Writing from home

The washing machine is nearing the end of its marathon. And, I'm finding it strange to be folding fleece and flannel, considering the outside humidity and temperature. We're reentering the routine, in some ways a sad thought. But, not in all ways. The routine has been given a tweeking, perhaps an overhaul might be a better term. Long uninterrupted conversations are an advantage of almost 4000 miles together in an automobile. Things are not the same here at 207 Country Club Road -- and that's a good thing.

Meaning? A little more play. An official end to the work day. The reclaiming of a hobby. More eating at home AND eating prepared-at-home food. That's a for example.

Aside from the "movement" essay written on Sunday afternoon, July 3rd, the last time I wrote Tal and I were in Sault Ste Marie, preparing to take in the Great Tugboat Race. Actually, Friday night was the tugboat parade, in anticipation of the race on Saturday, and it was wonderful. We found our way to the city marina, downward from the locks, among a congenial group of locals. The tugs, 34 in all, steamed along the Canadian side up to the locks, back down the middle, then up the American side on their way to the river on the upward side of the locks. There were tugs of every size -- very large to tiny, classic to unusual, lovely to ugly.

The hands-down ugliest was the one shown in two photos below, a very servicable-looking craft from the Michigan Army National Guard. The three sailors aboard, one women and two men, were having way much too much fun, we observers concluded, zipping from one place to another, where they handed out Guard souveniers. The third photo was taken from our hotel room after we left the parade -- a few of the tugs in the St Mary River above the locks. It was a golden evening after a cold and windy day. And, the ships continued to move up and down the river long after the light of the day faded.