LISTEN. Another summer weekend, another leisurely drive down the Natchez Trace Parkway on Saturday with Brother-in-law (with his newly-installed heart hardware) , another lovely streaming Sunday from Yankee Stadium to Dodger Stadium to Wrigley Field (Cards win, in ten). Keep your silly Bananas, Savannah. The grand old pastime is already "fun," the fact that it's usually slower and more meditative than TikTok is a feature-- not a bug. It's plenty fast and fun, if you pay attention.
Meditative doesn't necessarily mean cogitative, though it doesn't necessarily not mean that. But this is the portion of summer when serious thinking is easily shunned in favor of sun and sand. The day-dreamy days. Summer reading days. Days defending experience simply by having and enjoying it.
We're soon heading beachward, with a stop in Atlanta to see real baseball before pulling up on the island they used to call Savannah Beach. I see there's been recent acrimony there, over the troubled but whitewashed racial history of the place and new racially-tinged objections to the perennial presence of HBC spring-breakers. We don't want to ignore any of that, but neither do we want to dwell on it. We want, as the old Stoic said, to dwell on the beauty of life.
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