It's that time of year, my unofficial start of the summer, Motorcycle Week. The drone of hawgs tooling down the highway. Sun burned two wheeled tourists. Ice cream on the bay, watching the parade of customized bikes and middle-aged riders pretending they don't have a care in the world.
Dreaming of our upcoming visit to the track, camping with some of my favorite people. Saturdays in the stands, eating shelled peanuts, homemade sandwiches, and pickles. Drinking beer, wearing hats we wouldn't wear anywhere else. Sundays in the stands are spent remembering we're not as young as we used to be.
Knitting and sewing are compatriots lately. There's been lots of progress, little documentation. Photos needed. I've been inspired by a trip to the Squam Art Fair - met some lovely folks and soaked up some lovely work.
My boys are working hard at the garden center, their boss sending home gorgeous bouquets for me. My 17 year-old is tending his vegetable garden, and an old pro with his granddad's backhoe. And they're fishing, bringing home delicious dinner (sometimes).
Summer brings our anniversary, and fried clams at Sandy Point. We've been together longer than apart.
This summer we'll need passports so we can drive to MacAusland's Woollen Mill on Prince Edward Island to pick up our wool, and visit colleges while we're at it.
And it's the season for everything to break, including my electric dryer. No matter.