It is a weekend during which I appreciate my freedoms and liberties more than I do most other weekends. Yesterday I took MBW and the HA to downtown Portland’s waterfront to enjoy the Rose Festival. We ate reasonably good food, listened to sub-par music (sorry, kids, I know you meant well. Perhaps your voice will sound as good as it does in your imagination a few years after puberty hits.) We walked the midway, bought overpriced inflatable toys and watched performers with talent suited for the venue.
Overcast skies covered the region. So perhaps the weather hindered my enjoyment, predisposed me to a somewhat dyspeptic attitude. At least the beer was good.
Today the sun lit an azure sky. Mt. Hood gleamed white. The golf course beckoned. I drove MBW and the HA up toward the mountain to play a round. I haven’t played in an absurdly long time. I should have been miserable, frustrated, and spewing profanity. But I had a good time and played less abysmally than I had any right to expect. Wildlife roamed the course, the sun beamed down beatifically.
All is well. The beer today will be good. Thank you blue skies and sunshine.
And, of course, thanks to all who paid the ultimate price for my freedom. May the wings of liberty never lose a feather.