Austin’s Confirmation

Yesterday I was witness to the transformation of a grubby little boy into a handsome young man.   Austin is now thirteen, hardly a little boy;  but he has until quite recently acted ‘all boy’…in that unkempt way of the species.    Yesterday he was confirmed in the Lutheran Church;  he was pressed, clipped, and cleaned.    What a nice looking boy he’s turned out to be.

Sorry these photos are all fuzzy.   Austin is 2nd from left in the one with four kids in it.    Someday I’ll get him to smile for a photo…maybe.  (Note:  I just looked at the photos and see one is just fuzz….I would remove it if I knew how;  can’t figure it out, so please just ignore that one. )

We were all very proud of him throughout the service.   Later, at the party at their home, I never even saw the kid.   Life is back to normal!

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Happy birthday, Lois

Today my longest-term friend, Lois Frangella Williams, turns 70.   Lois and I were across-the-street-neighbors from birth through highschool.  We were inseparable as children,  not really developing individual interests until highschool.

I was long into my adult years before I realized how lucky we were.   Not only were we the same age, but we loved each other….still do!  How many kids find that right across the street?   Judging from my own children’s experiences, I’d say not many.

Oh, the fond memories:  Lois and I galloped through the woods; used our Girl Scout knives to cut down sapplings for horses and corrals; explored the island and the sand bar;  played on swing sets; and just really enjoyed the freedom we kids had in the 1950s….back in the days when moms just wanted the kids out of the house.

On rainy days we explored attics, played dolls, and all those other girly pursuits.   And we walked to school together.   That, from what we’re told, was quite the adventure.   It was along about October of, probably first grade, when one of the teachers mentioned to either my or Lois’s mom that we weren’t actually arriving at school until around 10:00 a.m.  !!   The moms were shocked;  we were clueless.   We were too young to have developed a concept of time, so we just walked,  looked at newts or leaves in the gutters,  took a swing on the old firehouse gong,  who knows what all.  And we did get there…eventually.    Can you imagine any kid getting away with that for a couple of months now?

This is a long way of saying it, but happy birthday, Lois!

Photos are of her in Chicago with Judy Baldwin (2011) ;  on top of the Empire State building, which she and I toured in December 2009; and with hubby Tom at our class reunion in 2010.

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Mississippi

Don does have one afternoon off…on Mondays.  Here are some shots of the Mississippi River, the barge, and an overflow pond….all the fishing spots.  Picture him there today.

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Packing…again

I’m starting to feel like Willie Nelson, always saying, “On the road again.”    But yes,  I am packing in preparation for leaving Dubuque Sunday morning.   The races are going pretty well; winning some, losing some.   Most of the dogs are so green it’s surprising they even go the right direction, so when one wins, it feels like a real triumph.

Don works long, long days.   I only see him briefly now and then.  This means I’m bored and lonely most of the time.  Yes, there are some things to do here, and yes, I do some of them;  mostly, however, these things would be more fun with a companion.  Lacking one, I’ve decided to head back home a week earlier than intended.  Lots to do there;  and oh gosh, what must my garden look like?

 

Tom and Huck live!

If Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn had grown up, they would’ve lived on the barge I visited yesterday.   Carl’s fishing barge on the Mississippi is the most beat up, can’t-believe-it-actually-floats, barge I’ve ever seen.  It serves as a fishing pier and clubhouse to local men, and now Don.  This is a huge barge with a cabin in the middle; totally ramshackle, but hosting a poker table and bar;  fishing lures for sale,  junk everywhere; and just amiable male companionship.  Boy, was I out of place there.   Fishing is from all sides, and men just leave their poles sitting around any old place.  I kept looking for the sign that said, “No girls allowed;  this means you, Susie.”   (Apologies to Calvin and Hobbes if I didn’t word that exactly right.)

I was so happy to see this place, as I now know Don has a place to hang out when he’s not working and I’m not here.   Don’t want him to feel lonely and bored on his off hours, hours he tells me will come.  Right now he’s so darned busy it’s close to unbearable, but once the season is off and running; once all the dogs have arrived and learned which way to go on the track; there will be hours to fill.   Don can fish and bs with the guys to his heart’s content.  I can happily garden in Stevensville. 

From Dubuque

I’m back in Dubuque, just in time for opening day of the races.  That is today, and of course, it’s pouring buckets.   We’ll all be a mess by day’s end.   The trip out went well.   It was about five hours and 20 minutes, a bit longer than my previous trip.   Traffic was fairly heavy in some areas, plus the inevitable construction of summer was scattered here and there.  Altogether, though, no complaints.   Those curvy, mountainous roads leading to the Mississippi River…yes, those same roads I complained about a few weeks ago….held no terror for me this trip.  The reason:   I just spent a week racing up and down real mountain roads in California.  The hills of western Illinois are mild indeed by comparison;  you should have seen me tearing along them.   The drivers of Illinois (no longer stuck behind me) should all be sending Diana thank you notes. 

It was lovely to have dinner with Don last night.  Three weeks was a long time for us to be apart.   He has scratches and bruises all over himself; he looks tired;  and, and, and.   Not exactly a desk job, and it shows.  Still, he was the proverbial sight for sore eyes.

A repository of memories

I read that phrase in Jane Haddam’s latest Detective Demarkian novel and it resonated.   This is the charm of old friends:  common memories.  It’s the reason Don and I feel we know each other so well, even though we had a gap of 51 years between contacts.

There’s something about reminiscing about high school and having someone not say,  “My experience was similar,”  but instead, “Yes, I remember Mr. X.”   Or the lunchroom, lockers, walking the grounds, waiting for the same bus at the same spot on South Main Street.

People who marry young and stay together do, of course, garner new memories and thus, become the repository of a lifetime of memories.  Don and I take what we can get….immense comfort in having a common past.    Oh yes, we’re making new memories all the time, but oh my,  how much it means to have those old ones.