Another month bites the dust...

So, is it just me, or does it feel like we’re ending June on more of a whimper than a bang this year? Creeping toward Independence Day with stealth—like “Hey, COVID, nothing to see here, why don’t you just keep on going and leave me alone”—rather than, you know, fireworks and barbeques and pool parties and whatnot. On the bright side, it does mean that we’ve made it through another month of the pandemic, so I’m incredibly grateful for that…even if many things are still…weird.

For example, routine tasks like, say, seeing a medical professional have taken on a whole new set of rules and procedures in Corona-times. Let’s use Derek’s latest visit to illustrate. I scheduled a time for his annual physical, at which point the staff asked me the standard list of questions we’ve come to expect, about your current health, recently completed travel, known instances of possible exposure to the virus, or any red-flag symptoms you might be experiencing. (Then, because he’s over 18, they informed us they’d be contacting him the day before his appointment to go over the precautions again, just in case anything had changed.)

When we arrived for his checkup, a sign on the door of the building instructed us to call the front desk and let them know we were there. We were told to wait outside until someone called us back to indicate they were ready for us. Given the all-clear, we proceeded through the empty lobby (home to several other practices that appeared deserted), up the stairs, and into the office, where we were greeted by a thermometer-wielding nurse before being allowed to seat ourselves (gingerly, on the just-disinfected furniture).

I’m telling ya, the whole thing was pretty…surreal…including the fact that, for the first time since he was BORN, I didn’t even lay eyes on the doctor the entire time, much less get to have a conversation. (Granted, Derek is technically an adult and still going to his pediatrician, so there’s that. I did offer a long time ago to let him change, but he’s comfortable with what he knows—and who am I to shake up his world…especially now? Yeah, we’ve all got quite enough to be dealing with, I think…)

Meanwhile, in other areas of “trying to maintain a semblance of normal”, Riley recently decided that he’d like to join the cross-country squad for his final year in High School. Along with his obvious passion for running, last year was the first time he wasn’t on some kind of team, and I think he missed that to a certain degree. Although the academic term just ended a few weeks ago, this is about the time that Fall sports would authorize athletes to begin unofficial (on-your-own, without formal coaching) training.

So Riley’s been meeting a small gang of other guys for daily workouts, focusing on adapting to the double-edged sword that is heat/humidity, and building speed and stamina for eventually racing on the wooded course. We’re going to have to keep our fingers crossed, though, because like with all things in this plague-clouded period, restrictions on group sizes and gatherings could force the coaches to limit the number of participants, which would mean cuts on a team that usually accepts all comers, regardless of quickness or ability. Nothing we can do, so Riley will keep plugging away, and the rest of us are just gonna make sacrifices to the…sprinting gods, or what have you…and keep hoping for the best…

And catching up with the Department of Cancelled…Stuff, the short-lived second version of Team WestEnders’ vacation 2020 had to be scrapped, when the universities we’d hoped to tour all pretty much said, “Please stay away. Don’t step foot on our campus. No, we’re not kidding, ‘kaythanksbye.” This of course left us scrambling once more for yet another excursion, to avoid breaking our streak of family getaways. (Also, can you tell we’re hella restless? Yeeeahhhh…)

Thus we conferred amongst ourselves (the renowned Travel Committee), and concocted a Plan C, but honestly I’m not inclined to mention it ahead of time because I’m feeling incredibly superstitious right now and don’t want to risk jinxing it. (I swear, it’s a thing! For real!) So let’s just leave it at this: road trip, slightly westward, lots of hiking. Oh, and FINGERS CROSSED!

Finally, the boys and I had an actual retail encounter last week. You see, now that NC has been partially reopened for a while, it seemed safe enough to venture to the outlet mall where we usually get the boys’ sneakers. We brought masks, of course, and planned to stop by only the (2) stores where they know they’ll find what they prefer. Sounds like no big deal, right? WELL…first of all, I was horrified by the number of people wandering around without any kind of face covering whatsoever. And also, social distancing just…didn’t seem to be a thing that anyone was particularly invested in or concerned about.

