It\u2019s been a while since I\u2019ve written a \u201creal\u201d Sunday Story. Over the eight years of \u201cOur America\u201d there\u2019s been literally thousands of essays about politics. But sprinkled throughout those years there have been \u201cstories\u201d that aren\u2019t about foreign affairs or political machinations or Constitutional theories. They\u2019re just about experiences in my life; what my classes in the \u201cold days\u201d would call \u201cstory time\u201d. Maybe at the end of the tale, I would find a way back to the \u201clesson plan\u201d, but often it was just to pull the group together: sixth graders, eighth, freshmen or seniors; to that time when history was simply \u201chis\u201d story (and of course \u201cher\u201d story as well!!).<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There\u2019s a long list of those stories at the end of this essay; about dogs, cars, kidnappings, track, hiking, travel and just life.\u00a0\u00a0So, after a long sabbatical (a Sunday reference) from Story Time here\u2019s an actual, non-political, Sunday \u201cStory\u201d. Even more, it\u2019s on an actual Sunday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Friday was the Fourth of July. Here in Pataskala, in the \u201cmodern age\u201d of unrestricted fireworks sales, our house was in the middle of a \u201cwar zone\u201d. There were rockets to the East, Boomers to the West, Screamers to the South, and even Spinners to the North. And it wasn\u2019t off in the distance, downtown Columbus fireworks. All of these were within a couple hundred feet, and all were going off at the same time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I think that\u2019s a \u201chabit\u201d (or practice) our town picked up during Covid of 2020, when the \u201c4th<\/sup>\u00a0of July\u201d was cancelled.\u00a0\u00a0Crowds weren\u2019t allowed to gather, even the local teams played to empty stadiums.\u00a0\u00a0But, the good folks of Pataskala weren\u2019t having it.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And with a Fireworks store just down the road in Kirkersville, many spent thousands of dollars, their \u201cCovid Relief Money\u201d, to put on their own demonstration of Independence.\u00a0\u00a0To be honest, I don\u2019t think it was legal then, but the local police didn\u2019t seem to care.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n And, in one way, that is a great way to celebrate Independence.\u00a0\u00a0Americans, in small family and neighborhoods groups, firing off rockets to proclaim personal independence as well as National \u201cfreedom\u201d.\u00a0\u00a0To stand in our front yard and simply \u201cspin\u201d was exciting, as was the smoke of spent gunpowder, and probably the smell as well, though that sense is lost to me \u2013 thanks to Covid of 2021.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n But Fireworks, at least close to home, aren\u2019t really enjoyable anymore.\u00a0\u00a0With our four dogs, we always had one or two that got unnerved by the \u201cswish-bomb\u201d, and particularly the\u00a0\u00a0Boomers.\u00a0\u00a0And now, that\u2019s changed for the worse.\u00a0\u00a0While Atticus, our Yellow Lab really could care less (\u201cI\u2019m a gun dog, Dad”), the other three hit panic mode when there\u2019s even a single loud pop.\u00a0\u00a0So Friday night in the middle of the \u201cwar zone\u201d, Jenn and I were fully engaged in dog psycho-therapy.\u00a0\u00a0At first, we had the TV up as loud as possible on the New York City, Macys Fireworks.\u00a0\u00a0And even though it was the picture of fireworks over the soundtrack of music (\u201c\u2026It\u2019s up to you, New York, NEW YORK!!\u201d)\u00a0\u00a0they still could hear the \u201c\u2026bombs bursting in air\u201d, just outside the windows.\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Lou was barking, Keelie\u2019s eyes were white-rimmed, and poor CeCe did nothing but shake. Finally, about 11:30pm, the roar subsided and the dogs relaxed. We all fell asleep together to old re-runs of NCIS.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This year, Ohio went from a cold, wet spring, to the height of August Summer. There wasn\u2019t a lot of \u201cpreliminary warmup\u201d days: it was cool damp sixties one weekend, and mid-eighties the next. In June that just kept going, with day after day of ninety plus temperatures. Maybe it\u2019s global warming (whoops, that\u2019s climate change now) or maybe it\u2019s being sixty-eight years old and the heat is more bothersome. But it\u2019s really hot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hot enough that I\u2019ve dismantled the Jeep. The top\u2019s down, and the doors, side curtains, and windows are all in the garage. I even bought new side mirrors so I can actually see what\u2019s happening on the highway when I change lanes! It\u2019s hot out, but there\u2019s nothing like sixty-mile an hour \u201cair conditioning\u201d in an open Jeep, my foot posted on the door frame. