O Lord, I know You have many more important issues on Your mind than who wins a ballgame. Plus, I can’t imagine that You take sides. But with the Cubs battling for the playoffs, OMG, do You think You might make an exception?
I will never inflict such harm on my readers. I keep my lousy poetry to myself. I never coerce anyone into studying her belly button. As for my being a windbag — perish the thought!
Having dispelled these unfortunate associations, let us return to my profound end-of-summer reflections:
- Regardless of propaganda touting it as the ingredient for pizza, smoothies and cheesecakes, nobody likes kale.
- My husband’s “short” bike rides require a passport.
- Grandbabies’ discriminating palates prefer four summer food groups: sand, mud, gravel and sticks.
- My palate also dictates four summer food groups: butter pecan, salted caramel fudge, chocolate almond, and Moose Tracks.
- A related reflection: Skinny, beautiful people on TV drool over yogurt, but they never, ever will convince us it can replace ice cream.
- I sleep with only a sheet, but still need a quilt on my feet.
- If we water gardens to induce rain, the clouds know.
- Also, the probability of rain is in direct proportion to the amount we spent on Cubs tickets.
- If not for relatives’ summer visits, would the carpet get swept from June through September?
- Nobody really likes an ecologically diverse yard. Or wants me to preserve the prairie.
- Morning glories I plant always shrivel as if my trellis were radioactive. Yet a thousand healthy, nasty lovelies strangle my cucumbers.
- Deer who scavenge neighborhoods never eat crabgrass.
- Scratching sounds in an attic mean raccoons have started a summer obstetric ward there — or mosquitoes have grown bigger than I expected.
- While rainy days ruin human vacations, my fern, Carolyn, considers steamy conditions a five-star experience.
- If you live by a lake, visit kin who live by a different lake. Hurry, because it’s almost fall, and that’s the only way you’ll get a free vacation, too.
- I and other Stain Queens should be forbidden by law to wear white pants.
- People who grill only vegetables are not to be trusted.
- If a certain age, never shop the weekend before school starts. You will park in a different zip code. You also will return home with 143 15-cent notebooks.
- Ferris wheels at county fairs still fill me with six-year-old wow.
- After a lifetime of watching people voluntarily buying cotton candy, I still haven’t figured out why.
- Finally, when police know campers next to your site on a first-name basis, pitch a tent in your backyard instead.
Yes, summer will fade, but never fear. I soon will supply my readers with a whole new set of reflections — autumn reflections.
Not that I’m a windbag, or anything. …
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What end-of-summer musings fill your mind?
Most people stay far too busy during spring to pause and practice their God-given powers of observation. Although I, too, keep an encyclopedia-sized to-do list, I decided to sacrifice the time, pour myself a cup of coffee and ponder spring stuff:
- Spring is when we rid our yards of pretty dandelions and violets and instead, try to grow plants whose native habitat is the Amazon River Basin.
- Some high-fashion people wear flip-flops when it’s sleeting. Other divas wear boots during heat waves. Moral of the story: Spring footwear has nothing to do with feet. Though I feel the mad urge to wear white shoes.
- Storing one’s winter woolies at the spring equinox can prove almost as dangerous as selling a crib at a spring garage sale. (Blizzard or baby, you pick.)
- A sadistic burglar obviously replaced my spring clothes with an identical wardrobe two sizes too small.
- Prom dresses currently bloom throughout area stores. Either that, or lots of people are going to Vegas.
- I may never have looked like Debbie Reynolds, but I’m a Singin’-in-the-Rain kind of girl. You?
- During early spring, strawberries taste more like medicine than a fruit. Still, I buy them.
- Doesn’t it seem sacrilegious to celebrate the Resurrection at the same time we will have to pay the IRS?
- After spring break, an epidemic sweeps our nation’s campuses, victimizing students, professors and administration alike. The name of this menace? The College Crankies. A large migration of university spouses has been noted to take place at this time.
- Have you ever noticed that spring soccer fields smell like wild onions?
- My scudsy, corroded car, whose unfortunate state hasn’t bothered me all winter, now bothers me.
- Ditto for my house’s dirty windows. And my dirty carpets. And my furniture. And. …
- Gangway! The golfers are loose!
- Now that spring has arrived, my husband no longer gripes about my sleeping with the window open. An added bonus: a nearby frog choir provides a nightly lullaby to ease us into Dreamland.
- No five-star restaurant’s swanky French dessert menu could hope to rival the first luscious, drippy ice cream cone of spring.
Perhaps it’s time to rouse myself from my profound cogitations and determine if this year’s cone will uphold the standard.
No weightier spring pursuit than that.
What’s your favorite spring stuff?
Only two words. But they set off fireworks in Chicago Cub baseball fans. We hug and kiss perfect strangers, whether at the ballpark or the grocery store. When police arrive at the latter, we embrace the officers — and our subsequent cellmates.
Why does a win excite Cub fans so much?
For decades, they have been professional baseball’s “lovable losers.”
Still, Cub fans often outnumber their competitors in their own ballparks.
Typical American sympathy for the underdog? Mass psychosis?
Hubby and I support the Cubs for a better reason. Our friend, Joleen.
For 40 years, Joleen never missed a single, freezing Opening Day at Wrigley. No matter how lousy the Cubs played, Joleen believed.
Diagnosed with cancer, she finally missed Opening Day. But she cheered the Cubs until the day she died, happy because they won a double header. Joleen was buried wearing Cubs earrings.
In her honor, I will always be a Cubs fan.
Yet by now, even Joleen might have wearied of their losses.
Viewing/listening gratis was bad enough. But of the six games Hubby and I attended, the Cubs won … zero.
With their improvement last year, we took our son, his wife, and Baby Jonathan — oh, so cute in his little Cubs shirt and cap — to Wrigley.
They lost again.
Unbelievably, Hubby told a nearby couple we’d never seen the Cubs win. They stared as if we’d grown goat horns. “Your name’s not Murphy, is it?”
The Cubs fell behind.
I avoided eye contact with our neighbors.
Amazingly, the Cubs pulled ahed.
Hubby cheered, “They’re going to win!”
“Right.” I rolled my eyes. “And I’m going to win Miss America.”
“You’d better practice your walkway wave, because they will do it!”
The last strikeout!
“Cubs win!” The cry echoed from Chicago to Lake Michigan. “Cubs win!”
Our neighbors hugged us. W flags bloomed. The happy PA system launched “Go, Cubs, Go,” and thousands joined in, dancing in the seats.
I see what you mean, Joleen.
Unfortunately, the Cubs lost six out of their next eight games. But after subsisting on the baseball equivalent of bread and water, I have tasted my first whipped cream.
I want more!
I imagine the Cubs do, too.
Do you think they’ll win the Series this year?
O my God, how do You handle ballgame prayers? — the crazy mishmash of petitions by opposing players, managers, and fans? Plus umpires’ prayers this game would finish soon! Far greater theological mysteries should occupy me. Nevertheless — OMG, thank You that the Cubs are in the World Series!
O my God, 63 years ago, neither this guy nor I had any idea how our lives would intersect. Or that we would celebrate his birthday weekend with our son and his son. OMG, You are so good! (What fun!—even if the Cubs played their worst game of the season.)
O my God, I’m glad our salvation doesn’t depend on the Cubs, but on the good grace of Jesus. Still, OMG, wouldn’t it be nice if the Cubs won four straight now? Just sayin’.