Another Week: Number 76

Most of the time in my new life as a wrinkled widower, I’m gradually setting my preferences and piecing together new routines, like some kind of witness protection rookie. Apparently, I sometimes watch baseball and WNBA games. Who knew? The Caitlin Clark buzz has drawn me in, and I have seen the Indiana Fever win twice now.

Once in a while, though, something cuts through and guts me.

I must have heard John Hiatt’s “Dust Down a Country Road” two thousand times over the years, but I never really paid attention to the lyrics. On Monday, the song came around in my playlist once again, and suddenly the words hit home. Now I think it may be the saddest fucking song I’ve ever heard — and I’ve been a Jackson Browne fan since my teens.

Meanwhile, yard work continuously beckons. I mowed twice this week to subdue my quickly-growing lawn between rainstorms and schedule commitments.

But the quiet refuge in which I imagined I might spend the summer is not to be.

Across the street from me, Mitchell School is now undergoing an extensive construction project. It’ll get a “new gym, culinary classroom and renovated classrooms” — and I’ll get diesel engines, backup beeps, and jackhammer noises instead of summer tranquility. We’ll see how well the active noise cancellation of my AirPods works. This is my reward for supporting a school referendum even though I don’t have kids.

On the plus side, my couch now offers a new massage feature whenever the heavy equipment rolls by.

On Tuesday, my sister Karen stopped over and treated me to Mexican food. We tried to start watching the new Ren Faire series on Max, but it got mutually gonged after about 40 minutes. Neither of us had any interest in the Machiavellian power plays or sexual strivings of some old coot in his Texas carny kingdom.

Shoes and socks become gross above a certain dew point, which we surpassed five days into June. Wednesday’s weather was full summer, so I walked the Kenosha lakefront in shorts and slippahs. My feet, however, were not used to the rubber soles and nylon straps, so 3.72 miles was a bit ambitious and slightly painful — but a walk got taken.

The main focus of this week was Saturday’s birthday party for my mom in the clubhouse of her apartment complex in Pleasant Prairie. My sister Karen planned the event for months. My sister Colette and her family came from Trevor and Rockford. My sister Maria and her husband came from Ohio. Several of our cousins drove in from Illinois and Mequon. My mom’s caregivers brought their families. I made French Onion Dip and guacamole — and learned that my cousin Stephan has authored a book.

We had a wonderful time.