When a young man’s fancy turns to…what?
Fishing, golf, biking, baseball, and maybe a few last downhill runs on the soon-to-be water in my local creek…
It is also, given the synergistic effect of the winter’s moisture and the warming sunshine of longer days, when your wife asks if you remember where you left the lawnmower;
…which conveniently you say you cannot recall.
And with any luck, given a few more days of growth, it will take a metal detector to find the damn thing.
I don’t know how many places on earth that allow for such a cornucopia of distractions from the mundane tasks at hand—as handed to you on your wife’s To Do list.
One day, my daughter and I are back at Heavenly ski resort, overlooking the not-very-warming waters of magnificent Lake Tahoe, appreciative of a decent snowpack.
Within a day or so of that trip, I find a nice little pastoral pond near home to hone my highly skilled fly-fishing techniques as memorialized—with photographic evidence—by the local fish porn paparazzi.
Remember, that objects portrayed on the internet may appear smaller than they actually are, but yes, the poor plucked fish was somewhat petite, and catching it was mostly a fluke.
Of course, I delicately released the beast after gently stroking its underbelly.
Then it’s off to a San Francisco Giants baseball game.
As everyone knows, sporting events are cherished as an opportunity to consume requisite quantities of culinary concoctions that you typically shun in an attempt to forestall an early death from an elevated cholesterol count.
For the record, the dollops of off-white clumps on my dog are not—as my buddy, Steve, suggested—seagull droppings, but rather horseradish.
There is actually a Sheboygan bratwurst buried somewhere under that pile of condiments.
I found an entire Yelp review of just these sausages as served at AT&T Park. I loved one guy’s quote,
“And this brat could be the only reason I go baseball games at all, sorry baseball fans. In fact, if they sold them outside, I don’t think I’d even go in.”
Another comment in the same Yelp review could have easily been written by me just last evening,
“For the quintessential ballpark experience, you need 3 things – a Sheboygan brat with grilled onions, sauerkraut, and spicy mustard; an order of garlic fries (share unless you’re a beast of an eater); and a couple Anchor Steams (because one is simply not enough).”
Yes, we can, and yes, I did!
Closer to home, my wife and I witnessed another ritual of springtime when we visited a one-day young baby in our neighborhood.
What this picture lacks in adventure travel value, it makes up with cuteness content off the scale.
The cessation of cabin fever provides conflicting choices, as to whether chores or cavorting will take precedence.
The blooming bright wildflowers call us out to hike, bike, and play, while “other influences” suggest we take care of business closer to home, many which require noisy, gasoline fume-spewing, weapons of mass weed destruction.
And for some people, they seem to have difficulty in differentiating between the two, apparently, as seen in this picture taken while I was skiing.
I could not tell if the leaf-blower guy was anticipating an imminent needle fall or hoping to melt the snow faster…
…maybe to find where he parked his lawnmower.