Hurtling Off Into the Clouds
Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. We were all packed in the car after a long day at my parents’ cabin, a lovely day, one which included a ride in my father’s pontoon boat — without which summer simply isn’t summer — regardless of the weather.
There were seven grandchildren present, and at least five dogs, and Lord knows how many adults when someone hollered “Pontoon!” and we made the short pilgrimage to the boat clutching our drinks. Not everyone went of course. The thing only holds so many, and those who stayed behind sat around the table in the cabin playing cards and laughing loud enough that we could hear it out on the water. “Bring a jacket!” one of the mothers yelled from the cabin. “It’s cold out there on the water!” So there was a rush back up the steps to get jackets and towels and someone grabbed a blanket.
Thank goodness for all that, because cold it was. We never did hit 90 degrees during the month of July, and, though we figured it was the 1st of August on Saturday and things were going to heat up, it didn’t happen. The wind out on that lake was an icy wind, and the lips of the seven grandchildren were blue. To no avail. They all jumped in at the swimming hole anyway, along with the two crazy uncles, and we adults sat there wrapped in our jackets and towels and the one wool blanket and sipped our gin and tonics and beers and oohed and aahed at the insanity of the children.
And they, in their near-naked innocence, screamed and squealed and climbed the ladder again and again and leaped out into the air over the dark blue water as the clouds once again blotted out the sun. There were cannonballs and perfect dives and enough splashing to get us wet enough to spark a conversation on the purpose of the human nipple, and things kind of spiraled from there. The wind picked up and the waves grew choppy and the children were shivering from head to toe, yet they kept going, splashing and laughing and dashing into the waves.
Whatever it is we lose when we grow up, my brothers have managed to hold on to a thread. I imagine we each have that thread lying around somewhere, and it’s up to us whether or not we choose to pick it up and give it a tug. Not to say I wish I would have taken that swim. Nah. But there are days when I find myself longing for the feeling you can get only on a swing set. You know the one, where you’re as high as you can go and you pause for a moment on the edge of the earth, and your feet are nearly in the apple tree, and you think you might go hurtling off into the clouds. That one.
Sweet Vidalia Cheese Dip
Some recipes are so simple you think there’s no way this is going to be anything, and then you pull it out of the oven, and it’s gone in no time. My brother-in-law showed up with this lovely dip on Saturday, only three ingredients, and was it ever a hit.
2 cups mayonnaise
2 cups shredded parmesan cheese
2 cups shredded Sweet Vidalia onions
Mix. Pour into casserole. Bake at 350 for 45 min or until lightly browned along the edges. Serve with crackers, foccacia bread, anything that dips well.