My mom always said the gods work in mysterious ways, and once again life is proving her right. Since we cancelled our cruise, I’ve had two reports of strong storms in the Great Lakes. At first my casual reply was that I always loved Lake Michigan when it was wild and dark and stormy. I’d sit on a dune, arms wrapped around my dog (who probably wanted to run for shelter but was too loyal), and feel the wind whip my hair this way and that, inhale that deep-water small, watch the lake roil and boil, and hear the waves crashing against the shore. Young, I had no idea of the dangers of erosion, etc. I simply loved the energy.
I have always loved storms since, much to Jacob’s dismay. I still remember the night he outfitted my closet with wine, chair, book, and snacks for me, plus a blanket and books for him. He announced we were spending the evening there, and by gosh, there was no arguing with him, Another night, he was with me when a ferocious hailstorm hit, and next morning we discovered my family room—and a lot of books, including all my cookbooks—soggy and wet beyond recovery.
But I’ve never been much of one for being out on the water, and I certainly never was out on rough water. I’d heard from one friend that the Straits of Mackinac could provide a rough crossing in the best of circumstances, and another cautioned that rough weather might mean missed ports of call, delays, and confinement to your room with meals provided by room service. There goes all the fun. So maybe God was looking after us. Not the first time.
Meantime, back at home, we settled into the second day of middle school. Jacob has wrought an amazing change in the household, one I imagine will have long-ranging effects. Because he insisted on going out for football, he must be at school at 6:20 in the morning. Good Lord, folks, it’s still dark then! This morning he was up and dressed, without pushing or prodding, at 5:30. As a result, his dad went to the gym before work, his mom was in her office shortly after eight, and the whole household shuts down early in the evening (I am sort of immune from that).
I’ve always harbored a bit of jealousy that Sophie really thinks she is Jordan’s dog. She runs to her, sits in her lap, loves on her. Now, suddenly, she will have nothing to do with Jord. If Jord calls her, she backs out the door and stares through the screen; no treat can tempt her in. We can’t figure out what Jordan suddenly did to her—that medicine on the back of the next once a month is surely not it. Dogs are their own people, and I guess we’ll just have to let it untangle itself. But Jordan’s feelings are a bit hurt.
Cancelled cruises and all, life goes on.