Last Evening of Summer, Labor Day Eve, 9/7/09

By the way, the date 11/26 is the day I uploaded photos. Today is 12/6. Time lies! Or maybe it deceives.

The End? Been awhile since my last post, couple weeks. So what? Time? What a concept! If there be time left, and the time is right, can that be wrong? Seems like I'm sitting here in December not wanting the summer to end. How silly is that? Summer ended a season ago. Interestingly enough, three months ago today. This time but not space traveler has been fooling himself. Oh yes. Actually, I'm kind of good at it much to my chagrin. Perhaps I have the end of summertime blues. I should raise a fuss, I should raise a holler. Ever wonder why E=MC2?

I remember as a child, summers lasted, oh so long. Seemed like forever. My little brother would tell if you asked, that time only seems as though it is going faster do to percentages. When one is ten, a year is a ten percent of life, at 50 two percent. Unlike what seems to be the case for kids these days, we were always outside. We were all deeply tanned. 'Course we lived in a neighborhood, and only child or two child families were the exception, not the rule. So we'd have 50 kids within a block or two to play any number of games. We'd go swimming every day, I mean every day. Sometimes Camden Pool, sometimes Twin Lake. When we got older, there were summer romances. What fun. One could have a summer romance as a child too. The pretty little girl who visited next door every year, up early hoping she would come out to play with the boys. I wonder what her plans were.

So I am here. The last evening of summer, and it's warm like a summer night should be. The family has gone back to their respective lairs. Why did they do it? The "corner lot" lot who tell the story of Lot alot, called for a part in a picnic, a part southern outdoor supper. Yes they did. They invited us plus Connie and neighbor...short-time friend/long-time neighbor of they, long-time friend/no-time neighbor of ours, Lorraine. I often walked by the corner house never knowing what wonders lay inside. Funny how that works. How friends enter and exit. It always happens, only a few stick with us forever. Many come and go. How will this summer play out in the end? Who will the credits roll? Will the same actors still be there, in a score of years? 20? A decade? 10? An octave? (Ate) Will there be sharps and flats? Who will be the best boy? And key grip? And who will play Jack Lemmon and Lee Remick? Will the green house finally yield it's elixir? Will I resist the temptation to imbibe? So many questions. Are there any answers? If there were, would I understand? Does anyone really know what time it is? Do you live an hour away, or fifty miles? If space and time are bent, so must be my mind. Well then, get it over. The story should have been edited. Roll credits.Lorraine. A lovely woman. She and her husband mentored us. Loves us and our local daughter. Always there. Would think of things no one else would to make us feel better. A brilliant woman, well read, articulate, eloquent, love to hear her talk. A compliment indeed to be graced with a compliment from Lorraine.
Connie. A single mother. Fun loving. Independent. Unassuming.
Derrick, whistling a happy tune or is he blowing a kiss to the love seat? An actor turning director? His mate thinks he needs more time acting.
Chin up, Rachelle. Screen test coming for Mrs. Cratchit.
Barb from down under. She plays behind the scenes, and excellent editor.
Barb really likes the looks of this house from the outside, and it's for sale. It's kitty corner (or is it catty corner) from the double corner lot. Barb thinks we should have a place on water and a place in town. I'm amazed more folks don't have screen porches. Helloooo, their are mosquitoes here. Do you not want to be out on a warm mid-summers night?
A camera angle from the side, always helpful for depth perception. But so much sidewalk to shovel. Grass on the other hand would be a snap. Give and and it's a take.
Scouting for locations. The one on the left makes a point.

