The Summer Blur

My granddaughter, the Butterfly Whisperer

Lately, I’ve been contemplating (while on the run) the human inability to remain still. My long summer to-do list, which includes writing, daily meditation, long stretches of contemplative silence, writing, Xtreme relaxation, self-reflection and re-centering, and writing, remains on my fridge with nary an item checked off. Instead, summer has been a blur of perpetual motion…

1. As soon as Semester uncurled its fist and let me loose, we headed to Milwaukee, where Ray and Little Henry played a wedding dance for the daughter of one of the geetar players. It was a beautiful, joyous occasion. And how cool is it for the bride to have her dad rock the house at her wedding, then for the bride and her sister to sit in with the band? Very cool.

Three Graces

2. Next stop, Madison, where we visited my two dear friends, Emma and Ruby, and their families. It was a 24-hour whirlwind of garden tours, knitting shop & food co-op runs, an incredible lasagna dinner, wine & philosophy, and smiling till my face hurt.

3. When we got back from WI, Mom and I headed to the Black Hills to hear my oldest son, Ryan Kickland (www.kickland.com) play a gig. The music was stellar, with special guests Jami Lynn and Josh Hilpert, and it was wonderful to see so many former Little Town friends show up to support Ryan.

Ryan and Jami Lynn

4. In early June, four of us took off for our WAC-y (Women’s Annual Campout) getaway. This year, we went to Kansas, west of Topeka, to my brother’s lake cabin. We spent several glorious days drinking coffee on the patio and wine on the dock, playing in the water, reading, overanalyzing our lives, learning to speak Great Blue Heron and, with 4 geetars along, serenading the neighbors.

5. On our last WAC-y evening, we got the news of our friend’s suicide back home. He was a local legend and a larger-than-life character—waist-length rattail he refused to cut, silver star embedded in a front tooth—who sometimes went about town in a tux & spats. He was a talented songwriter, musician and artist, and a person who rarely compromised. He was also gravely ill and facing a steady downward spiral. We went to his memorial, a sweet celebration of his life. And I know some people feel suicide is selfish, but I quickly realized my anger at his choice was really about my own pain in missing him—I was the selfish one. So now I’m simply wishing him freedom, peace, and great love in his next adventure.

WAC-y Women

5. Then the grandkids came to stay at the farm for a few days. This, too, was a whirlwind that included soccer games, a day at the beach, and a day in the Big City, shopping, visiting the Butterfly House, and hanging out at the skatepark.

6. In between trips, we’ve been scrambling to save our little peaflock. Between last summer and this one, we lost 18 peacocks to predation (and 1 to fast cars on I-29). Judging from the killer MO’s, we’re dealing with more than one kind of varmint – raptors, weasels/minks, coyotes, and possibly a badger. So for Father’s Day this year, the kids got Ray a rifle they dubbed “The Farm Protector.” I’m very conflicted, as we’ve never had guns on the premises, and I’m a devout peacenik, treehugging, varmint-sweater-knitting hyper-nurturer. But after discovering the most recent (possibly badger) kill site, which looked like a scene in a low-budget slasher flick, I might be mad enough to sit up in a lawn chair all night in my jammies and headlamp, rifle at the ready.

Howard Jones. So, so cool.

7. My next road trip was back down to KS to leave Mom at the cabin for some well-earned lake R & R. I stayed for a couple days, and we sunned, floated, toured local towns, and prissied up the cabin with solar lights and hanging petunias. Then back home, a 7-8-our drive.

8. Soon after getting home, Ray and I headed out again to Minneapolis, to visit the oldest Remund kid, hear Howard Jones at the Varsity Theatre, and catch a Twins/White Sox game. Howard was—and yes, I hate this word too—awesome! And driving around the Cities always reminds me: You can take the city out of the girl, but…you can’t put it back.

9. Next, we drove to Omaha to rendezvous with my brother and bring Mom home. Omaha is my hometown, but in spite of my thrill over shopping at the Asian Market and Whole Foods, I was glad to get back on the road the same day and head back to the farm.

Uncle Don at Linoma Beach

10. This past weekend we learned of my uncle’s death. He was my dad’s brother, making my dad the last of three siblings, and he’d been in a nursing home for a while. He was another larger-than-life character, a sometimes rude, crude, arse-pinching, cussing Bohunk. He was also an old-school family doctor who treated folks whether or not they could pay, and who doctored for free a passel of cousins, neighbors, friends, friends of friends, etc., often at his kitchen table. He pierced my ears, stitched me up after a car wreck, delivered my first baby, and set that baby’s broken arm four years later. So, we’re off to Omaha again this week to bid my uncle farewell.

At this point, I feel like I’ve spent the summer in the car, and we still have my Big Fat Bohunk Family Reunion coming up in late July, an 8+-hour road trip each way. All four of our kids are going for the first time ever, and our giant extended family (65-ish of us last year) will be honoring my dad’s 80^th birthday and taking into the Giant Family Fold the two babies born since last summer.

We humans come and go. Literally. Figuratively. So before I pack for the next trip, I’m going outside in the yard. I will hold aloft the peacock egg I found on the front steps. Ray will softly play his congas in the background. I will sing several choruses of “The Circle of Life.” Sure...you're scoffing now. But you’ll come around. Literally. Figuratively.