Dry Wet Run

We’re hosting the neighborhood 4th of July brunch this year, so yesterday’s pool party was sort of a dry run.  A somewhat moist dry run, that is.

The idea was to introduce our grandson Quentin to the neighborhood kids.  We were hoping he’d find a new friend or two to play with during his visit, and he did, a boy named Michael from down the street.  Michael has a Wii, Q has an electronic something-or-other, and they both have bicycles.  This is a good thing; otherwise I wouldn’t have time to blog.

We have an old school pool: deep end, diving board, no safety fence.  When it was built, in the mid-1980s, there weren’t as many safety regs as there are today.  There’ll be even more children in it after the neighborhood 4th of July parade, but not many younger than the ones who swam in it yesterday.  And our daughter Polly will be on hand to serve as lifeguard.  Still, the rest of us will be keeping an eye on the pool too.

The dogs aren’t in the photo, but they were right by the pool all afternoon.  Dogs live for children, I think.  Neither one of ours was willing to leave the excitement; periodically we’d have to pick them up and carry them inside to cool down.  They can both swim — I’m sure all animals can — but they don’t like it, not one bit.  No water dogs here!

So anyway, today I’m home with number one grandson.  We put Q’s bike on my new maintenance stand this morning and he stripped off the old 4th of July bunting (his bike was still decorated when we hung it up inside the garage after last year’s parade).  I showed him how to use the floor pump and he inflated his tires.  That maintenance stand is going to come in handy.

Donna and Polly are at work.  Michael just came over and brought along his stuff for an overnight stay.  I’d like to see the boys outside riding bikes, but it’s too hot to insist on it.  TV and electronic games are the order of the day.  Maybe I’ll take them to the feed store later — the dogs are out of food.  And maybe they can ride a bit around sunset.  I hate to see kids just sitting around playing games.

That’s how my quiet day is shaping up.  As usual I have a ton of books to read, but two are pressing: a book club selection to finish before our next meeting, and a library book with a due date around the same time.  These books are keeping me from the third book in the Game of Thrones series — damn but I can’t wait to get back to GOT!  Oh, well, at least it’s summer and there’s nothing on TV, so I have plenty of time to read.

They want me to take over as walking tour team leader at the air museum.  More administrative work, fewer tours.  I’d just as soon not, but there’s no valid reason to say no, and they say I’m the only man.

The only man.  Where have I heard that before?  Oh, yeah, in every squadron I ever flew with.  You’re the only man who can take a train from Amsterdam to Bitburg on Saturday and fly a broken jet back home on Sunday.  You’re the only man who can escort the Indian Air Force VIP and his entourage on a two-week tour of US bases.  You’re the only man who can pull a week of alert duty north of the Arctic Circle, and you have to be packed in an hour.  Actually, I feel right at home, and it’s curiously comforting.

Life is good.  I hope yours is too.

 

© 2012, Paul Woodford. All rights reserved.

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