Failing the screen test. How I feel at times, hiding alone in a tree house. Pouting and nobody misses me. That's always a drag and makes me want to climb higher, but that doesn't work either, and I wouldn't want any limbs to break. You'd think I'd learn, but nooooo, I have a cast iron stomach to go with my hard head. Not a good combo. Makes for difficult acting lessons.
I'm finally discovered by a wife, and not at Grouman's Chinese, thank goodness for wives. They put up with husbands, seem to know they will always be little boys. I was discovered earlier by a friend, but they had little patience and left me as if I had not been recognized. And I thought I was so familiar. Guess my little boy charm has run it's course.
He puts on a happy face that masks something else. He beckons to no avail. What to do but descend. The fruit of the vine leaves him by his lonesome and triumphs again. No wine. No roses.
All smile for the photographer. Ready for closing credits. He's the one not in the photo. He will sit in an empty chair, crystal glasses not noticing it filled.Darkness falls, and with it smiles? Perhaps seriousness now, a blessing perchance. Domine, non sum dignus... But could a woman be allowed to speak such things. We may not stretch the truth. Or can we? Do we? Whose truth? The director's? The writer's?
Another non-smiler. Is it the dark? The end of summer? Tired? Too many photographs? Too long on the set? Back to the trailer soon.
So serious, the women so far. Clueless is the photographer. He misses much, and misses much. After all, he's just a man. But she plays the producer, and a fine piece of work prevailed.
A smiler without a smile. Perhaps unhappy with the editing? She has expressed such before. A rising star no doubt.
My guess? The smile means he knows the meaning of the Latin and other ancient patois. The confidence of an actor turned director.
The Actor. So many roles and rolls, he has forgotten the little girl next door hoping to play. Was she real? Was he? Now an amalgamation of his numberless parts, he smiles of sorts, but he is clueless. For all one knows, he could be deluded into thinking that summer will last for ever and ever. This lost boy. Will he ever grow up? Maybe, maybe never. Time. He's older than he looks. He's much older than he acts. He is suspicious but naive. He'd like to think of himself innocent. But he has a certain gullibility for some peoples and things. He is sensitive and coarse. And he gets them mixed up. He is liberal, and traditional. He is 50's and 60's, he is duck and pony tailed. A walking contradiction. Few get him or want to for long. Those who find him curious, come back for more. I'm sure it's probably his fault. He thinks it cute to appear mysterious, it keeps the villans at bay. It is a protection from the sun, a lotion, a notion, perhaps bestowed with some mystical power. Still no, there is a crack, but an adhesive applied, to forestall the shatter.

The days of wine and roses laugh and run away like a child at play

Through a meadow land toward a closing door

A door marked "nevermore" that wasn't there before

The lonely night discloses just a passing breeze filled with memories

Of the golden smile that introduced me to

The days of wine and roses and you

(The lonely night discloses) just a passing breeze filled with memories

Of the golden smile that introduced me to

The days of wine and roses and you.

Labor Day Afternoon, 9/7/09

The last day of summer, Labor Day 2009. Three of four brothers and family meet over at Turtle Lake Heights for brunch and conversation. Another beautiful summer day. John, Cindy and Jenna will head back to St. Cloud in mid-afternoon. This is the same bunch that started out the summer way last Memorial Day, and this is where we started at TLake. And YNot? But case you were getting your hopes up, summer is not over 'til sometime after dark tonight, and so I have one more post of the summer.

When I started, I said I didn't know if I'd go beyond the summer's happenings. I probably will. I will at least catch up to today. However, the thought doth cross my mind that if I keep crap-shooting into the future, will it be possible for bygones to catch up to the now? And if it did, could it go further? My time is warped much like my mind.

Because of the power bestowed upon me by this blog, I exist in the future. Therefore, I can see the past and know that Autumn slows if not time. And I slow as well, spending more time in my Lazy Boy. On the dock of upcoming attractions is a birthday or two and All Hallows Eve. By that time too, it may be past Thanksgiving, in fact I'm sure of it. And we all know how time flies 'twixt turkey and Times Square.

Permit me to think out loud or is that literally impossible? Perhaps I will digress from time to time, and write of other things, of shoes and ships and ceiling wax, of cabbages and kings. As I move forward perhaps I will maybe take my camera more places to record the past for the future. Maybe I'll add work that I do - to the play. Maybe I'll do a picture story of a time way past, events stored in the wayback machine. Don't think I'll be on any bully pulpit, never did like bullies nor will I tolerate such things. And pulpit? Oh come now. I might make a sarcastic comment or two, that might be fun. Maybe I'll figure a way to add a layer, such as adding the sound of music to the songs we have sung for a thousand years.