Mind you, this was in the next county over--and while I'm not throwing them under the bus, or anything--I believe from my own observation that citizens in our more immediate area ARE for the most part following the guidelines and being safe. Having seen this for myself, however, it came as no surprise when the governor announced that we’d be remaining in Phase 2 for at least several more weeks. (Um, we’re not meeting ANY metrics for improvement. Like, Not. At. All. Science, dude…I’m so glad our fearless state leader trusts it and is holding his ground…) Bonus: having accomplished this trip, the guys won’t need any more footwear for some time, so whew, we’re done with THAT!

As for me, I’ll stick to much less scary jaunts to ye olde grocery store and Target-- places where they’ve demonstrated that they have the whole situation reasonably under control, and one can feel secure whilst procuring one’s food and household necessities…and…ahem…Starbucks. (It…um…helps with the shopping! Or it’s my reward for braving the fray, whatever…) And there you have it…sailing on toward July…and the latter half of 2020…gulp! Speaking of treating ourselves during this difficult time, at least we can face the next part of this ridiculous year with fruity frozen drinks and a good book outside on the deck—cheers!

Well, the calendar says it's Summer, so...

Ah, June…wait, it IS still June, yeah? Oh right, it must be, because we just marked the Summer Solstice this past week. Although I’ve gotta say: how meaningless is THAT designation in 2020? Don’t get me wrong, I looooove me some extra daylight to get outside and appreciate nature, but seriously, “longest day of the year”—ha! Get in line, 6/20, ‘cuz you’ve got some stiff competition…like EVERY OTHER DAY SINCE MID-MARCH, for crying out loud. Sheesh…

Okay, breezing past my mini-tantrum to the actual, you know, “updates” and whatnot. First, another calendar milestone passed with barely a blip on our collective radar. Not that it wasn’t special or that we didn’t care—but Riley’s last day of 11^th grade almost escaped our notice because, well, he’s been home for months, handling his academic load completely independently, and frankly, had already finished up all of his assignments weeks ahead of time. So yeah…adios, Junior year…hola, High School Senior. (Pause: GAH! Continue…)

As for Derek, the biggest change to his daily life came when he started a new job. After a somewhat…let’s call it a “tepid search”…he ended up accepting the only offer he received, sorting packages at a warehouse for one of the big nationwide shipping companies. This was all well and good…except that they wanted him for the (brace yourself) 10-2 slot…as in p.m. to “oh good heavens are you kidding me, that’s the middle of the night”. Needless to say, he and I discussed this in-depth, because I wanted to be as sure as possible that he thought it through completely and understood the potential pitfalls inherent in keeping such a schedule for an extended period of time.

Specifically, I stressed that sabotaging your natural circadian rhythms can in turn mess with some of the things that are most important to my son…namely “eating” (approximately 5 times a day) and “sleeping” (the boy does thrive on his 10 hours per night!). Of course, with the brimming confidence—and boundless energy--of the young, he assured me he’d be able to handle it. And then he actually went to work…and discovered that the 4-hour stint he’d signed up for was the norm in the era before COVID. Now, however, with people doing so much more of their shopping via the Internet, the facility is being absolutely overrun with orders, such that his crew (and presumably all the other ones as well) are having to stay much longer than planned, in an attempt to keep up with the volume.

And that’s why he’s been getting off (only when a supervisor releases him to leave) at more like 3:30 (UGH!), and crawling into bed (after driving home, showering, and scarfing a snack) around…5 a.m. (YIKES!) It’s…it’s just…NOT GOOD, y’all. Obviously we let him slumber as late as he wants, but after a week of this, he’s understandably exhausted, and coming up against exactly what I warned him about, with both his appetite and his fitness routines getting screwed up along with his rest. So, we’ll just have to see how long he’s able to keep this up…and hope that his bank account gets the nice fat boost that it needs from his first and (hopefully only) experience with the dreaded Graveyard Shift.

Next...hmm…business continued as usual for Husband, but he did get to try out the expanded version of our library’s curbside pickup service, to get some fresh reading material. Fortunately, he snagged my reserved novel as well, since the one time I’d tried to navigate the system, I encountered a line of cars backed up all the way down the lengthy driveway--and not perceptibly moving. I think we can all agree that I do NOT possess the patience required to wait out that kind of situation, so I U-turned and hightailed it out of there. (On the other hand, he reported that it was quick and easy-peasy when he went, so I guess it’s just a game of chance as to what day and/or time you show up? We shall see…)

He was also able to make an appointment to swim laps at the local YMCA where he’s a member. Apparently they’re booking every other lane in half-hour sessions, to enforce social distancing but let you get your, I don’t know….pool fix? All told, this probably represents more out-of-the-house time in the span of one week than he’s had in quite a while, so he must have been itching to go roam the Great Outdoors!

Finally, my big excitement for the week involved my bootcamp group. You see, they’ve been holding virtual meetings since April…but I honestly haven’t been attending, because the idea of working out via Skype—which I know many folks do in their regular lives, regardless of quarantine restrictions—does not, as they say, “spark joy” for me, personally.

BUT it was my turn to host the sweatfest, so I put together a Tabata-style thing (first testing it out on myself to see how I liked it, and then making modifications…because even with my leisure time, I’m evidently an irredeemable Type-A). Next I reviewed the instructions provided by our Fearless Leader (who’s on maternity leave with her precious baby girl—yaaay!!), created the event, emailed a reminder to members, posted in Facebook the night before….and even after following the list of directions, still stressed about whether I’d done everything correctly or forgotten anything crucial. (I mean, doesn’t my brain seem like a delight? Siiiigh….) 

Anyway, early in the morning of our online get-together I scurried about in the driveway, arranging my “tools”—exercise mat, a stool upon which to rest my laptop, and my phone for the timer. I fiddled with the camera until it was in the right position, tested the audio from my speakers, verified that I understood how to initiate the call…and having finished the preparations, commenced anxiously pacing until my health-buddies started joining. Whew--success! Then I was able to relax and happily lunge/squat/plank/crunch/pushup/etc. with my peeps. I can only imagine that, to the neighbors—and all the many walkers, runners, and bikers that passed my house during this half-hour circus—I must have appeared a bit…silly?...leaping around next to my garage and conversing with invisible friends on a screen.

Nevertheless, I found it an immensely satisfying interlude, in spite of the SUPER-HIGH FREAKING HUMIDITY--but the true reward, of course, (besides improving strength and cardiovascular ability, blah blah blah) came afterwards, when we continued on to the coffee chat portion of our activity. Personal training out of the way first thing in the morning…followed by java and catching up with pals? The very definition of a WIN/WIN, I tell ya…

And…there you have it: another week down, with everyone in Casa WestEnders so far managing to avoid the monster virus and maintain their sanity as best we can. Now whattya say we get out there—perhaps with one of those carefully selected books…and some ice cream to combat the swelter--and bask in those sunny Summer hours, while they last…whoo hoo!

"I believe in the church of baseball..."

In 1988, arguably the best baseball movie of all time hit theaters, and an instant classic was born. Of course I’m referring to Bull Durham (and this is not a review, so while you’re welcome to disagree, we’re not going to debate the brilliance of the film for the purposes of this post). Now, some people (ME, I’m talking about me…) might have loved it so much that they saw it on multiple separate occasions, until they could possibly quote large chunks of dialogue along with the characters while watching (to the delight—um “incredible annoyance”—of their viewing companions. Hypothetically…)

Furthermore, for some of us the allure of the fictional team on the big screen was further enhanced by the fact that we knew the Durham Bulls—and their iconic stadium--actually existed in real life. And for my family in particular, the thrill ran even deeper, since the genuine Bulls played at that time in the Single-A Carolina League, which also included our own hometown Frederick Keys. Finally, as if that weren’t enough to cause fangirl palpitations, Durham, North Carolina is only a couple hours’ drive from where I grew up, so…take my well-documented passion for exploring, mix it up with America’s pastime, and throw in (ha! sorry…) the potential for a sister road-trip. Is it any wonder the idea of a…Minor League Pilgrimage…took shape? 

That’s how, in the early ‘90s, two intrepid young women crafted their own version of a barnstorming Tour of the South, visiting the Lynchburg Red Sox and the Salem Buccaneers to go along with the aforementioned celebrity squad. Our mission took on somewhat of an urgent tone when we discovered that the storied DAP (Durham Athletic Park, which provided the cinematic backdrop for the movie ) was scheduled to be replaced by a swanky new facility, designed to draw a AAA-level Major League affiliate.

Thus we set out brimming with excitement and anticipation about setting foot in such a historic building and witnessing the Durham Bulls on their fabled field. And honestly, the whole adventure struck me as somewhat surreal—from the moment we drove up to the gates and gasped in awe as we recognized the surroundings from their motion picture fame, to taking our seats reverentially in the stands, to gazing appreciatively out at the famous scoreboard and painted bull who sternly overlooks the outfield wall. It was….a LOT of feelings, y’all.

Whew! Okay, fast forward to the present, when Team WestEnders nowadays actually resides oh, about 13.7 miles (nope, that’s exact, I looked it up…) from the sparkling DBAP (Durham Bulls Athletic Park)—gorgeous home of the AAA Tampa Bay Rays. Since moving to Chapel Hill almost 6 years ago, we’ve attended plenty of games, which are always wildly entertaining and thoroughly worth the effort.

But…folks…it was only LAST WEEK that I picked up on social media that…not only does the DAP STILL STAND…but it’s currently utilized by both a local university and High School for their home contests. I mean…I can’t…even…HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS? I guess I assumed they’d torn it down, but it never even occurred to me to check. So naturally, once I’d somewhat recovered from my shock and remorse at having missed this very important bit of information, I felt a profound sense of calling to go pay homage to it in person.

Fortunately it was a far shorter trip than the first time, all those years ago (16.7 miles, if you’re curious). Not having a clue as to where the heck I was going, I followed the GPS’s guidance to wind my way through the streets of Durham, noting as I did so the interesting combination of glittery skyscrapers, modern apartment structures, and eclectic small businesses that had—I’m assuming slowly, over time—grown up into a quirky, appealing neighborhood surrounding the park.

And then, suddenly, there it was, in all its gracefully-aged glory. Seriously, it has clearly been carefully and lovingly maintained; in fact, it looked just as I remember it…except soooo much smaller! Right off the bat (ha! sorry…eh, not really…) I was astonished to see that there were even uniformed players inside the fence, warming up for a game. But it was a super-bummer that fans (or, you know, spying tourists) weren’t allowed inside, due to the stupid COVID. And while I totally get that, in light of the social distancing restrictions and whatnot…I’m also 100% willing to come back and pay for a ticket to an NC Central vs…whoever…matchup, to wander around the venue one more time and complete my full Walk Down Memory Lane! 

As it was, I traced a few circles around the perimeter, snapping photos, drinking in the atmosphere, and reveling in nostalgia. It truly is a little gem of a ballpark, and I’m inordinately pleased that not only did the city decide not to demolish it, but also that another generation of baseball enthusiasts is getting to experience its unique charms. During my stroll, the timeless words of Crash Davis sprang to mind, “I’m just happy to be here. Hope I can help the ball club…I just want to give it my best shot, and the good Lord willing, things will work out.” 

This rings true for the DAP, where in its presence you get the sense that the baseball gods are looking out for one of their favorite places. So let’s hear it for an OG field of dreams--long may she provide a playground for athletes to “…throw the ball…hit the ball…catch the ball”…but hopefully not to be lollygaggers!

WestEnders Digest, Early June 2020

I’m going to kick off this week’s collection of random, unrelated, wandering thoughts (consider yourself warned) by sharing a couple of facts that are currently blowing my mind:

1. We’re only about 2 weeks away from the Summer solstice, and with it the official kickoff to the traditional season of fun and frolicking…sometimes including (now bear with me here) traveling and exploring other places! Remember that? Ah, those were the days, amiright? But seriously, is anyone else having difficulty remembering this year’s Spring? Did…did I miss it? And I couldn’t even say for sure that Winter happened at all, to be honest. Yeah, I know it was warmer than average, blah blah blah…but it’s also…a complete blur.

2. And while we’re on the subject, do you realize that at the end of this month we’ll be halfway through this godforsaken year? What. The. WHAT? I guess time flies when you’re…staying home and doing everything within your power to avoid an evil, deadly virus? All I can say is, let’s hope the next part of #$%@ 2020 represents a significant improvement over what’s been dealt so far.

And now, shifting gears to what’s actually been going on around here. (Spoiler alert: not that much, for obvious reasons!) First of all, the WestEnders’ celebration span continued with Husband’s birthday. Fortunately, he’s a man of simple tastes, so for his “special restaurant meal” he requested…takeout from Chipotle. Since the rest of us are fans as well, DONE.

Then there’s the small matter of gifts. The boys and I did our due diligence and asked him—on several separate occasions, mind you—what he might like. Each time our query was met with a classic “deer in the headlights” expression, and a stammered reply, something along the lines of, “Uh, well, I don’t know! I don’t really need anything!” Alrighty, then…I did manage to come up with an idea…but I confess it was only because I was thinking about the item for myself, and realized he might appreciate it as well. (A set of sheets made from some supposedly magical cooling material, to help keep one comfortable. He’s a notorious heat-producing organism who struggles nightly to regulate his temperature and sleep soundly, so this seemed like a no-brainer for sure.)

His beloved children, however…had other plans. You see, they took it upon themselves to scour Amazon for something that they deemed both hilarious, and utterly useless, to present to their father. Aaannd they came up with…the stuffed marlin pictured here. Why? I don’t know what to tell ya, folks…except that this is what happens when you have time on your hands, funds at your disposal, access to the Internet, and a goofy sense of humor. 

Husband was understandably…perplexed…by his odd package…and even more so by the accompanying sentiments they shared in their card. The first inscription involves an old inside joke that would be far too complicated (and absurd) to relay. But the second reads: “Birthdays are very cool; We forgot to bake a cake; Here is twenty cents”. Because for reasons known only to the two of them, they’re super into writing haikus whenever they’re asked to sign anything at the moment. Oh yeah, and let’s not forget that they’re 100% RIDICULOUS. (Also, I just re-counted and the first line has too many syllables, so: double dorkasauruses!)

Since we’ve moved into talking about them anyway, the other big event of this past week involved long-anticipated, much-needed haircuts for the two shaggy boys. As you can imagine, given the recent reopening of salon-type places, they had to work a bit harder than they normally do to achieve this goal. To wit: it took them 3 attempts before they were able to actually get into a chair and under a stylist’s scissors, due to extensive wait times caused by many other people wanting the same thing. After they returned home twice without having been shorn, they were determined to do whatever it took to close the deal…which turned out to be nothing more than patience and a willingness to stick it out. 

I also want to state for the record that I offered to—just this once, given the unusual circumstances—arrange actual appointments for them at a nicer establishment than they generally frequent, and even pay for it. This was greeted with a shrug and, “Eh, that’s okay. I don’t want to put that much effort into my hair” from Derek. And an emphatic, “ABSOLUTELY NOT” almost before I got the words out, from Riley. (Which when you think about it, is very on-brand, for both of them…) Anyway, they’re all nice and cleaned up for now—and hopefully the public health situation will continue to improve, so that by the next time they’re overgrown, the whole thing will be much easier!

And finally, my typical routine of the past week was broken up by donating blood at the Red Cross’s drive on UNC’s campus. It was a strange reason to visit the Dean Dome, but at least there were plenty of banners to read while I lounged on the table! Everything went smoothly, although I did wonder if the nurse who took my vitals recorded my blood pressure correctly—I know what the numbers are supposed to sound like, and the ones she told me were somewhat on the low side. 

This didn’t cause anything but a “Huh, that’s interesting” at the time…until for the next several DAYS I felt especially tired, a little lightheaded, and periodically dizzy. Sooo…now I’m thinking that this whole “giving away vital fluids for a good cause” might have to be an only-once-in-a-while thing for me! Eh, I never fainted (before, during, or after) and I got a cool shirt, so we’ll call it a win, yeah?

So there you have it, our household’s most noteworthy nonsense of the first week of June, 2020. Looking forward to enjoying long sunny days, yummy fruits and veggies, refreshing iced tea--and maybe, just maybe, planning a trip, to get the HECK OUT OF DODGE for a while? Time will tell…fingers *definitely* crossed!

Bringing tropical dreams to life (in a manner of speaking...)

Sometime during the past Winter—even before the COVID-19 crisis erupted and trapped us all in our houses—I reached the conclusion that I needed a hobby of some kind. I had trouble figuring out just what that would entail, however, due to several factors. First of all, I am not blessed with any artistic talent. Whatsoever. Secondly, I don’t have the desire to make…stuff…just for the sake of occupying my time. In other words, unless I could identify a way to turn it into at least a marginally productive endeavor (like my friend who crochets absolutely adorable wee critter-themed hats for babies!) I wasn’t interested. All of this to say: I was stuck without a brilliant idea.

And then the stupid Coronavirus happened, and all of that went right out the window as I changed my standards to “I want something to focus on besides the current state of the world, that might bring me a smidgen of joy during these dark times.” Now, here’s where my memory gets a bit fuzzy, because I don’t honestly recall HOW I settled on the project I chose. Did I begin perusing craft websites first for inspiration? Or did the idea of painting occur to me out of the blue for some reason? 

