That Old Thing

Josh and I were walking the dog the other day in a neighborhood not too far from here, although it is across a big street and up a hill. 

"I don't think I've ever been in this area before," Josh noted with some surprise, especially given the fact that he spent several weeks with us every year and lived with us while he was in college. He's pretty familiar with our locality.

"Oh, but you have!" I laughed, pointing up the street toward the high school. "You and I have walked this very street together before."

I had actually just been recalling the day 25 years before when five-year-old Josh and I were walking home from a swim meet that Heidi had been coaching at the high school pool. The early October day had started out cool in the morning, but by the time the contest was over and the sun was high in the achingly blue sky, Josh was too warm to wear the hoodie he'd had on. We'd tied it around his waist, but at some point, it had fallen off.

"Where's your sweatshirt?" I asked when I noticed it was missing.

He shrugged, and I looked back the way we had come, spying a navy blue heap on the street a couple of blocks back. "I see it!" I pointed. "Let's go get it."

He didn't budge. "Oh," he shuffled his feet. "My mom doesn't care about that sweatshirt," he told me. "We can just leave it." He started walking toward home.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "I think we should probably go get it," I said, but noting how tired he was, I added, "I can give you a piggyback ride to it."

"Do you remember that?" I asked him after I told him the story the other day.

"Not at all," he shook his head. "But I'm sure my mom appreciated getting the sweatshirt back!"

Same as it Ever Was

When our godson, Josh, was a little boy, we spent many summer afternoons munching popcorn in dark theaters, watching the epic stories of the Marvel Universe spool out before us on the big screen. Now that he's all grown up and working as a wilderness firefighter in California, those days seem very distant. But he's in town visiting this week, and when I asked him what he wanted to do on this cold, blustery March afternoon, he shrugged and said, "How about a movie?" 

And it just so happened that the latest Captain America saga was up at one of those fancy theaters where the seats not only recline but shake along to the action. They also have a full-service menu delivered right to your seat, including bottomless popcorn served in an actual bowl. We were the only ones in the enormous IMAX auditorium, and once I had my popcorn, I reclined my seat and settled back for the usual convoluted plotlines, special effects, crazy fist fights, and enormous explosions.

The movie could not disappoint, and for a couple of hours, it could have been any time at all.

Get Thee to a Gallery

Having out-of-town guests always gives me a chance to appreciate things I take for granted about my marvelous hometown. For example, ever since I retired, I've been meaning to take in more of our museums, but it hasn't happened quite as I envisioned it. So today, when Josh and I headed out to the National Portrait Gallery, I felt both a little local pride and some retirement satisfaction as well. 

My feelings were not misplaced: the hours we spent looking at the portraits of some of our notable countryfolk and reading about their accomplishments and failures were fun and informative, even though we barely made our way through a third of the museum. Noteworthy was the gallery of presidents, where you can clasp a cast of Lincoln's hands in your own, and Richard Nixon never looked so good as he does in his portrait by Norman Rockwell.

The recent acquisitions are usually my favorite exhibit, though, and today was no exception. Toni Morrison, Octavia Butler, and Beyonce lined the walls in the company of other remarkable Americans, most of them women, several rendered in non-traditional media like cut paper, quilted fabric, and video. The images were thrilling, and I left the gallery inspired and vowing to return soon.

Worthy Adversaries

It was super windy when Josh and I hit the pickleball court this afternoon, but it was also sunny and 60 degrees, so we figured we'd give it a go. Josh won the first game, even though he'd never played before, but he had the wind and 33 years at his back, so we switched sides and played again. 

"The wind really does make a difference!" he said in surprise after I easily won the first 4 points, and I felt a little better after skulking him to tie up the match.

"Let's try the other court," I suggested. "The person with the wind will also have the short baseline area to contend with. Maybe it will be more even?"

I lost that game by 4, and it would have been the match if we had not agreed to one more switch. The fourth and final showdown of the day was a little closer than the others, but the old lady pulled it out, and we agreed to end the competition in a draw.

Until tomorrow!