Back to TLake and brunch with the brothers, two of my best friends. (Someone tell me. Can one have two best friends or more, or more than one?) Here's a few close-ups of family.
Lizette. Grew up near Monterey, CA She retired about a year ago, and under age 60. She met Gregory in Alaska. She is an aquatic biologist. Not sure what that is or what brought her there. I went to their wedding 28 years ago (as did John and my folks), just after meeting Barbara. They were married at Carmel Mission. A simple but elegant wedding. I played guitar and sang Let it Be Me, by the Everly Bros. They adopted a little girl from Peru, and a boy from Romania. They are big now. She loves antiquing, but doesn't Red Meat.
Brother John. The youngest of four boys. I remember him coming home from the hospital, and his attitude hasn't changed. Walter Mondale was the keynote speaker at his graduation from the U of M law school. He spent sometime in Northome while practicing for the courts at BSU. He got married and has three daughters. We lived together for awhile, we were both quite active in politics for a time, and we have both been Presidential Electors. What's the chances of that? We both have nothing to do with such things any more.
Cynthia. A good friend of Barbara's long before John and I met them. She's originally, from Minneapolis and has a half dozen brothers and sisters. She and John met in Bemidji, later moving to Minneapolis again. They moved to St. Cloud with outdoor wedding. She looks like that a lot.
Alexandru. He spells his name that way, as he was born in Romania. No matter how hard I try, I cannot convince him he is Irish now. He's but 19. He had been away from Alaska for a bit at the time his parents moved to Bemidji. He went back home not knowing he couldn't. He then came to Bemidji to grow. Never having a son, he graciously agreed to move in with us for about 6.5 months. Although we had disagreements, he taught us much and value the time he spent with us. Doesn't he look thoughtful? But what does he think? No one knows for sure including the thinker...I think.
Gregory. Number 3 among the Meuers Boys. He and I both graduated from Catholic High Schools, he DeLaSalle and I Benilde. The other two, both with February 9 birthdays did not. Gregory is a child psychologist, well a mean he's an adult who works with children. He also worked with a really "special" guy he called Ed, before retiring along with Lizette about a year ago, he also under age 60. Doesn't he look smug?
Michael, not Mike. I know nothing else about him, he's a bit mysterious, and if I did...I wouldn't tell. I wouldn't dare.
Barbara. She grew up in Fergus Falls, MN She got a big brother who lives in Indiana, and a little sister who lives here. She's lived a few places including Colorado Springs and St. Paul. She moved north to give birth to a beautiful baby girl, who I was fortunate to later Father. She is a social worker currently working with the homeless. She also is a Bemidji City Councilor, only the 4th woman to serve in 115 years, a down right dirty shame and a particular embarrassment for the City of Bemidji in my view.
Younger brother perks up his ears, when the elder speaks. He is an excellent listener, and has helped me through many a tight spot, especially after my successful at-tempting recovery from Demon Rum. A thoughtful and sensitive man, I listen closely when he speaks although he may not know it.
John became a grandfather not all that long ago, here he goes off to a more secluded part of the deck to speak with his granddaughter. I do believe he likes that roll, especially cinnamon, which are a staple at his household, often times made from scratch. He also goes into lofty ecstasy when the scratch is on his back.Let's try it one more time. You got me rockin' and ah rollin', boppin' with the rhythm Barbara Ann.
With these hands, I hope a picture to paint,

I see it right here in my mind,

I dream it be one of a kind,

And when I am through, you will see it too.

With these hands, I will plant a tree,

I'll watch it grow and I'll protect it,

Give it love and I'll respect it,

And one day you'll see, it will yield fruit for thee.

With these hands I hope to offer much,

With these hands, I may create,

And with these hands, I will offer love,

Perhaps beautiful things, with these hands!

With these hands, I may write a song,

A song of peace for all to hear,

A song that may catch someone's ear,

And when they hear the song,

They may sing along.

With these hands, I'll reach out to the world,

I will join with other hands,

Everywhere in all the lands,

Working for the love the world's been dreaming of!

