Life comes at you pretty fast in Minnesota. Especially in the summer.
Last night a little before midnight, the Mystery Woman cajoled us to jump in the van and drive over to St. Paul where we could watch the vintage car club drivers do a slow rumble up and down the streets near the Fair Ground. It was like "American Graffiti" complete with a drive-in burger joint called Porky's. Brought back memories of trying to look cool a long time ago in Lubbock. Hang your arm out the window. Make a muscle.
Coming home, we slipped into the flow of the unofficial parade. Proud old cars and us. Another minivan ran along the side of ours. A few people watching on the curb waved. We waved back.
Next day, the granddaughter was playing in the spray from the sprinkler in the front yard. No matter that the temp was only 77 degrees. No matter.
But the need for a deep water experience was calling. So the kid and the gramma walked to the wading pool a block away. The impromptu swim meet had the look of international Olympics with Native American kids, Hmong kids, Korean kids, a Mexican girl, two Eastern Indians, our gals and two lesbians behaving quite motherly.
At home, I was within hearing range of the horseshoe game a block away back at the park. Clink. Softly but solid. Tink. I would have loved to toss a few. But I had a dog in my lap.
We topped off a dinner of Sloppy Joes with watermelon. Eaten straight with hands to mouth. No forks. Better that way.
Good grins. Good for the soul.