I woke up today feeling weightless. Monday is the first of seven days free of deadlines, 11th-hour requests, niggling feedback, coma-inducing conference calls and the roofers who’ve been hanging around here like indigent roommates since May. I confess, there’s a sense of pre-emptive disappointment that dogs me whenever I’m about to do something fun, but hitting the road should drown out that noise. That or the new Sonic Youth.
Work fatigue aside, we’re having more than our share of summer fun. The Weaselhawks won a game fair and square this week, holding off a perfectly respectable opponent, if not the swarms of gnats. We celebrated my Mom’s 60th in Des Moines with folks I only get to see once a decade, powered by Ken’s funky rum drinks and a bombastic cake a week in the making (Sarah somehow found time to do several “test cakes” before arriving at the right recipe). There was a swell 3rd birthday party for Cowboy Kai, part of a string of barbeques we hopped while Sarah was away in Seattle (sorry I couldn’t join you for the baby shower, Trax; I heard the open-air bellycasting was bold and beautiful). Our quick double-overnight in Omaha was bliss: good local food, live music, second-hand shopping and reading in parks—my working definition of The Good Life.
Noon Monday the Nassif-Siasoco caravan departs for Custer State Park with stops in Pipestone, Minn. and wherever the kids get antsy. Ready the Scrabble and Templeton Rye.