The Wave

For 15 years or so, our second car was a Jeep Wrangler. Really, the navy blue soft-top with flower magnets all over it was Heidi's car; she always wanted a Jeep, and although we used it sparingly, it was fun when we put the top down, turned the radio up, and blasted around town. Heidi did most of the driving, which was fine, because whenever I drove? I could never remember to do the Jeep wave.

For those who are unfamiliar, the Jeep wave is a real thing. Whenever one Jeep passes another, the drivers acknowledge each other, usually by nothing more than lifting the fingers of their right hand off the steering wheel. Now that you know, look around, you'll see Jeep drivers waving everywhere. But that didn't happen much when I was the driver, despite Heidi's frequent reminders. Half the time I don't think it even registered with me that I was driving a Jeep, much less notice other Jeeps coming my way.

No, I am a Subaru driver; I have been for the last 20 years, and I do actually notice other Subarus on the road. Back when we still had the Jeep, I used to tell Heidi that I was going to start a Subaru wave, because after all? Subarus are equally cool, right?

We revisited that conversation this afternoon as we rolled out of our complex in our Subaru to do a few errands. At the bottom of the hill we passed some neighbors returning home in their own Outback, and I waved as they passed. 

"Was that the Subaru wave?" Heidi asked.

"No," I answered, "it was Mike and Charlene."

"Is there a Subaru wave?" Heidi responded.

"No," I told her. "Remember? I was going to start one."

"That's right!" She laughed. "What was that going to look like again?"

"Something like," I rolled my right wrist forward three or four times, "Whoop dee doo for my Subaru!"

Heidi laughed again. "That's pretty good."

"I can't take credit for the slogan," I said. "Don't you remember that old commercial?"

She did not, and so when we stopped for gas, I googled it. Midas Mufflers, 1978: they were offering the same guarantee for "foreign cars" as they did for American cars, and the owners of these alien vehicles cheered. 

It's a great day for my Datsun.

a triumph for my Triumph

a victory for my Volvo

and of course the old lady in white gloves and hat who brings it home at the end

Whoop dee doo for my Subaru!

Hard Questions

We have been more careful since the emergence of the delta variant. Masks that we so blithely tossed aside in June are back in all our bags and pockets. And as I make my way about in the world (because I haven't returned to deliveries, yet) I notice who is wearing a mask, who is not, and where they are required again. 

Despite the governor's mandate for universal masking in schools, it seems like a foregone conclusion that most of us will be exposed and infected. Just tonight, a close friend and neighbor told us that she had been exposed through a co-worker. Her rapid test came back negative, but her experience reinforced the cold truth that unless we are willing to go back to hardcore social-distancing, how can we possibly expect to avoid infection?

Mighty Mites

Many reports of worse than usual mosquito bites have prompted some investigative journalism in these parts. A hyper-local web-based news outlet broke the theory that we are being plagued (YES! Another plague!) by oak mites, tiny, invisible insects who feed on cicada eggs and whose population is booming due to the emergence of Brood X.

When they fall, or are blown about in the hot, summer breeze, they bite! And those bites can trigger a vicious reaction-- welts and even bruises in some. I couldn't tell you the last time I had a mosquito bite; it's hard to say if I/m not bitten, or I don't have a reaction, but the same cannot be said about these oak mites. I have a bunch of itchy spots on my stomach and legs.

Our neighbor has had it much worse, though. Before the story broke, she went to urgent care at the end of July because of the bruises and itching she was suffering. "I'm not even walking around the neighborhood until snows!" she told us the other day.

"You'll miss the Halloween and Christmas lights," I reminded her, knowing how much she loves those.

"Okay!" she recanted, "until the first frost!"

That *mite* do it.

Things as they Are

Things seemed to be looking up back in June, when school was ending and summer was starting. Oh sure, there were warnings about the Delta variant and the delay in the vaccine for kids younger than 12, but still... there were also blue skies and a couple of months to get it all sorted out. I crossed my fingers for a full, maskless reopening. 

One of our big summer plans was to return to seeing movies on the big screen, but at first we were traveling, and then there wasn't much to see, and then most recently, theaters didn't seem quite as safe or fun as they did a couple of months ago. So last night, we paid to watch Black Widow on TV (which compared to the screens we had growing up, is pretty big), and it was a really good summer movie: fun and funny with lots of action and girl power. 

But, spoiler alert: Natasha Romanoff is still dead, and recent guidance from the school system has made it clear that masks are still required, and we won't be going to the movies anytime soon.

Boomers

Unspeakably hot and humid daytime weather subsides to high winds, drenching rain, and thunder and lightning each early evening.

Hello August.

Starbells

Heidi has been teaching a free water aerobics course every Tuesday and Thursday evening up at our community pool this summer for the neighbors. Never one to half-ass anything, her days have been filled with making playlists, finding exercises, trying them out, and organizing them into routines. My role has been supportive spouse, making suggestions for 70s songs, driving to find pool noodles, and trying out a few of the more confusing moves in the pool to see if and where they fit in the workout. 

Today I stepped up my support: when Heidi wanted water dumb bells for some variety in the arm work, I came up with a design that was cheap and easy. A quick trip to the big box home improvement store for a couple more noodles (of the star-shaped variety), 20 feet of 3/4 inch PVC piping, and a little pipe-cutter, and 15 bucks later, we had all the makings for 20 little starbells. 

I assembled 4 to audition at the pool, but on the way up a couple of rumbles of thunder put the kibosh on that part of the plan. They are super cute, though, if I do say so myself.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Are Signs

"I haven't driven since we've been here," Heidi said as she slid into the driver's seat for the first leg of our trip home yesterday. "You'll have to tell me how to go."

"You know the way," I reassured her. "It's left at the end of the driveway,  around the bend by the beach, past the F*ck Biden flag, over the railroad tracks, and a left again at the chicken coop."

She nodded, and we waved good-bye to northwestern Vermont.