Puzzling

Back in December, we did an Advent jigsaw puzzle. The holiday image came in 24 numbered little boxes with 40 or so pieces, and it took us about 10 minutes a day to assemble each section. It was a fun Christmas activity, only slightly marred by the fact that Day 7 was missing a piece. 

When we discovered the deficiency, we blamed ourselves and searched everywhere the piece could possibly have been dropped, on day 7 and every day after. But when we finished the puzzle, the piece was still missing.

"This puzzle is worthless now!" I proclaimed. "We can't lend it or trade it or even give it away because nobody wants to do a puzzle that's missing a piece." It was then that I found that puzzles make very good tinder for building fires. They even give a bit of color to the flames as they burn, and it didn't take long for the puzzle to be reduced to ash.

I had completely forgotten the incident until today, when, sitting at the dining room table, I spotted a puzzle piece on the floor. It was flipped over, and the number 7 was clearly stamped on its back. I gasped and retrieved the last piece of the Advent puzzle.

Friends, I have cleaned this small house thoroughly many times since December and have never seen a trace of the puzzle piece. And yet there it was today, in plain sight, not three feet from the table and in a regularly trafficked area. 

And now I'm sorry I burned the other 999!

Red Carpet Ready

We are back in Southern Maryland for our annual family Oscar Party getaway. For the last dozen years, we have created our own long weekend around our love of movies and the pageantry of award shoes. Our destination varies, but it has to be within a couple hours of home and on the water. Fortunately for us, the Academy Awards are presented in the off-season, and so we can usually find a pretty nice place for a reasonable rate. 

The core attendees are me, my wife, my brother, and my sister-in-law, but there has only been one year when it was just the four of us. We're usually joined by one to four of our nephews, their girlfriends, or other friends. This year, we had one fly in from Reno, another from Nashville, as well as our local nephew. We were hoping for a visit from the nephew who is currently working in Iceland, but it just didn't work out.

Even so, the seven of us, with our three dogs, have had a fabulous time in our bayfront beach house. We've had the beach to ourselves, staying in a rental tucked between two houses we have rented a couple of times each in the past. The place is filled with memories of Oscar weekends past, which we've added to by cooking great meals, playing games, building a bonfire, star-gazing, and seeing the sights, and we still have the main event to look forward to. 

Back in 2018, we had this same crew plus a few extra, and on a day trip to Leonardtown, my wife and sister-in-law found some amazing leggings, both colorful and comfortable, and bought a few pairs each. Back at the house, the boys got a little silly, and somehow, everyone ended up in leggings for the party. At the end of the weekend? They all kept theirs, and they still talk about how crazy comfortable leggings are. 

In fact? They are actually in Leonardtown right now trying to track down a few more pairs to wear tonight. We wouldn't want to be underdressed, would we?

Well Spent

The wind was already picking up, and the sun was sinking when we pulled into the pay station at Point Lookout State Park. After fumbling with unfamiliar technology and three dollar bills, the entry gate lifted and we were on our way to where the Potomac meets the Chesapeake. 

There were a few scattered cars in the parking lot, but it seemed that we had the park to ourselves as we we walked on the rip-rap scanning the bay for migrating birds. A cold, steady wind blew from the north. "We only have to stay until we get our money's worth," I teased Emily and Treat. "Three people? That's a dollar each-- let me know when you've had your fill."

As we walked on a sandy path, I raised my binoculars and spotted some bufflehead ducks and a few coots floating on the choppy water. We meandered past the little lake and over to the Potomac side beach, combing the sand as we skirted the river. There were a few nice pieces of beach glass in my pocket when Treat found the speckled tail feathers of a solitary sandpiper. 

We agreed to turn back at the Civil War fort, and on our return, we gathered pine fascicles and juniper sprigs, attempting to identify their species as closely as we could. Right before we reached the parking lot a small dark bird flew past, alighting on the wire overhead. With my binoculars, I could see the brilliance of its blue plumage and its rusty breast as well-- it was a beautiful eastern bluebird, surely a sign of better times.

"I think I got my dollar's worth," I said as we climbed into the car and headed back to our warm beach house filled with family and the promise of another day of vacation to come.