Labor Day Eve, Sunday 9/6/09

It's always nice on Sunday night if you know you don't have to work on the morrow. And what better day not to work than Labor Day. Labor Day is a holiday that celebrated it's 125th birthday this year. In 1884, the Knights of Labor held a large parade in New York City celebrating and in honor of the working class. The parade was held on the first Monday in September. The Knights passed a resolution to hold all future parades on the same day, designated by them as Labor Day.

O'er the years, it has evolved from a purely labor union celebration into a general "last fling of summer" festival. I guess that's what it is to us, although we appreciate, indeed thank, the folks who gave us the 40 hour week. And our friends with school age children? Well, Mom and Dad can hardly wait for school to start again. Perhaps they celebrate, but not I. To me it is but another "last fling" brimming with mixed emotion.

Off the lake and river. The house is full and we add two more, making us ten. No, I'm not counting Jack the Dog, because if I did I'd have to give equal time to cats as that's, only fair. Derrick and Rachelle join us for burgers and fish on the grill. The usual picnic supper, add some chips, fruit salad, potato salad, Boston baked beans, with condo mints.
As often happens, at least at first, women congregate inside to imbibe in inside chatter, about what? I know not. Whilst men move to the out of doors and talk about new ways to light and use charcoal.

My friend Derrick pronounces "about" and "roof" in what I find to be a peculiar manner. 'Course roof is kinda funny anyway? Derrick, being normal in almost every other respect, if he didn't talk, you might not know he is from some place north and west of here called Sasquatchian. I believe he was ridiculed to the point of embarrassment and then banned for not having a Big Foot. Rachelle taking pity, not that big of feat, allowed him to share a cottage.

Derrick has a Mother who still loves him still, small feet meaning little to her. (Synonyms on the river as well) I've met her a couple of times and was told she found me "interesting". Interesting enough that for some unknown reason, she sent a package to Derrick, he thinking for him, but destined for me. This somewhat baffled all who cared, which were few. In the package was an apron entitled, "eh?" Apparently a Canadian word that reflects my feeling expressed as "huh?", or maybe not. And this question permeated my being until I remembered what my Father used to say when baffled by women; "At first I thought 'what the hell'? And then I thought 'oh'". We must remember the words and poetry of our Fathers, should we not?
Derrick being less curious by gifts of aprons, is among the first to gather round the round table and fill his plate. Seems his plate is always full, along with his schedule, his bathrooms, his garage, and his driveway. Note, you can not tell, nor I, by looking at him that he has a duality of citizenship. He looks as misstified as the rest of us - of men of course I speak.
When the sun goes down o'er the river, and forget to turn on the flash, you get a photo to make - oh oh oh - to make you shiver, and invite normally sweet Rachelle's rath. Actually when seeing the photo, it inspired her to dress as a witch on All Hallow's Eve. She was a different kind of scary on that eve. Stay tuned, Halloween may be sooner than you or I think.
Alex, looking as if he is chewing tobacco, is actually sucking on his lip, a habit he has since mistaking lip for lobe. I suppose he could be grimacing. I have learned that looks and even words can be deceiving. Oh, but to have a full understanding of both. What a wonderful world it would be.

I see trees of green, red roses too

I see them bloom for me and you

And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white

The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night

And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky

Are also on the faces of people going by

I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do

They're really saying I love you.

I hear babies crying, I watch them grow

They'll learn much more than I'll never know

And I think to myself what a wonderful world

Yes I think to myself what a wonderful world.

John looking content and relaxed by the fire. Little does he realize, in the dark hides Makwa the cat, preparing to pounce on his left too vulnerable foot. That's my left, his right.
Derrick looks certifiable as often a psychologist might. Counter intuitive? Perhaps. But perchance it only be past bed time, and he but trying to stay awake, more likely conceivably, Makwa, a cat of black, has gone and attacked upon his back. Rachelle, although looking much better than her last photo, if I do dare posit, is still lugubrious with the photographer. Perhaps the next tale blogged will do justice to her photogenically, and apology and forgiveness resolved.

