On this Monday, we actually cheated and had our outing on Sunday. It wasn’t actually an outing because mostly, everyone came to us. My youngest son who has been living on the east coast with his girlfriend for the last two years came to town on their way to their western National Parks vacation. He was only here for about 36 hours; much, much, much too little time, but, hey, I’ll take what I can get. So because he was here for such a short time, I invited all of my kids and step-kids to the house for a barbeque.

We started the day though at my grandson’s baseball game. I just love watching that kid play ball and I think more than anything, though, I love spending time with my son, (one of three sons…My Three Sons–Remember that one?) watching him enjoying his son. My son has always said that he learned how to be a father from his father. Or better said, how not to be a father from his father who has chosen to be only a marginal part of his life. My son swears that his son (and daughter) will never feel the rejection that he has felt all his life. He is a man, son and father that I am very proud of.

Most of my kids and grandkids descended on the house in the middle of the afternoon. We played bean bag toss (better known I guess as cornhole, but for some reason, that sounds really gross) along with the dumbed-down version of Jarts.

The older generation, as well as my older kids, remember the real Jarts.  Back when we didn’t worry about the metal stake flying through the air. We learned to duck and move our feet fast. At least this new game with just the weighed plastic end didn’t put anyone’s eye out when my grandson tossed his straight up in the air instead of at the plastic ring.

The weather was nearly perfect and we had music playing, but I had to remind my middle son and since I didn’t want my neighbors to hate me, he really needed to turn it down.

When our Monday rolled around, we saw my son and his girlfriend, along with their two dogs, off on their western primitive camping vacation through the western National Parks, They left my grandcats with me and on their return trip, they’ll stop by the house and pick them up. One of their cats is very social, the other has yet to come out from underneath the bed. After they left, by the time we finished cleaning up the mess left from the day before we were ready for a nap. One of the definite perks of being retired.

We ended our Monday with Blue Knights Motorcycle Club meeting for the first time since March. It felt so good to be able to begin to experience some of the things we have missed so much in the last four months. We have fewer restrictions here in St. Charles County than they have in the adjoining counties so we were able to sit together in a room without masks or social distancing. It seems as though the opinion is pretty well split as to how we should proceed in this Covid-19 time, but for now, I’m thankful for the freedoms that we’ve been given back and I will wear my mask to protect others (even though I’ve tested negative).

I’m writing this on Tuesday, the 14th, which is actually my birthday.  One of my claims to fame (not really) is that the day I was born, July 14, 1954, is the hottest day on record for the State of Missouri. 115 Degrees! I can’t imagine. I asked my aunt once how my mother could possibly have stood being in labor on this day and she said the hospitals did actually have air conditioning. Whew. Thank goodness.