Surfin' USA

Given that I'm now in Week Three of a whirlwind summertime visit back to the States -- so far having hopped over three cities in two regions via plane, train, bus, and even kayak -- this blog entry should be something awesome. But I'm also pleasantly high from an hour-long stint on Dad & Sarah's stationary bike, and feeling too loose and noodley right now for anything more than some light impressions until I can get these other half-finished entries organized enough for a full report. (Where there might even be a guest writer on the blog, hee hee!) So for now...

Just Some Thoughts:

- Tucson in summer has a wonderfully unique smell. It's the smell of ozone, of the desert, of rain on soil and the coming heat of the day. Without question, the thing I miss most is setting off with Mom on her daily eight-mile walks, when we leave while the stars are still twinkling and return, two-and-a-half hours worth of talk and laughter later, when the morning sky over the mountains is streaked with crimson and gold. Arizona skies aren't blue, really. The sun is so intense that far south that the base color is actually white, and so every tiny variation in color and cloud is that much intenser.

- Speaking of walks, Bert and I went for a long stroll down Lakeshore Drive along the Chicago coastline last week. It was beautiful: with the silver skyline to our right, and glittering Lake Michigan to our left, it seemed everyone in the city was out cruising the road on their bikes or roller blades or sneakers. More than once, this included some excessively-tanned dude capering by in nothing more than tiny shorts, bronzed pecs rippling in the sunlight as he checked himself out in every reflective surface he passed. And for the first time, I actually noticed these guys. That is, they looked like the vainest, most insecure saps that ever flipped their collars in a bar. Don't get me wrong: if you're an athelete or a jogging hobbyist, then of course you're entitled to look how you want. (Judgement based on physical appearance is never acceptable, and yet here I am running the risk of doing exactly that!) But there is an obvious difference between a guy who takes care of himself and a Ken doll who spends way too much of his short lifetime sculpting each individual neck muscle. It's like a woman wearing clownish makeup: they're just trying too hard, to the point of making themselves pitiable and just a bit ridiculous. I know I'm a heterosexual female, and so some part of me is supposed to at least find the body appealing, even if its careful tan and obsessive, exoskeleton-like abdominal muscles reveal a warped sense of priorities; but seeing a guy so obviously insecure about himself is about as attractive as Ichabod Crane. Then I looked to my right, at the tall, handsome, unshaven, confident, unselfconscious man next to me, fully clothed and having just enjoyed a Chicago-style hot dog with his girlfriend -- without giving a rat's ass about exoskeletal abdominal muscles -- and thought how lucky I am to have found the sexiest man alive.

- My family is awesome. Last Thursday evening, Sarah, Katie, Chloe, Bert, and I all drove to Sarah's parents' lake house out in the western part of Wisconsin, where we were joined by Dad and Michael, and, the next morning, by Shauna and Steve. The nine of us then proceeded to have an absolute blast. We played badminton, cannonballed off the dock, played kickball with the girls, swung on the swings in the tree, took the kayaks out for an adventure, picnicked, went for a walk through the forest, visited the Leinenkugel's brewery in nearby Chippewa Falls, took the girls out in the paddleboat, sunned ourselves on the floating raft, drank beer, barbecued... and in the evenings, we played Euchre, made margaritas, watched Jason and the Argonauts, stargazed, and talked and laughed until we couldn't stay awake any longer. Oh yeah, and the whole time, we swam, swam, swam! It was like a 4th of July barbecue that lasted four days. It was also the first time Dad had ever had all five of his kids in one place, and we celebrated his birthday with a famous raspberry-cream pie from the Mainstreet Cafe.

- I am excited for autumn. This last year has been the first time I've lived in, well, seasons since I was thirteen, and so have spent the last twelve months thoroughly enjoying every snowflake, every green bud, and every summertime bike ride. But for some reason, autumn is still my favorite. Not sure why: maybe something in my northern-European blood remembers the coming harvest or feels the deep change about to occur in the earth. I can absolutely understand the ancients' tendency to hold festivals during this time of the year: the light is lower and golden; the wind smells like change... something about it sets me dreaming. It's been over ten years since I was last in this part of the country for this beautiful season, and we can already see the fields turning golden and the occasional bunch of red maple leaves peeking out of the trees. Sarah and the girls and I, along with Sarah's mom, Cindy, are headed to a farmer's market this Saturday. Then next week, it's off to my favorite city to catch up on much-needed hangout time with my soulmate: to Seattle, and Shauna.