We’ll probably never know, friends. But—given the aforementioned “extreme lack of intrinsic ability”--I very realistically chose to attempt a format that A) wouldn’t tax my meager skills; B) would require a fair amount of time and attention to complete; and C) would hopefully result in an attractive final product. In short, a paint-by-numbers kit seemed the perfect outlet for my unfulfilled, pandemic-fueled creative urges.

Thus I found myself scrolling through the available offerings, looking for something at the intersection of doable and not too frustrating. Fortunately, there were ratings, so I quickly filtered out anything not classified as “Easy”, which considerably narrowed the field. After that it didn’t take long at all to settle on a beachy landscape, since that pretty much encapsulates my notion of a Happy Place.

When my purchase arrived on the doorstep, I eagerly dug into the box, admiring the array of colors (Twenty. Five.), the delicate brushes, the enticing blank canvas just begging me to apply the vibrant tints. And then I leaned down and peered more closely…at the practically invisible numbers…printed inside the oh-so-faint lines…all crowded together in a dizzying hodgepodge of “What the HELL have I gotten myself into with this?” I mean, the very first thing I had to do before even dunking a brush one of the pigments was to pull out a magnifying glass so I had even a snowball’s chance of putting things in the (reasonably) right place, and/or staying (more or less) within the boundaries. 

And then, after I took a moment to snort in disbelief, and marvel at the ridiculous enterprise ahead of me (“Easy” my you-know-what, MICHAEL…), I gave it my best “Eh, whattya gonna do?” shrug, picked a spot to start, and dove into the fray. Now, given my well-documented penchant for order and organization, it should come as no surprise that my eyes immediately gravitated first toward the top left corner, an obvious choice for where to kick off all the art-making…hoopla and whatnot.

As it turned out, this proved to be an auspicious decision, because I quickly recognized just how…demanding…and challenging…my new leisure-time undertaking would be. The process became clear very early on: employ magnifier to check the minuscule markings, dip the tiniest brush, and ever-so-carefully dab the canvas—doing my best to respect the separation of sections and not obscure parts that should receive another shade entirely.

Although I realize that it sounds…tedious…I was astonished at how, each time I sat down to tackle another part, I found it both intensely absorbing… and yet somehow soothing as well. And I wish now that I’d clocked just how much actual time I spent working on it, because I also noticed that literally HOURS would pass while I was deep in the throes of indulging my super-secret…inner Monet…or what have you.

As the sessions piled up—because I discovered that I wanted to return to it every day—I also was struck by a few revelations of a personal nature…such as the fact that this particular activity caused some facets of my character to clash with one another. For example, my overriding impatience and constant desire to “hurry up” vs. being forced by the nature of the task to slow down, get into a groove, and take my time. Or having to accept, make peace with—and eventually even learn to embrace—imperfection as an intrinsic part of something like this…all of which flies in the face of one of the hallmarks of my personality…that would be the deeply ingrained Type-A tendencies that typically rule my life, for better or worse. “Do your best, fix mistakes if possible, then let it go and move on” became my mantra…at least temporarily. (No promises on whether I can make it stick long-term, but I’ll give it a shot!)

So, all of this brings up the question: did this experimental foray into an uncharted pastime unlock fresh depths of heretofore unknown patience and perseverance--or was I just too dang pigheaded to allow myself to give up? Eh, maybe a touch of both? All I can tell you for sure is that I took soooo much pride in seeing the progress as areas got filled in and the picture took shape, even though I was literally rendering someone else’s vision, with the help of pre-selected colors!

Overall, I found my initiation into the paint-by-number realm to be eminently satisfying…if also a tad grueling! Yet the eyestrain and neck kinks paled in comparison to the feeling when my efforts matched up to the printed picture of what the finished scene was supposed to look like. And even in the brief moments when it felt like a grind to keep plugging away at a particularly fussy part… I couldn’t have predicted how much I would enjoy it.

To sum up: taking something sort of chaotic and transforming it into an object of beauty, neatness, and perhaps most of all, joyful hues proved to be its own intoxicating reward! Hmm, note to self when searching for future entertainment of this nature: seek the rainbow! (Whatever that means…to be determined…look out, Michael, I’m coming back for you!)