For some reason, folks have a tough time saying "Independence". They have no problem with "Christmas", "Easter", "Thanksgiving", or even "Presidents'". But when early July rolls around, these folks get tongue-tied and just can't spit it out. Not to worry, there is a fallback plan - they simply say "fourth of July". That's it, the date. Not what we celebrate; the date. Sharon and I were in Palms last night (fried chicken night) and there was a very nice poster advertising an upcoming celebration in Carroll Valley. Full color with ample stars and stripes, a burst of fireworks, the location... and the date. So, there's a big party in Carroll Valley next week - I wonder why.
Well, you get the drift of the rant. Look around you and you'll see that I'm right. And, in the true spirit of "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em", use this simple list when greeting others for an upcoming celebration:
Happy January first!
Happy February fourteenth!
Happy February twenty-second!
Happy Friday immediately preceding the the first Sunday after the first full moon of spring!
Happy first Sunday after the first full moon of spring
Happy last Monday in May!
Happy June NINTH Sharon!
Happy Independence Day!
Happy First Monday in September!
For you politicos, happy first Tuesday AFTER the first Monday of November!
Happy eleventh of November! ( specifically the Eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day, and all was quiet)
Happy fourth Thursday of November!
Merry December twenty-fifth!
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Summer Solstice
The abundance of flora (mostly weeds), the swarming deer flies on our morning trek to fetch the paper, and the very red thermometer all proclaim that summer has arrived. Schools are out with mixed reviews. Teachers are all wearing smiles, while parents... well... not so much. Air conditioners hum and the grass needs mowing.
But summer is really about kids. I'm sure you remember how it felt, even though none of us fully appreciated it at the time. A kid's summer is a time with absolutely nothing hanging over their head. No homework assignments or social studies quiz. No rent or tuition due. Just pure, sweet, simple nothingness.
The perfect summer age is twelve. Too young to get a job, but old enough to be out of direct parental supervision for hours at a time. Old enough to play pickup sports until dark with the other neighborhood kids. Or ride your bike to wherever the road takes you. Or wade barefoot in the creek, trying not to fall on the slippery rocks as you catch crayfish - all the time knowing that you'd really never cook and eat them.
Teen summers are still good - getting together with friends, even though that job always seems to interfere social plans. Inevitably you'd get an evening job and your friends would all have daytime jobs. So they'd go out every evening while you work, and you'd have to hear what a blast they had. Sure, sometimes they'd come by your work to say hi, but It always seems to be when you're the busiest. You smile and wave while they bound off laughing and joking as they head off to the movies or the current social hangout.
Then there comes the summer after high school graduation. That last hurrah before true adult life begins; the end of an era. College, internships, really-need-the-money jobs, and tax paying member of society.
Fast forward thirty years or so where summer evening consists of sitting on the deck watching the hummingbirds sip nectar, listening to the songbirds sing and watching the cars go by. The flowers are in bloom, scenting the earth with a wonderful fragrance and the fireflies dance in the treetops. And while it's not quite like being a twelve year old, it's not bad. Not bad at all.
But summer is really about kids. I'm sure you remember how it felt, even though none of us fully appreciated it at the time. A kid's summer is a time with absolutely nothing hanging over their head. No homework assignments or social studies quiz. No rent or tuition due. Just pure, sweet, simple nothingness.
The perfect summer age is twelve. Too young to get a job, but old enough to be out of direct parental supervision for hours at a time. Old enough to play pickup sports until dark with the other neighborhood kids. Or ride your bike to wherever the road takes you. Or wade barefoot in the creek, trying not to fall on the slippery rocks as you catch crayfish - all the time knowing that you'd really never cook and eat them.
Teen summers are still good - getting together with friends, even though that job always seems to interfere social plans. Inevitably you'd get an evening job and your friends would all have daytime jobs. So they'd go out every evening while you work, and you'd have to hear what a blast they had. Sure, sometimes they'd come by your work to say hi, but It always seems to be when you're the busiest. You smile and wave while they bound off laughing and joking as they head off to the movies or the current social hangout.
Then there comes the summer after high school graduation. That last hurrah before true adult life begins; the end of an era. College, internships, really-need-the-money jobs, and tax paying member of society.
Fast forward thirty years or so where summer evening consists of sitting on the deck watching the hummingbirds sip nectar, listening to the songbirds sing and watching the cars go by. The flowers are in bloom, scenting the earth with a wonderful fragrance and the fireflies dance in the treetops. And while it's not quite like being a twelve year old, it's not bad. Not bad at all.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
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