Posted on July 12, 2019
The men’s semifinals at Wimbledon played out this afternoon. I was on my way to a friend’s house for coffee. When I arrived I asked if she and her husband had watched the match. And they said it had just ended and that Roger Federer won over Rafa Nadal. I cheered.
Roger Federer is the most poised tennis player, in winning or losing, that I’ve ever seen. I don’t watch tennis except for the big tournaments, but my son is religious about following it. So I try to snatch enough knowledge to appear intelligent. It doesn’t take much when Fed wins.
He’s considered the “old man” of tennis these days. At soon-to-be 38, he really is. Tomorrow he faces Novak Djokovic for the title. The odds are against him, since Novak is ranked #1. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if the old man had one last hurrah? Even if he doesn’t, he’ll be the most gracious person at the awards ceremony.
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Posted on July 11, 2019
Saugatuck is a boating community less that fifty miles up the road. It is charming and long been a summer tourist attraction. It’s got an inland lake, access to the big lake (Lake Michigan for the uninitiated), plenty of slips for boaters, plenty of curio stores for shoppers, and plenty of restaurants for diners of all calibers.
Today I met a friend from Chicago who visits Saugatuck every summer for a couple weeks with her husband. We met for lunch at a restaurant called the BARge. And, yes it was. A bar and a stationary barge right on the water. It was delightful. The grilled shrimp tacos were too.
Earl and I used to visit Saugatuck frequently when his daughter and son-in-law lived there. But they escaped to Mexico as ex-pats a few years ago; so we haven’t been there very often since then. It’s our loss.
I must suggest this as a day trip for the two of us.
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Posted on July 10, 2019
Today Earl and I drove to Holland to meet a potentially new investment planner for our modest portfolio.
In case you don’t know, Holland, Michigan, is home to an amazing tulip festival each May. We’ve gone a couple times, and it’s well worth the effort. We even stayed at a hotel with a swimming pool that resembles the outline of the lower part of the State of Michigan; that is, as it is often characterized as a mitten.
But today was serious business. Earl wants to change financial planners; and, while I don’t have as much attachment to this project as he does, we went together because I am the person with a thousand questions in any given situation.
We met K and spent a good portion of an hour batting questions back and forth. It was most productive, and we headed home with some homework to do before making any changes.
Holland has one more thing going for it. Before we left, we had lunch at Arby’s, one of Earl’s favorite fast food joints. It was just across the street from the investment planner’s office. And I suspect if he goes to Holland again to meet with K there’ll be another roast beef sandwich in his future.
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Posted on July 8, 2019
The Fourth of July long weekend is over, but I am still in vacation mode. I’m not sure why.
I didn’t cook brats for a ton of family members. I didn’t struggle with leaving the fireworks display in downtown St. Joe. I didn’t even go shopping for bargains that were on Independence Day sales at local stores.
However . . . I did get royally sunburned at our community pool two days ago. And I did overeat at Coach’s yesterday. The fried perch was that good. And, yes, there was the early morning swim at a friend’s in-ground pool this morning, followed by a massage this afternoon.
I am putty. Gnnightttt!
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Posted on July 7, 2019
They go by many names: June bugs, fireflies, lightning bugs, glow worms, and – officially – photuris pensylvanica. But my childhood remembers them as June bugs because they always appeared in June no matter where I lived. They found me in Cortland, Syracuse, St. Louis, Little Rock, Chicago, Indianapolis, and other mid-West cities.
But this year, things were different. June passed with the strangest weather imaginable for our area: chilly, wet, grey. It passed without photuris pensylvanica too, and I assumed that – like some of the crops that haven’t yet been planted this year – it was the same for my flighty June friends.
But wait! This evening, July 7, on the patio I noticed what looked like a solo June bug in the middle of our small lawn. It blinked only once, as if to say, “Don’t give up on us yet.” I waited. Sure enough another bug signaled to me. Then a third.
As a child, I found it great fun to capture the June bugs and put them in a jar to see them collectively become Nature’s lightbulb. Now I would never dream of such a thing. As the night darkened, more and more flitted about, until I was positive they had definitely returned for their seasonal performance.
I hope the local crops that are planted late this year do the same.
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Posted on July 6, 2019
I sit on our patio many summer evenings and enjoy the final wisps of sunset. For most of the years I’ve done this, there have been lights on in the home directly across the pond from ours.
I know this homeowner; she has the reputation of being difficult. And I have experienced it firsthand a couple times. Once she threatened to take matters into her own hands against me if our board didn’t intercede.
Still, I know that her husband died just before they had planned to move into our development. It must have been unsettling to say the least to move alone. There is always the question of what might have been. So I cut her slack.
I heard recently that she was unable to live alone any longer. That she had moved to a local assisted living facility. This probably explains two things. First, she always had attractive flower stands on her patio; this year there are none. And there are never any lights on in her condo. I heard some family member has taken over, but that person isn’t tuned into flower stands or lights. Probably has enough to do without them too.
