It was the Summer of Love. In the tennis sense.
In early June, I didn’t go with the Binghamton Morris Men to the Sudz, because of family obligations that weekend.
A couple of weeks later we didn’t go to the Old Songs Festival as we usually do, because we weren’t particularly enthralled with this year’s performers and we figured we might as well do our camping in a context we were more enthusiastic about.
Thornden Morris was invited to the Dog Days Ale in July, but we didn’t have a side. (I was invited as an ex Hound, but didn’t want to go without a team.)
In August, Heather went to the Pennsic Wars for a week and came back with a case of the flu she’d contracted that morning. It turned into bronchitis and she was sick most of the following week. Toward the end of that week I left for Newport News, for a meeting and a conference; I was away for five days. By the time I’d gotten back way too many things had piled up undone due to Heather’s absence, Heather’s illness, and my absence to make me feel I could justify going away again. So I missed the entire American Travelling Morrice for the first time since my first ATM in 2003.
Then Heather’s father got sick and I decided I’d better stay home Labor Day weekend instead of going to the Toronto Ale with Thornden Morris.
But Bill’s not in immediate danger, and Heather’s dealing with things okay, so we agreed I should go ahead with a planned camping trip; Kenny and I leave tomorrow for three days in the Adirondacks. (Originally Heather was going to go with us, but after the bronchitis she felt she shouldn’t go camping, and then her father’s illness really sealed the case against.)
Hopefully the trip will go as planned, and the summer will not be a total washout, getting-away-from-it-all-wise.