A breeze from the south lacks the strength to stir the sodden, tall enough to bale, grass. A lone bird’s plaintive attempt to sing sounds more like a gargle than an aria. Unbroken armies of clouds, slowly building into towering thunderheads, march across the sky. Except for the too often, ear splitting, roar of the defective muffler on a car driven by a testosterone charged idiot who deludes himself into believing the cacophony is the sound of a super-charged engine, it is unnaturally quiet. It is almost as though the world is holding its breath.

A year ago May, we were camping at a KOA campground in Hot Springs, Arkansaw. In case you’re wondering, Arkansas is spelled phonetically on the off chance a reader is from the pronunciation challenged State of Kansas. They can’t seem to pronounce the word any more properly than I can pronounce aluminum. But I digress. We were sleeping soundly in our Cabelo’s tent when up came one hell of a storm. The rain came down in washtubs and the wind was clocked at 75 mph. A right fair storm it was.

I would have slept right through it had not Kat started poking me in the back. She has a right sharp finger. Apparently, she had some concern the tent, and the two of us, were in imminent danger of being blown into a nearby crick. I listened to the wind for a moment and told her to go back to sleep. With my fat butt weighing down the tent, we weren’t going anywhere and, of course, I was correct. The tent survived the storm quite well.

At the time, actually the next morning when I was awake enough to think about it, I figured her jitters were caused by a lack of familiarity with tent sleeping. Well, maybe not so much. The last few days she has been as nervous as a kitty in a room full of rocking chairs. When the last gully washer hit about 0330, we were suddenly a whole lot closer than conjoined twins. It kind of reminded me of a very old joke – “How do you separate the men from the boys in Laguna Beach?” “With a crow bar.” I think it would have taken more than a crowbar to loosen her from my back last night. Maybe some C 4 would have done the trick.

George M. Cohen wrote a number entitled “Yankee Doodle Dandy” for one of his many Broadway productions. I have never seen it performed on stage, but I have watched the incredibly talented James Cagney perform it in the movie, “The George M. Cohen Story.” It’s one of my all time favorite movies. Until the other night, I had never seen it performed by a Canadian wearing my black fedora, a smile, and carrying a cane. It was one hell of a performance and that is all I’m going to say about it, which is probably more than I should have said – but what the hell.

Life is sweet – if you’re wondering why, reread the last paragraph.