It’s a warm night. Could be June; could be July. Except of course it isn’t, and that makes all the difference in the world.
“Summer’s over,” daughter sighed. She was sitting outside with her chin on her forearm, staring into the distance.
“No, it’s not,” I said. Cheerfully. “Summer doesn’t end until after Labor Day. There’s more left! Autumn doesn’t start, technically, for a few weeks.”
“But school starts tomorrow.”
I thought a moment, and nodded. “You’re right. Summer’s over.”
Can’t quite agree completely, though. As noted, Labor Day, and a three-day weekend: whoo, hoo, etcetera. And the Fair’s still going on. Have I mentioned there’s a Fair?
Because there is, and I’m going back on Monday for a big two-video shoot and three hours of radio. Went Friday, and did my “personal appearance.” Always a joy to meet the readers – thanks to all who came out! When not talking to readers I was fielding the main question of the day: “do you have that thing?”
So a lady asked. “That thing.”
“No,” I said. “We’re out. But we have a few whatsis left.”
“I want the thing,” she said, playing along.
“I actually know what you mean by thing,” I said. “You mean the lip balm.” Every year at the Strib booth we give away lip balm. Last year it was Bacon flavored. “You mean this.” I mimed smearing a stick over my mouth.
“That’s it.”
I said we were out, but a new shipment was coming at 3:30. “And you know what the flavor is this year? It’s Corn on the Cob.”
Some people seemed more thrilled by that idea than others. I think it smelled like dog paws. This is not a criticism; everyone who has a dog likes the smell of dog paws. You just don’t want to tell people it smells like dog paws, because they might get the wrong idea. Let them figure it out for themselves. I also gave out many free bags; people love those bags. We sold subscriptions, and told people where they could get deep-fried pickles.
I love working the booth. Brings back the old days of waitering, where every customer interaction has the possibility for fun and sport, if they’re willing to play. You also get the opportunity to talk to Completely Random Minnesotans with whom you would otherwise never chat, and quite a few came up to talk about my shirt. It had the Red Owl logo. People love the Owl. He either reminds them of being a kid, going grocery shopping with Mom, or being Mom, grocery shopping with the kid. One fellow pointed and me and walked up and said “Red Owl” in an astonished voice, as I was wearing the picture of a twin sibling who’d been kidnapped in ’67. “I was a baker there for 25 years,” he said. He stared at the Owl. “Where did you get that?”
I told him, and he was surprised to learn it was a new shirt, not something I’d found in a thrift store. At a record store? Really? So the kids today, they like the Owl?
The kids like the Owl. Well, some of them. Some people think he looks angry, or at least intent on something that seems quite personal.
Ran to the office, filed a column I’d written in the back of the Fair booth, then went home to get ready for a wedding at the Mill City Museum.
Lovely venue, although you had to think of the guys toiling in this brick house in 1877, sweaty, covered with dust, and you wonder what they’d think of a couple getting hitched in their finery in the ruins of the structure, in the impossible year of 2010. Afterwards I found myself talking to a couple, the way you end up just talking to strangers at a wedding – somehow you’re all connected, so it’s not like you’re all total strangers – and then dinner. Fish. While we ate the bridal party stood up and told stories designed to embarrass the couple and express their eternal affection. Then I went home and watched “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.”
Now that I think of it, I hope I didn’t jinx anything.
Saturday . . . what? Oh. Right. Had some people over, since Hugh Hewitt was in town, and we always have a shindig here at Jasperwood. Since my wife was going to a BBQ for the newlyweds, I had to prepare the food and fixing on my own. She just about had a stroke when she looked in the fridge and saw some Target lunchmeats, but I explained that was for daughter’s school lunch. I bought proper cold cuts, rolled them into attractive cylinders, and put out those cheesy little multicolored plastic swords. And also some cheese. So that was six hours of palaver in the gazebo with a fine crowd, as good as it gets. Everyone left at 2 and I spent a half an hour cleaning up, then sat outside and listened to music on my iPod until 3 AM. Some days you hate to let go. Morpheus has to gently take it out of your hands.
Now the crickets are telling the temp; the planes have stopped, and the water splashes in the fountain. Summer still seems content and secure. It’s not over yet. But I hate to drive past the beach tomorrow, and find it empty. Or pass the playground and see the fountain’s turned off at the wading pool. One by one, the signs appear. Summer never really ends – it wanders off, no longer interested in us, and sober fall walks us down the path to the place where everything nothing grows or blooms.
Then we turn around and Fall is gone, too.
Mill District, sunset, Summer 2010:
