I jump into my Iowa routine with nary a glance over my sunburned shoulder. A day like today makes my descent back into snow country a lot easier. The warm breeze feels like an April kiss and the child in me wants to be outdoors. And there are lots of children out here today. Young runners wearing only shorts, t-shirts and foot gear - and one wearing all that and a pair of gloves, don't know what that's about. They are leaping and dancing on air and they race each other down the melting hills, so alive. I gotta smile and I remember a professor back at the University, a long-haired, bearded fellow and he was teaching me Psychology and Personality. Yeah, I took courses like that which explains my current pay scale. Anyway, he calmly explained that first day of class on a frigid January morning that his lectures would be dependable during the snowy months but once the weather improved we would see less of him. He would be outside, playing, and despite the guy's PhD he was back in school for an undergrad degree in physical education.
So, today we play. The three-year-old grandchild announces that she will not be wearing her jacket. I decide to nix the errand-running and we spend the morning chasing down trains and watching cars go through car washes all in the warmth of my Impala. Watching the surprise in her eyes is a gift. Groceries can wait.
One more thing. I can't say I'm proud of this photo. Davey's zany friends descended on our table and insisted on saving the memory. Note how they are all clustered around Dave except for the owner of the bare arm behind me, but she was tottering from too many rum punches and needed the support and her gesture did not indicate any level of affection. One cannot escape the look of extreme boredom on my face and I miscalculated when the flash would go off and the camera does not lie. And for those who find this an immature reaction on my part, may the sand fleas from the Jamaican beaches follow you home in your seashell collection and infest your new lazy-boy.