Author: Steve

 

When the kids were little, she had a heck of a time getting them to listen.  I’d come home, she’d tell me what she wanted, I’d tell the kids, and they’d hop to it.  She got what she wanted, but only in a way.  What she really wanted was for the kids to listen to her.  It was all about the Daddy Voice.  She thought it terribly unfair that she had to wait for me to come home and use the Daddy Voice.

 

That was then.  This is now.  Kind of.  She’ll tell Alexa what to do.  Alexa will respond with the same question over and over, about what time Judy wants the reminder, or what the reminder is for.  I’ll suggest Judy try the Daddy Voice.  She’ll make her best impression of a Daddy Voice and it works first try every time!  Some of us in the house think that’s pretty funny, but not all of us do.  Judy accuses me of cracking myself up.  She’s right. And then I get The Look.

 

 

 

With last night’s view.

 

The pumps ran all night.  The water is down enough that we can make out a high-tide line in front of our house.

 

I remember how important the high tide line was when Judy and I went wilderness sea-kayaking a lifetime ago.  There were ten-foot tides in the Pacific Northwest.  We’d land on an island and immediately begin the search for the most recent high tide line; the line of debris left where the water had last reached its highest.  It was important to pitch the tents above the most recent high tide.  There were subtleties to this because there were often two high tides a day, the high high and the low high.  Didn’t want to get fooled pitching tents while paying attention to the wrong high tide line.

 

So, we’ve found the most recent high tide line at Sandpipers.  We’re well above it so we must be okay, but we’re a long way to go until we’re dry.

 

 

Nice hot summer day.  A little on the humid side.  All of a sudden, a thunderstorm just blew up out of nowhere.  I looked at it on the weather radar and it didn’t slide in from the north or south, it just spontaneously combusted.  Nonstop thunder and lightning.  Judy put the dogs in Thundershirts to keep them relatively calm.

 

Six inches of rain in an hour.  Can’t see across the field in front of us.

 

The temperature dropped from the 90s to the 70s so we can leave the door open.  Good thing, because the power went out which makes the air conditioning gone.  We can hear the frogs again.  They love this.  Just before dark; the lake is back in all its glory.

 

The string of unexpected adventures continues…

 

Update:  It’s dark.  The power is back on.  We can sleep this off and deal with it in the morning.  The frogs are still happy.

 

 

The trauma of being there; the conflict at home about being there.  It didn’t take long for the protests to start.  The longer the war went on, the greater grew the protests and violence at home.  Massive civil unrest.  Domestic opinion turned against the war and it ground to a halt.  It had gone on for 10 years.  Over 50,000 U.S. soldiers died.  It left our country divided.

 

Now, in a period not of ten years, but of six months; one twentieth the time of the Viet Nam war, the lives of 150,000 Americans have been lost.  Three times the death toll of the Viet Nam war in six months.  Every individual life lost has a heart-wrenching story, but at this magnitude of carnage, we’re just watching numbers roll past on the television screen.  Where is the outrage?  Where is the civil unrest?  Where is the political will against a common enemy?  The sacrifice we’re being asked to make for the common good is to wear a mask, and we can’t decide whether to do it or not?

 

Can we just wear the damn mask?

 

 

The Sandpiper Wetlands this morning.

Less water.

 

This evening.

 

Even better!  When you stand right over it and look down, the grass is still wet, and the pumps are still running, but we’re getting better fast.