By the closing of eyes, we can tell that the hour must be getting late. Soon black furred Makwa - part bear, part tomcat - unseen by girls in shadows before a flash of light, will sing before you know it, and to, our great delight...

"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief,

"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief.

Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth,

None of them along the line know what any of it is worth."

"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke,

"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.

But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate,

So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."

All along the watchtower, princes kept the view

While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too.

Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl,

Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl.

Labor Day Sunday Afternoon, 9/6/09

The last boat ride of the year. Didn't know it then, but we never got out again. Certainly thought we would on account of because September was great, and figured we were in for a good October too. But alas, October acted like November and did so with an Oscar performance. Overcast and gray, never having two days of sunshine in a row. A bit depressing for sure, and most folks didn't get their lawns raked or a last mowing until post Halloween.

Back to the river. Brother Johnny Jim, sister-in-law Cynthia and niece Jennifer aka Jenna came in the night before. Another nice day for a boat ride and a swim, all relatives this time, the last time. Yes this could be the last time, maybe the last time, I don't know - oh no. We are joined by Brother Greg-a-Bear, sister-in-law Lizette, and nephew Alexandru aka Alex. Oh, and Cindy's pet canine, Jack the Dog.Cindy, an underrated actress, poses as the cat who ate the canary. Happy and possibly just a little bit smug. She's a Leo and has her pride. Barbara eating a secret or two conceals her lips behind the rail. She's penned in - being a Capricorn. We don't want that lion to get her goat and well, I ain't lyin'.
A Lion/Crab cusp and the Bull. Doesn't spend much time in china shops but a whole lotta time antiquing. Don't know why he wears a watch, he's got lots of time. Funny how he checks his calendar rather than a shoe horn, to see, if he can fit you in.
Loving cousins. Another bull and a twin. Thank goodness the other twin to Alex, has yet to show, that might be more than we could take. See the mischievous look? 'Tis not a twinkle but a gem in eye.Papa goose, cork in mouth pours for little thirsty fetching, vetching chicklings.

Let me alone, Let me go home

Let me go back and start over

Well, the preacher will preach and the teacher will teach

The miner will dig in the mine

I ride the rods, trusting in God

Huggin' my little bottle of wine
Taking a break in a lake. The Scorpion, a Twin, Water Bearer, and Bull. The playful Twin is but the only male heir, and really the only one with brown hair. He graciously takes the place in this space of yet another Water Bearer, a son who suns himself on the coast, perhaps never to return. And his fate is still unknown.
Dominos vobiscum, says the eldest with a sign. Four boys, three brothers and an only, loanly nephew/son. Alas, where art the prodigal son?
Showin' off for the girls, as boys often do. Boys will be boys - 100%. Alas they are laughed at by their jungle friends, exposed to the elements, captured by hunters, forced to endure a terrible sea voyage, and finally placed in a traveling circus. Sigh.
Women ain't swimmin' today. Satisfied to watch the boys show off, as girls often do. Are they shaking their heads, or mildly amused? It gets harder and harder to make them laugh. Who and Horton only know what girls really think of boys?
About to be sprinkled with pixie dust, from a tinkers bell. Ding dong, one already gone, can it be John? More importantly, will he be missed by the miss's.
Where have they gone Joe Dimaggio? Joltin' beaus have left and gone awry? Perhaps gone to soldiers everyone. When will we ever learn?
Look what he's found at the bottom of the lake, a foot - soldier.
"A thousand cups of wine do not suffice when true friends meet, but half a sentence is too much when there is no meeting of minds." "Or Wine a bit - You’ll feel better." But of course my favorite, "Men are like wine - some turn to vinegar, but the best improve with age.”

It's such a lazy summer night

And inspiration point is right

For fancy dreamin'

And schemin'

To just relax and run away from town

A woman tries on the foot, soldier found and adds a gam, while the daughter makes sure mom still has all her fingers.
Cindy, John and Jack the Dog. No, he be not a lifting device, nor a knave upon this deck, and even John is not a Jack, though he seems to be domesticated.
Labor Day and the last splash of summer '09.

See you in September

See you now that summer's through

Yes we are saying goodbye to sensation

Summer vacation has taken us away