Now when I sit on my patio gazing across the pond, it’s not the difficultness of my neighbor that I remember. It’s the more pleasant things. I’m sorry she’s no longer there.
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Posted on July 5, 2019
This spring was marked by deluges of rain to the point where farmers had difficulty planting their crops. But in the last couple weeks, summer decided to show up in full force. Heat, humidity, and long days when the sun doesn’t set until close to 10 PM in our time zone have made me resort to watering my flowers and herbs.
This is what I’ve learned about water. Deluges don’t store in the ground, so if it gets sunny you can’t count on April’s monsoon to feed your plants in July. Additionally, things in pots dry out more quickly than things in the ground.
You can tell when your plants need water, as they shrivel. It’s a great clue, because if you don’t water then the shriveling turns to drooping which turns to gasping and then dying. Given all the work it takes to plant a garden, it’s not a good idea to let dying occur.
Where we live, sprinkling lawns and flowerbeds is supposed to occur automatically twice a week. That’s down from what it used to be, and I suspect it’s because of the costs involved. Still, as an avid gardener, I’m not willing to allow drooping and gasping because my homeowners’ association wants to save money.
The sprinkler system is on a well, so the costs involved are related to the pump that pumps the water, which – in itself – is free. My hand watering uses city water attached to our inside faucets. The thing is the association pays the city water bill for the entire complex. So I’m running up the cost by watering on those days the sprinkler system doesn’t go on. Something is wrong with this picture.
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Posted on July 4, 2019
When I said I was going to “Hamilton,” a friend loaned me her CDs and the accompanying libretto. I listened to the songs and followed along with the words attentively. I’m glad I did, as it enhanced my understanding of the musical when I actually saw it.
This morning I had an errand to run before the Fourth of July festivities got started where we live. As I drove to Bridgman I put my own copy of the music on.
“Hamilton” is the wunderkind of Lin-Manuel Miranda that stormed Broadway and the Tony Awards in 2016. It is the story of the American Revolution through the eyes of “that ten dollar founding father without a father,” another wunderkind, Alexander Hamilton. You have to be living in a deep cave not to know about it. It’s relevant in so many ways, but particularly on the Fourth of July.
I listened to the story told mostly in song and marveled at how this show encapsulates what the revolutionaries when through for our independence. The war started in 1775, before the Declaration of Independence was signed, and ended in 1783. Eight long years.
I sense that many Americans today don’t know much about their history. One easy way to remedy that in terms of our country’s beginnings is to listen to “Hamilton,” whether you ever see a production of it or not. It’s a marvelous history lesson.
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Posted on July 3, 2019
Last winter, Earl had to replace some pricey item on his Avalon (Neither of us can recall what it was now.), and I bought four new tires for my Camry. In both cases, we received a rebate in the form of a pre-loaded Visa card. The total between our two rebates was $145.
We bought lobster.
First we went to Red Lobster in Mishawaka, IN, where we ordered a hearty supply of the crustaceans (tails only), and the restaurant staff did all the work. We dined. (See yesterday’s blog about the difference between dining and eating.) For a chain, Red Lobster was very good, especially when you consider we live in the Midwest and lobsters are not native to the Great Lakes. They must fly in from elsewhere.
Tonight we spent more of the rebates and cooked lobster at home. By now you’ve guessed this was a scientific study to see which we liked better and not just a frivolous expenditure based on new tires.
Truthfully, even though I did the cooking myself and Earl did KP duty, we liked our own broiled lobsters better. The boiled and parsleyed red potatoes and the coleslaw weren’t bad either. But the best part was that we still have money left over to do it at home again. Soon.
Maybe even on the weekend.
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Posted on July 2, 2019
My friend J often quotes me when the conversation turns to food. “Anne doesn’t just like to eat,” she says, noting that she actually wrote this down the first time I said it. “She likes to dine.”
It’s true. Whether I’m the chef or not, I like the table properly set, a full complement of silverware even for soup and a sandwich, and a cloth napkin. Salad on the left; water on the right. If we’re having ribs, there should be an empty bone bowl available. The same for shellfish. Corn on the cob belongs in one of those cute little butter boats; and anything that tends to be soupy – like creamy coleslaw, tomato sauce, or gravy – mustn’t mix with the steamed vegetables. I cut everything into small bites too.
Except for the cloth napkin, my husband has no such issues. He is even willing to eat standing up at our counter and right from the microwaved bowl of leftovers with whatever utensil does the job. He likes cold pizza and flat cola and disdains anything that resembles an haute couture vegetable. Which, in his mind, is almost all of them.
He is less of a diner and more of a grazer. Or maybe a snacker. Or a forager. Or a scavenger. Or one more example that opposites attract.
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