach cider, and peach pecan syrup, but early July in South Carolina? Irresistible! We bought a big basket of small freestone peaches and placed them carefully on the backseat so that for the next 450 miles the scent of fresh peaches occasionally drifted up front. When we stopped for gas, I ate two, standing in the warm evening air and dripping sweet juice onto the pavement, and well-sustained and very satisfied, I drove the rest of the way home.

It's Relative

Age difference can be a tricky thing. Whether we are considering siblings, students in a grade, friends, or spouses, a couple or twelve years can definitely shape the relationship. What makes things interesting is that usual complicating variable-- relativity, particularly of the human kind. There is no recipe for perfection, and any age difference can work for or against you. My father was one of eight siblings in his family; there were seven boys and one sister; he was the second youngest, she was the second oldest, and yet, as adults, they were closest to each other.

Who knows why? Certainly, as we get older, age differences that once seemed insurmountable become much more workable. On my team of teachers, we have people ranging in age from 25 to 63, but we all do the same job, and for the most part, we work well together. Contrast that to a conversation I overheard one day shortly before the end of the school year. It was the annual visit of the next year's students, so for two days, we had fifth graders and their teachers touring the halls and peeking in our classrooms, trying to get a feel for middle school. One of the girls in my class recognized a boy from her elementary school. "I always thought he was kind of cute," she said to the girl next to her.

Her friend looked at her in disbelief. "Omigah! You are such a cougar!"

Paying It Forward

Around the same time that we were having treasure hunts on rainy days, courtesy of my mom, Saturday mornings were spent under the care of my dad while my mother taught religion classes at our church. He always fried bacon, cut oranges into eighths, and served us coffee with lots of milk and sugar. He would also use all the furniture cushions and some blankets to help us make forts in the living room where we would eat our bacon and oranges, drink our coffee, and peek out to watch cartoons on TV.

As I write, Richard and Annabelle are camped out on top of their bed pillows, surrounded by couch cushions with a Diego blanket draped over the top, and watching Scooby Doo on the iPad. It is a pretty impressive structure, if I do say so myself. Thanks, Dad.

Timeless Pursuit

When we were very young, before we could read even, my mom had a special game for rainy days when we were stuck in the house. On small folded pieces of paper, she drew pictures of certain pieces of furniture in our house. Then she would set up a treasure hunt. Each of us would start with a different clue and then make our way from landmark to landmark until at the end we would find a prize, usually just a cookie or some other treat. That activity always lifted the gloom from any stormy day.

There's something about a hunt, whether scavenger, treasure, or other, that captures the imagination. Yesterday, when we arrived in Atlanta for our four day visit with my sister's family, one of the first things that Richard wanted to do was to "make a treasure hunt." At almost six, he had some complex ideas about hiding and seeking treasure, and even though I immediately recalled my mother's version, we played his way, and it was fun. This afternoon, though, as the threatening rain clouds ultimately gave way to thunder, lightning, and even some heavy rain, I sat down with a pencil and some slips of colored paper, and sketched a few of the more easily recognizable cardinal points in the house. Next I placed them carefully just as I remembered my mother doing, and then I handed Richard the first clue, and off he went on a hunt for treasure through his very own home. It was as big a hit with him and his three-and-a-half year old sister, Annabelle, as I remember it being with us.

I was a little worried that the kids wouldn't recognize my drawings, but they did pretty well.

"That's my hamper!" Annabelle exclaimed, looking at one of the clues.

"No, it's the basket in the dining room," I gently corrected her.

"That is her hamper," my sister told me, "I just haven't put it away, yet."

"I know just what this is," Richard assured me a few minutes later with a confident grin as he scanned another of the clues, "I've lived here a long time." And with that, he dashed off in search of treasure.

Well, If You Put it THAT Way

I was feeling impatient with my pasty white fellow guests as we tried to check out of the hotel this morning. The place was built some time in the early 80's and consists of studio- style rooms with kitchenettes and balconies. Each unit is independently owned and therefore individually furnished and decorated, and let's just say that our studio was a little dated and worn. I don't think that was true of all the accommodations, but the establishment itself had a bit of a cut-rate air to it. Take, for example, the free continental breakfast for two: an apple, an orange, a plastic-wrapped cheese Danish, and a pop tart, all stuffed into a small shopping bag. It reminded me of a cross between the bag lunches they used to give us in high school and the free breakfast my brother, sister, and I got in an economical hotel we stayed at in Israel: hard boiled eggs, breakfast treats, and tang.

The entire complex in Orlando had that sort of international bargain feel to it. I think Virgin Atlantic cut some kind of deal with the management, because the majority of folks that we ran into seemed to be solidly middle class British and Irish, hence the pallor I mentioned at the top of the post. There were several Asian families as well, not to mention many Spanish-speaking groups. It was kind of cool, but a little baffling to think that these people had traveled so far to visit... Orlando.

Well, that was my frame of mind, anyway, this morning in the 90 degree heat as I dodged groups of hotel patrons marching resolutely to this or that shuttle bus or pool, all the while trying to load the car. I was still a little grumbly as we made a last stop at the Whole Foods grocery to stock up on snacks before getting on the road to Atlanta. As we exited the store, a man approached us and handed us each a little card labeled "compassion exercise." in halting English, he asked us to read it.

The directions were simple: Choose a person who is a stranger to you and direct the following thoughts at them:

Just like me, this person is seeking some happiness in his/her life

Just like me, this person is trying to avoid suffering in his/her life

Just like me, this person has known sadness, loneliness, and despair.

Just like me, this person is seeking to fulfill his/her needs.

Just like me, this person is learning about life.

That put a different spin on my morning.

Five Lessons of the Day

Mango-avocado sushi rolls make an excellent breakfast.

Those little nylon bags with the strings that you can wear on your back are pretty damn handy.

They make child leashes that are like plush harnesses complete with a stuffed animal that rides piggyback.

Simulations are not as good as rides. Corollary: Old rides are not as good as simulations, but they have a certain nostalgic charm. (Ahem Jaws and ET)

It's a total buzz kill when the people ahead of you on the moving sidewalk stand still and block your way, especially when the people on foot pass you by.

Respecting the Line

Those theme park people really know their business. It was just a little after 8 AM that the shuttle from our hotel dropped us off at Universal Studios. Despite my misgivings, I felt my heart rate rise with the escalator that lifted us to the breezeway bridging the parking garages and the "City Walk." Moving sidewalks couldn't get us there quickly enough, and even in the harsh daylight, the neon lights were vibrant and exciting as loud music pounded from huge speakers and Carrie Underwood sang on a ginormous LCD screen overhead. We were practically giddy as we were swept along with the tide of tourists eager to enter Islands of Adventure.

And so the day progressed from there. Every detail in the park is well planned: the bathrooms are plentiful and clean, the lines are well marked with estimated wait times, and the baffles are all shaded, or even better, air-conditioned. Most rides with long waits have introductory sections that are actually an integral part of the attraction, for example Harry Potter's Forbidden Journey turnstiles you through the Great Hall, past the talking portrait marking the entry to the Gryffindor common room, and through Dumbledore's office, too. If it's possible, it almost seemed like our line moved a little too fast.

To be sure, it's a fine line between cheesy and cool, or between weird and cool, or creepy and cool, or almost anything and cool, but it is amazing how the most successful theme parks do cartwheels up and down those fine lines, ricocheting between meeting, disappointing, and, yes, even defying expectations to deliver something cool to almost everyone.