The Monday before Memorial Day always feels like the front porch of summer. The screen door is about to swing open and let the festivities walk right in. The sun hangs around a little longer and the grills are adding flavor to the air.
People suddenly remember they were never meant to stay cooped up inside staring at walls and worrying about nonsense.
The Sox are above .500. The Cubs are above .500 and in Chicago…
…that alone can change the mood of an entire city.
You can feel it at the neighborhood tavern, on front stoops, around the softball fields and at backyard parties. Baseball matters around here because it gives working people something to believe in between paychecks and problems.
The older I get, the more I understand summertime isn’t really about vacations and swimming pools. It’s about permission.
Permission to breathe again.
Permission to sit outside after dark listening to a ballgame on the radio while lightning bugs float through the yard.
Permission to remember there was once a kid inside of you before mortgages, court dates, doctor bills and heartbreak took turns beating on the door.
The quote on the Chalkboard feels like life itself. One minute a man wants to disappear from the world and the next minute he is on his knees praying for one more good day.
That is the strange thing about being human. Even when we get tired, discouraged or beat up by life…
… summer still shows up like an old friend knocking on the door saying, “Come on outside, I have some bottle rockets.”
Find some gusto and astonishment on this warm hazy Monday..
