Insane is the New Sane

Glenn, MI

October 1, 2020

This year is an open advert for idiocy. It’s almost as if being a moron was a prerequisite for entry, and a requirement to stay. So, to blend in, David and I decided to join the crowd, and do something stupid.

On Sunday, during the last weekend of September and the first week of Fall, we hopped into Lake Michigan. Sane people had abandoned the beach. No one was fool enough to be in the water. Bad as things have been in 2020, Michiganders aren’t ready to use hypothermia to put themselves out of their misery.

Leave it to a couple nitwit Georgians to be that bone-headed. Yet, as if to affirm our mental deficiency, it didn’t seem that bad. The water was certainly cool. But it’s been worse in the summer, of which Sunday may have been the last symbolic gasp.

It was a warm day. Temperatures approached 80, which enticed us to the beach. The sliver that remains was all ours, but the ravenous lake seems hungry for the rest. Up the shore, neighbors are taking steps to remove the bait.

Walking up the coast, we were surprised to find a backhoe blocking the beach. As we’ve noted on previous visits, Lake Michigan is as high as at any time in the last century. It has eaten away at the bluff, and pulled houses down the cliff. Mangled staircases are a staple along the shore.

From the edge of the surf, the backhoe sat between a pile of rocks and the receding ridge, atop which sits the susceptible house the new breakwater is meant to protect. As the lake advances, more of these barriers will no doubt rise against it.

After a while tossing a football and being thrown by waves, David and I returned to the house. Katy and Perry joined us that evening, which began on the outside deck, over glasses of wine, and under the setting sun.

As the light faded, we moved inside. But the wine kept flowing. Bottles emptied and glasses filled, some to the point of having a meniscus.

Among the many pleasures of our more recent visits here has been the opportunity to see more of Katy and Perry. Much of this occasion, like all of them, was spent laughing. We also reminisced, and looked ahead.

In a moment, we’ll review what we saw.

But as Sunday blurred into Monday, the rain came down. We spent the next day indoors catching up, then saying goodbye. Katy and Perry left that afternoon. Then David and I had a guys’ night over a couple New York strips and three hours of Monday Night Football.

Tuesday, the weather cleared, and the guys’ week continued. None are complete without a tee time, so we made one at Hawkshead. David brought his clubs from Atlanta. I took him to the course, planning to play chauffeur under the lingering limitations of my frozen right shoulder.

As David warmed up on the range, I went to the putting green to kill time. There, for whatever reason, I started to swing the putter…and realized I could. Maybe the shoulder is starting to thaw?

On a whim, and because this is likely our last time here, I decided to play. And why not? What’s one more dopey idea in this lunatic year? I added myself to the tee time, and rented a set of clubs.

The last time I played golf was a year ago. But, even with a deficient right arm, I played better this time. That no doubt says more about how I played then than how I played now, but I was pleased to have played at all.

Most of my swings were partial, which reduced distance, room for error, and probably my score. After the round, we thanked the two guys with whom we were paired, and headed back to the house.

The weather was sunny, yet cool, and drew us back to the deck. There, David and I sat over the sea, reflected on the day, and marveled that three had already passed. 

That night, we threw some more meat on the grill, I poured more wine my glass, and sacrificed a couple hours and a few dozen IQ points watching a “presidential” “debate”. In a year making its way inexorably toward the deepest circles of Hell, that was a new low. 

Yesterday, Heaven chimed in. The wind raged and the waves rose. A couple surveyors arrived mid-morning, and were blown like autumn leaves around the property they tried fitfully to mark off. As they endured the weather, we decided to dodge its wrath, and drive to Saugatuck. 

The lively town was as quiet as we’ve seen it. Under grey skies, pumpkins and autumn accoutrements accessorized the sidewalks. Mid-week, on the last day of September, few pedestrians did. David had a basketball in the car, so we shot hoops at the local court till the rain started to fall. We then decided to grab lunch.

En route, we walked past the playground where we annually spent hours with our toddlers. After reminiscing a few moments in the soft rain, we made made our way to Wally’s. Aside from being a place we happened to patronize each year, there is nothing distinctive about this generic American bar and grill. As we are doing around the area throughout the week, we returned primarily for old times sake. 

We finished lunch, and crossed the street to Uncommon Ground, a coffee house to which we‘ve also made regular visits. As elsewhere in town, we were the only people in a place that normally bustles. After grabbing our drinks, we returned to the car, bid adieu to Saugatuck, and returned home.

While we were gone, the winds had not dissipated. They had intensified. As Gordon Lightfoot put it, the gales of November came early. The flagpole bent and tree branches broke. Waves crashed against the base of the bluff, and whitecaps dotted the sea to the edge of the horizon. We huddled inside, and marveled at the lake’s power and nature’s prowess.

While we did, I considered a topic we raised with Katy and Perry. I recall a similar conversation, with other cousins (and an amenable uncle), over wine several years ago. From it, a larger gathering eventually ensued.

On Sunday evening Katy, Perry, and I were discussing the current condition of Chicago, in contrast to how nice it had been at their wedding. We then remembered that was the last time the whole family had been together. We regretted how infrequently that happens, but recalled that next year is another opportunity to do so.

We know the COVID wildcard is the Joker in the deck. But Jerry, Hugh, George, Brett, Ashley, Alexander, and Alice all offer decennial incentive to reconvene. Next year is another “zero birthday” celebration. We have the occasion. All we need is the time, and the place (and the people).

In a year of crazy, this idea doesn’t seem so far-fetched. If anything, it’s appropriate. And overdue.

David and I are dumb enough to swim in Lake Michigan the last week of September.

This is 2020. Insane is the new sane. We’re up for anything.

JD