Soggy Balls Litter High School Tennis Court

Soggy Balls Litter High School Tennis Court

Having reached the ripe, old age of fifty-four, I like to think age and experience have given me a wealth of common sense. Having learned a goodly number of life lessons the hard way, there are certain things I just don’t do anymore because I know better.

I know better than to don my swim suit and go boating in the heat of a bright, August day without slathering on the sunscreen. So could someone explain why I merely applied (as opposed to slathered) sunscreen Sunday afternoon? And could someone explain why I am now sporting the mother of all sunburns on parts of my anatomy which shall remain nameless?

I also know better than to keep walking in the rain after the first flash of lightning, no matter how far away the lightning is. So could someone explain why, armed with my metal umbrella, I kept walking yesterday morning, even as the lightning flashed, albeit weakly? And could someone explain why I was three miles from home when the lightning picked up strength and I found myself uttering my most ridiculous prayer ever? Yes God, I’ve always wanted curly hair, but not today. Not like this.

Finally, after twenty-five years as an elementary teacher, I know better than to say any of the following to ten-year-olds in a recess line:

  • Stop bouncing your balls.
  • Hang onto your balls.
  • Quit playing with your balls.

So could somebody tell me why I snapped this photo in the park (during yesterday’s lightning storm) and felt compelled to title today’s post Soggy Balls Litter High School Tennis Court?

Unless and until one of you comes up with a more sensible explanation, I’m blaming my lapse of common sense on post-wedding let down. And until my common sense returns, I’ll render myself harmless by bathing in sunscreen on sunny days, wearing a rubber wet suit during thunderstorms, and duct taping my mouth shut and my typing fingers together in the presence of spherical objects.

Sounds like a common sense solution to me.

Perfectly Happy Again

Perfectly Happy Again

This morning’s thunderstorm ended a long spell of sunny, dry late summer weather. It started near the end of August, perfect timing since the growing season was winding down. After a summer of abundant rainfall, the crops didn’t need much moisture. Neither did the lawns.

Things were so good for so long, I grew uneasy. It was the middle of September. The windows had been open and air conditioner had been off for over a month. The temperatures were warm in the day and cool at night, with no hint of furnace weather anywhere.

This kind of thing doesn’t happen the midwest. Perfect weather lasts a week now and then, but never a whole uninterrupted month. Even in summer’s glory days, if we manage to escape tornadoes, lightning strikes, hail, straight line winds, and blinding fog, the humidity is so oppressive, a person can hardly catch her breath.

As a rule, I think our part of the world’s less than perfect weather holds other disasters at bay. That’s why I grew increasingly concerned when this string of low humidity, cloudless blue sky, cool nights, and warm days drug on. Something bad was going to happen, if the weather didn’t break soon. I just knew it.

So when the rain began during my morning walk, complete with unexpected lightning that could have fried my computer and struck me dead, it washed away my uneasiness. The world wasn’t perfect in my neck of the woods anymore. It was messy and muggy with a hint of mildew, just the way I like it.

I’m happy again. Perfectly happy in my imperfect world.