Flying on Southwest to SLC. At the baggage/check-in line winding through a somewhat long line, but it's moving pretty fast. The couple behind me makes some comments about the group of kids in front of me. They all have their ski gear so I assume some type of summer ski camp at Mt. Hood. This couple is in their mid 50s, well dressed, white. Appear normal from the outside. But then the following happens.
Husband: (Looking at the line) says, "Where do we go after here?" Huh? I think. Well you've got security, then you look at the TV monitors, check the letters attached to the ceiling. Find the right hallway and then start counting til you find your number. But not so with this couple. The lady shrugs her shoulders, apparently has no idea. Obviously they don't want to ask anyone for directions, that gives away their cluelessness. The husband eventually answers his own question, "I guess we will just follow all the people." Yikes. A moment later they are rumbling through their baggage and the wife pulls out a brush. "You can't take that on the plane," the husband comments. Sounds like a rough flight ahead. And I thought that my students from the Delta were the only ones out of touch with the complex going-ons of the airport.
Yesterday. A day of opposite emotions. In one sense, it was the end of summer. But at the same time it felt as though it was just beginning.
The end of summer: packed up my bike and mailed it home. My vehicle to freedom is gone. Wheels removed, seat taken off, front fender unassembled, handlebars removed and turned sideways. It was a symbolic ending of summer. No more new towns, no counting down highway mile markers, no more all you can eat bananas, trail mix and nutella. In fact, I should probably cut down on the all-you-can-eat altogether.
But the same day also brought me so many memories of summer. I guess it was primarily dinner. Watermelon, corn on the cob, hot dogs on the fire and s'mores. Quintessential summer.
Watermelon. Nothing spells summer like watermelon. Big old triangles. Juicy. The first bite is the easiest, cause the point of the triangle sticks out a bit. But once you get a bit closer to the green you just end up with a lot of watermelon on the sides of your face. Which is where it belongs.
Corn on the cob. Always reminds me of Keuka Lake in upstate New York. Nice and delicious. Crunchy. I particularly like the old typewriter feeling you get of working down a row, hitting the end, rotating the cob and then starting back at the beginning. I always eat mine without butter or salt. I think nature intended for it to be that way.
Hot dogs on the fire. There aren't too many foods that you can jab on a stick, put in the fire, and regardless of what happens in there they come out tasting delicious. Katy and I like our hot dogs the same way, with as much mustard as possible. In fact, Katy eats hot dogs more as a vehicle for the mustard as opposed to the hot dog for its own sake.
S'mores. A great combination of mallow, chocolate and graham. (Although I think we can all agree that the graham is the weakest link). I like The Sandlot's introduction of the s'more. "First you take the mallow. When the mallow's flaming you place it on the graham. Then, you stuff." s'mores remind me of two places, Alta and the San Juan Islands Alta- sitting there roasting away into the early morning. The unfortunate side effect is a dry mouth. And often ridiculously sticky fingers. After a long night of mallows I always enjoy that delicious Alta tap water. The San Juan Islands. The summer Katy and I had smores every week. They are best with banana and peanut butter (like most things). Roasting the marshmallow is the easy part. The hard part is how to get that chocolate nice and gooey to counteract the dryness of the graham. Last night I had a pretty legit chocolate delivery system. See picture.
So, in one sense summer has ended. But at the same time it has just begun. Just the way I like it.
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