ginnygram

Back in the early summer, when hummingbirds are known to arrive for the season, we hung this feeder off the crow’s nest deck (the deck that’s really, really high up and overlooks the lake).

The hummingbirds were pretty fun to sight — once in a while.

But now, apparently there is a hummingbird version of  Gangs of New York going on. Humming-gangs of Raccoon Lake. Over the past few months, six or eight of the little guys (humming-girls don’t act like this) have discovered the feeder and now claim it as their own turf. From sun-up to sun-down, they swarm and fight over the feeder,  zipping and squeaking at each other. And hardly any of them actually gets time to sip. Sheesh.

I can’t even read, for all of their attitude. And in addition, these little spitfires are now attacking our American flag, the red deck chairs, and the red party lights down at the summer kitchen. I wore a pink sun-dress yesterday, and just about killed one when it “attacked” me, by reflex-swatting at it with my Kindle.

But the funniest part about all of this? On our to-bring list, I wrote to bring more feeders, so there’s more territory to spread around. And that makes me a crazy hummingbird lady. And for the last 20 years in publishing, I’ve rolled my eyes at the customers who buy hummingbird notecards, fridge notepads, journals, and calendars. Don’t these people have anything better to do, than think about hummingbirds?

Hm. No. Why should we?

All weekend, the Connecticut Clan O’Donnell has been playing Gaelic football at Gaelic Park way the heck down on the South Side. Today, their team won the Continental Championship for ages 8 and under. And we were so happy to be cheering on the sidelines!

Gaelic Football looks like the most fun game ever. I’m sure there are rules, but it looks like a game that a bunch of little kids with a big yard and a ball just made up. Run, bounce, kick, throw, dive, grab, fight, dirt, sweat, SCORE! No timeouts, and definitely no tears.

So congratulations, wee lads and lassie. And sweet dreams in the truck tonight, as your very tired but proud parents ferry you and your trophy home.

It kinda cracks me up that I am a Daughter of the American Revolution and a bonafide member of the Jamestowne Society–and yet I feel so proud of the Brits. What a wonderful opening ceremony they gave to us.

Your Majesty, in case you’re reading my blog: I just wanted to say thank you.

Today I attended a writers’ workshop at Northwestern University, “The Art of Storytelling.”

Apparently, I have a lot to learn.

Well, hello there. Nice to see you again. For the past week, I have been in the one spot in the whole country that has no reliable wi-fi coverage, which is just fine, because I had no reliable desire to touch an iPad.

What I did have was a reliable desire to give and receive hugs, tell LOTS of ghost stories, say yes to pudding cups and Flav-o-Ice, and jump in the lake and be a mermaid. Gosh, I love these kids–my nephews and niece from Out East. They are so full of energy and curiosity and respect and love; it was difficult to squeegee their fingerprints off the storm door at the lake house when they were gone. And they were gone a day ahead of schedule, which meant we didn’t all get to go together to the County Fair.

But those of us left behind did go to the 4-H Parke County Fair. And we enjoyed the goat kids, llamas and alpacas, rabbits and poultry, the horse show, elephant ears, awkward hand-holding Indiana teenagers, and The Rides. Ginger was a good egg and went on a bunch of rides with me, where we were way taller than almost everyone else in line–which means what? That grownups in Indiana don’t ride rides?

Too bad. It was nice to be a kid again.

This is my 17-year-old nephew. He lives in Kentucky. And yet, he is a huge Chicago Cubs fan. And he is here in Chicago to tour Wrigley Field and take in a game.

We went to dinner with him, his girlfriend, and her parents last night, to where else? Harry Caray’s.

And on our way back to our house, we stopped off at the 014th District, so he could give his patrolcousin a hug and a hello.

What? A chance to go on a ride-along? No way! I mean, Aunt Ginny says absolutely no way. His mother would kill me. But he did put on a bullet-proof vest and take a quick tutorial on the computer in the squad car. And I snapped this photo to text to his mom, to mess with her  just a little bit.

“Permission to ride along?” I texted. Tee hee hee. She’s gonna freak out.

“How can I say no?” texts back his mom.

I think his mom knows me too well. And messed with me. Just a little bit.

This is a bad snapshot of a framed photo of Ron Santo that hangs in Murphy’s Bleachers at the corner of Sheffield and Waveland. Do you see that black cat? Do you know what today is?

Today is the day that we planned six months ago. Today is the day that Rick and Susan and Bill and I were going to a Cubs game. Today is the day that our tickets were not at the Will Call window. Today is the day we walked into Murphy’s to have a beer and figure out the ticket situation. Today is the day that ended our drought for about 90 epic minutes. Today is the day we toasted our good luck for not having tickets. Today is the day we rode the “el” to escape the crowds in Wrigleyville (as soon as the storm passed).

And today is the day we spent laughing and storytelling and catching up with friends we’ve missed for too many years.

Take that, black cat.