ONE DRY DAY OR TWO MIGHT BE PLEASANT

I’ve been complaining a lot about the weather, but, to be fair, the weather sucks and deserves every nasty comment it gets. My neck of the woods has had torrential downpours, sprinkles, and anything and everything in between the extremes. Several areas have suffered microbursts, which are like mini-tornadoes.

Naturally on the one and only day that it is supposed to be nice, I meet my sister in southern Maine, and together we drive on an errand north of Portland. This is going to be great! The sun is mostly out, windows are open, and all systems seem to point toward a successful summer day.

Until, of course, it’s not a successful summer day.

First, there are the clouds. It’s not sunny anymore.  Then, there are the temperature changes – hot, chilly, steamy, breezy, flopping from temperature to temperature like menopause. The clouds let loose some sprinkles, too, but not enough for steady windshield wipers; just enough to be annoying and cloud driving vision.

Speaking of clouds, the coast here is suddenly a fog bank. We watch as a tall communication tower is slowly and completely embraced in gray. It’s a horrible day along the coast, we decide, until we go a few miles south where the sky is bright blue and the ocean matches.

Parts of New England need rain badly. Parts of the country are suffering from historical drought. Here in my neighborhood, we can kayak on the sidewalks because we are under a constant threat of flash flooding. It’s like spring here all the time. Even the “sunny” days turn overcast.

It’s dreary and it’s weary. After being forced to stay inside or masked or sequestered alone for the last sixteen months, this summer’s weather stinks. We might as well be done with it and bring on the snow. But, then again, what would I complain about if the weather finally cooperated? Knowing me, I’d find something, but it wouldn’t be as easy a mark as is the weather.

Just a full day of sun or two dry days in a row would be a gift, though. I’m just saying.

HIDE-AND-SEEK WITH THE SUN

Summer lasted about a week,
Then it started raining.
It went from hot to chilly air.
Yes, I am complaining.
It’s either gloomy, dark, and gray,
Or rains torrential buckets.
As for planning summer stuff
It’s better to say, “Fuck it.”
Haven’t yet been kayaking
Nor ventured to the beach.
Apparently a lovely day is
Far beyond our reach.
This season of rains tropical
Gives me an opportunity
Of living in a brand new place of
Waterfront-like property.
I’m hopeful that when August comes
It won’t mimic July.
I’d like to see the sun come out
Sometime before I die.

MY GREEN-LESS THUMB

I do not have a green thumb.

About the only thing I can grow is mold, so I am amazed that I still have a tiny sprig of basil growing and that a flowering plant I received at the end of school three weeks ago is still alive. Shocking.

In an effort to pretend that I am actually able to keep seasonal plants alive, I go to Home Depot and check out their sale rack. That’s right: If I am going to kill the plants anyway, I might as well buy some that are cheap and already halfway dead. This way I have a self-fulfilling prophecy and I also haven’t broken the wallet.

I know I want geraniums because those help to keep mosquitoes at bay. With a porch that faces the woods and also now is on a flood plain due to recent storms, those little blood-suckers can be a real problem. But I also want some color that is not limited to orange and gold. Since the sale sign claims the plants in this particular area are all three for ten dollars, I promptly select six containers. Twenty-plus-tax dollars later, I happily bring home my plants.

I am pleased to report that although I had to dead-head several of the shoots, my six (yes, ALL SIX) plants have survived a week so far. I know; hard to believe, but it’s the truth. Even my basil plant is hanging on for dear life.

I may not have an official green thumb, but for seven days it sure has felt like it. I’m willing to celebrate small victories.

THAT'S HOW FREEDOM WORKS

Happy birthday, America.

Since it’s also my birthday, I feel that I am entitled to make a political statement. If you disagree, grant me a gift and keep your commentary to yourself. This is my day, and it’s my stage.

I have always been fiercely patriotic, and not just because I was born on the Fourth of July. I grew up surrounded in Revolutionary history here in Boston and all around New England. I am from a family with ties to WWII, WWI, the Civil War, the Revolutionary War, the Salem Witch Trials, and Plimoth. 

While I despise politics and all things and people political, I am, for the most part, proud of my country. For all of its flaws, it is still the country on Earth where Freedom rings.

Now, my bone of contention.

I have had the honor of knowing (and working out with) Olympic athletes. I have seen and touched Olympic medals. I personally know someone currently representing the USA who is going to Tokyo. I would like to believe, and have never been given reason to think otherwise, that these people whom I know are proud to represent USA on the international stage. I have seen them cheer, cry, and stare starry-eyed during their medal ceremonies, even if their national anthem is not the one being played for the podium.

Any American Olympic athlete who is embarrassed by, offended by, or disrespectful to our national anthem or flag during an Olympic-level athletic medal ceremony should be disallowed from being awarded a medal.  If this happens during qualifying or preliminary competition to represent USA on the international stage, then say goodbye to your country as your sponsor.

PERIOD.

Competing on the international stage is your job. Save your politics for your media interview when the biased and useless press wants your minuscule and irrelevant opinion. Save your speech of how you hate America for the slaves working in a Filipino sweatshop making sneakers so you can get your millions in advertising and sponsorship fees. Save your anti-America sentiment for your Communist friends who wouldn’t know the Constitution as anything more than their personal toilet paper.

When you represent your country on the international stage, be it athletic or otherwise, try to act with the remotest modicum of decency for a nation that has granted you the freedom to become what you are. If that’s so damn offensive to you, sit the fuck down and let someone who cares about this country take your selfish, petty place.

Sure, sure; it’s your “Constitutional” right to be an asshole. But it’s also our right as Americans to make sure you know you’re an asshole. That’s how Freedom works.