A normal summer

by Darryl Wilkinson
This coronavirus thing has its blessings. The environmentalists say we’re using less gasoline so the air is much cleaner. There’s less boat traffic on the oceans to the delight of the fish in the seas. There’s less running around, leaving more time to think.
Tell me, why do drive-ins serve catsup in those little tear-apart packets? When your hands are greasy after gobbling a few French fries, the packets are hard to open. You’ve got to squirt the red goo onto something else if you want to dip, and it takes too many packets to get through even a small order. Why isn’t catsup delivered in one of those little plastic cups where you peel off the top? (anyone for a protest march in front of Heinz at …er, is their largest factory really in Fermont, Ohio, as Google says?)
On Monday we drove over to St. Joe to watch a grandson play a baseball game. If memory serves, this was our first visit to Hyde Park. I planted my folding chair at the base of an oak tree, keeping six feet away from its bark, of course. This was both above and overlooking the bleachers where a few braver souls congregated. The only folks I noticed wearing masks were the catchers and the umpire. It seemed so normal.
It wasn’t long until little brother tag-a-long was busy fidgeting on my lap so that I could hardly watch the game. Like I said, it seemed almost normal.
The game was played on Field #4 and it was in great shape. Someone had carefully raked the infield. I wonder if the guy who prepares the field actually plays; if he can’t, then he still rates better than the best cleanup hitter for smoothing the way for so many to play. The outfield grass was as green as Kauffman Stadium turf; the white threads of baselines shimmered in the sunset by game’s end. A real life field of dreams.
Our boys lost. It was close with the deciding run scored in the last at bat. The coaches had to tell most of the little guys to line up for the concluding hand shake since they didn’t know the inning, much less the score. But there was no hand shaking. The boys just gathered outside their dugout to salute their counterparts across the diamond by raising their mitt into the air. This might become a new normal since it’s a faster way to go get some ice cream.
If I had my way, there would be no professional baseball season at all this year but not because of some virus. Every professional ball player should be made to sit back and watch how our national pastime should be played and for what reasons … from a lawn chair under an oak tree with a wiggly tadpole on your lap. And this should be repeated until he gets the urge to take a turn at umpiring — money be damned.
A coronavirus summer means summer vacation away from either real or virtual school cannot be normal with most church camps closed. We’re sorry for the kids, naturally. But we’re also sorry for some special people we know.
There are couples who normally spread their vacation days each summer serving as volunteer camp counselors. While other middle-aged couples run off to Branson or to the Rockies or Wisconsin Dells, they spend their vacations wadin’ knee-deep in 6th graders, wrestlin’ mosquitoes and hormones in the thralls of a humid Midwest summer.
For them, aroma therapy means bringin’ extra deodorant for the boys’ dorm.
And then there are piano teachers. When piano teachers observe social distancing with their students, is it because of virus worries or not wanting to be closely associated with all the errant notes struck on the keyboard by their plodding protege? Ladies teaching “music” to the uninspired are gals to reckon with.
If a Master of the Ivories is forced to cancel piano lessons, then perhaps she volunteers to plop down at a piano in a nearby nursing home – even if half the keys at stuck solid. It’s just another challenge. There’s never been a piano that couldn’t be conquered by the power in a veteran piano teacher’s jackhammer wrists and pile-drivin’ fingers. By the time she’s done with the third verse of “I’ll Fly Away” the keys were not only unstuck but the old upright piano is beggin’ for mercy.
Usually, folks get too busy to visit the elderly. But thank God for the pianist who keeps the music playing despite whatever COVID-19 can bring, as regular as the breakfast prunes to entertain the geriatric troops. I wish more coronavirus news would focus on these types who should be recognized as essential even during the most normal of times.
These are a few thoughts about a normal summertime. There’s much more to consider, including cold watermelon and which one is better, blackberry cobbler or gooseberry pie. What fluffy white clouds are your favorite? Don’t you enjoy the cool mud oozing up between your toes after plunging into the lake, or any of the many other advantages a swimming hole offers over a cement swimming pond?
I dunno about you, but I’m planning to enjoy the rest of this summer as best I can. What it really takes is finding ways to serve rather than to take. It’s a full time job.
That would be a great new normal, wouldn’t it?