Soft rain woke me up this morning. Backyard birds singing to each other before most people even poured their first cup of coffee.
Memorial Day weekend has arrived for 2026.
Another Indy 500 winner will be added to the Borg-Warner Trophy and summer officially begins. A summer filled with weddings, birthdays, funerals, hot afternoons and warm evenings. Days that will soon become faded memories from the summer we celebrated the semi-quincentennial. 250 years of stirring the American gumbo pot.
Labor Day is 107 days away.
One hundred and seven days to enjoy a summer that will mark beginnings, milestones, victories, defeats and unforeseen endings.
107 days of not putting it off until tomorrow. 107 days of not waiting for a better day because today is the better day.
Plant the flower.
Try the new Thai joint.
Take the drive.
107 days of making love, making friends and making goals. 107 days of dancing awkwardly and singing off-key. 107 days to pick up a wiffle ball bat, play catch in the alley and sit in a beer garden under string lights listening to John Prine songs.
This weekend is the beginning of the Summer of ’26.
And just like the summers of ’76, ’86 and ’96…
…it will become a distant memory sooner than we planned.
So take chances. Take the road trip for the pork tenderloin sandwich. Go to the street festival filled with people who don’t look like you.
Put the smile on the sun and look down at your shadow lying underneath your ass. Because before you know it, that shadow will be stretching long down the sidewalk.
These next 107 days should be filled with gusto, astonishment and high-pitched laughter.