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019ve been a Jeep guy for thirty-one years, and there\u2019s all sorts of memories around them. I wanted a Jeep for a long time. But buying one was always a \u201cluxury\u201d that I didn\u2019t want to afford. It wasn\u2019t until I was almost forty that I finally broke down and bought one. It was more the mid-career paycheck, than a mid-life crisis. It was a basic Wrangler, the rearview mirror, back seat, and radio all were \u201cextras\u201d. But once I drove it in the summer with the top off, I was hooked. That Jeep lasted fifteen years. It\u2019s still a \u201ctoy\u201d in a garage of a friend now, looking better than ever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So I\u2019m on Jeep Two, this one now over two decades old, even eligible for \u201cHistoric\u201d plates. And there was one friend who enjoyed that stripped down Jeep even more than I did. I coached with Chuck Eastham for a decade back in the 1990\u2019s. Chuck was a Marine Veteran, an eighteen year old who went to Vietnam and came back with a lifetime of memories. As we found out on team \u201croad trips\u201d, many of those memories still haunted him in the night. But riding in the Jeep, with his foot on the door frame, always brought back a smile, the skinny eighteen-year old in a government Jeep going where he pleased.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One last summer heat memory came back in full force this week. I spent the afternoon cutting grass. While I do most of the mowing on an old John Deere lawn tractor, there are still sections of the yard that require push mowing. Jenn wants me to buy a new, self-propelled push mower. But we\u2019ve got a perfectly fine, old one. Well, not perfectly fine. The self-propulsion gizmo gave up in the early twenty teens, and the oil drain plug is frozen solid. But it starts, it runs, and it cuts. You just have to do some pushing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n So after a couple of hours of mowing at ninety degrees, there\u2019s nothing in this world like the first sip of a cold beer.\u00a0\u00a0That is, unless the last sip last night was the last beer in the \u201cgarage fridge\u201d.\u00a0\u00a0Then, it\u2019s jump in the Jeep, and go find more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I went across the street to the gas station and walked into their \u201cbeer cave\u201d. It\u2019s a walk-in cooler with all sorts of beer stacked up, a great idea since they need to store cases of beer anyway. And when I stepped inside, a whole load of memories opened up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When I was coaching cross country, we took the teams to Camp Falling Rock in August.\u00a0\u00a0It was a whole lot of summer sun running in the hills of eastern Licking County.\u00a0\u00a0The conditioning was important, but the biggest part of the \u201cteam camp\u201d was becoming a team.\u00a0\u00a0That happened on the long runs, out on narrow dirt-gravel roads. And it happened as they struggled up \u201cTechniglas Hill\u201d, or the climb on the dirt path from lower camp to our cabins on the upper camp.\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n And the team also \u201cbonded\u201d\u00a0\u00a0in the kitchen, as each class prepared their \u201cmeal\u201d for the rest of the team.\u00a0\u00a0By the time we left Falling Rock, we all had shared experiences, suffering in the heat, cooking in the kitchen, play \u201ccombat\u201d capture the flag in the night, sitting telling stories around a campfire.\u00a0\u00a0It was a \u201crite of passage\u201d of Watkins Cross Country, from the time we started in 1996.\u00a0\u00a0It still is today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But one of the \u201cperks\u201d of being the coach, was that at some point on those hot days, after the tough runs, you had to step into the walk-in cooler to get the food out for dinner. And nothing felt as good as inhaling twenty-four degree air after sweating through a ninety degree run. It was an instant of pure relief. <\/p>\n\n\n\n And that all came back with the first breath,\u00a0\u00a0as I searched for the \u201cright\u201d beer at the Duke and Duchess station across Broad from the house.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0It\u2019s summer beer \u201crules\u201d for us:\u00a0\u00a0Corona for me, Corona Premier for Jenn.\u00a0\u00a0We\u2019ll get back to the heavy micro-brews after Labor Day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n 2025<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\nRocket’s Red Glare<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Topless <\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Jeep Memory<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Summer Heat<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Team Camp<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
The Sunday Story Series<\/h5>\n\n\n\n
2021<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
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2022<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
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2023<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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2024<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
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