Day camp, overnight camp (a week or longer), zoo camp, art camp, museum camp, baseball camp, and the list goes on and on. Then add in swim lessons, summer school, softball, soccer, and on and on and on . . .

The amount of summer options is enormous. These were some of the choices facing Monkey, Silverback Gorilla, and me as we sat around the kitchen table last weekend. If she does this, then what about that . . . which friend is going to camp the week Monkey wants to go. Then there is summer school, which friends are taking what classes at a particular time. UHHHH!!! This is nuts!

There we all sat with brochures, booklets, a computer, and a calendar. Oh yes, a pencil too; to erase the inevitable conflicts. We sat and sat trying to put together Monkey’s summer schedule. There are so many choices, it’s enough to make a parent’s head spin. It seems that every minute of every day, every day of every week needs to be scheduled.

Whatever happened to just being a kid during the summer. Sure there was baseball and swim lessons, summer school and camp but back then, our summers were not overly scheduled. We slept late, we rode bikes around the neighborhood, and we played basketball on the driveway until the ball wound up behind the backboard over the garage door.

Camp was camp. We had a choice of day camp or overnight camp. There were not all the choices as to which specialty camp to go to. Camp was archery, arts and crafts, and swimming.

Our summer break from school was just that, a break. It was a time to relax. We didn’t rush around from activity to activity. 

Oh no! Summer vacation – our family trip that we planned six months ago. Let’s see that conflicts with summer school and the week of overnight camp when Monkey’s friend is going. Okay . . . so . . . Monkey will miss a week of summer school and I can switch her to a different session of camp. UGGHHH . . . erase this, move that here, and switch that to a different week, what a mess! 

Finished! She is registered, fees are paid, and the schedule is set. 

A busy summer for Monkey is planned. Yet, she will have time to be a kid, just as I did during summer break.       

Green Bay, Port Washington, Brown Deer, Good Hope . . . and roads in between. Enough already; enough with the orange barrels!

I’ve lived in Wisconsin long enough to know that we have two seasons, winter and road construction, but this is getting carried away. There is no place in the North Shore that is or has been immune from orange barrels this road construction season. The oranges barrels that once lined Silver Spring Drive in Whitefish Bay have now moved their way north creating the likes of war zones in Glendale, Fox Point, and Bayside.

Really, I’ve had it with the orange and white-stripped plastic contraptions that create mazes up and down the streets. And furthermore, how dumb does the Department of Public Works actually think I am? Do they actually think that I am going to drive on a road that looks like it’s been victim of an insurgent bombing? No, they feel the need to put a sign in the war torn lane that reads, “lane closed”. Well, if it weren’t apparent enough with the dust, rubble, and road sign, DPW trucks are blocking the area once considered a drivable lane. But really, that “lane closed” sign, THAT sign made all the difference. Without it, I’m sure that I would have maneuvered my way through, avoiding the trucks, workers, and broken concrete. DPW, thank you for saving my car and me. I just don’t know where I would be without your sign.

Okay, I just don’t get it. We live in an age where technology is ever changing. Things are built to last longer like the long life battery. In fact, when things wear out, we have long lasting replacements like the artificial knee. Why can’t a new super road construction material be invented? A super material that would withstand harsh Wisconsin winter road conditions. A super material that would only need to be replaced every twenty years. A super material would mean less orange barrel aggravation.

Just think what would happen if we had a super concrete . . . our two seasons would then become four. Gone would be the traffic delays as we zigzag in and out of those plastic contraptions. Our cars would not be coated in concrete dust. Our cars’ shock absorbers would not be worn out from driving on uneven, rubble laden roads. We wouldn’t be subjected to unsightly Porta Potties on the street.

Okay, I do get it. Super concrete would put car washes out of business. Super concrete would create unemployment for construction workers. Blah blah blah . . .

But as I see it – super concrete would be the best medicine to beat the orange barrel aggravation.
 

The summer festival season is upon us. Irish Fest, German Fest, and Festa Italiana are among many of this City’s many ethnic festivals. These fun summer traditions show Milwaukee ’s diversity and cultural heritage. They show both the country and the world that Milwaukee IS “a great place by a great lake”.

The biggest of Milwaukee’s festivals is not an ethnic festival. Yes, Summerfest is here. It’s an eleven day world class music festival; “a great place by a great lake” to listen to music, try different foods from Milwaukee restaurants, and to have fun with friends. Security makes Summerfest a safe event but I think the police should be there too – the fashion police! Let’s re-examine the name Summerfest. How about we re-name it “Don’t You Own a Mirror Fest”? Sadly, Summerfest is a gathering for those who have no fashion sense OR those who just don’t care what they look like. Even worse . . . are those who think they have a fashion sense AND think they look good, but they don’t. Go buy a mirror!

Women, don’t come to “Don’t You Own a Mirror Fest” wearing 4 inch stilettos with a tight leather mini skirt and black lace tank top that’s two sizes too small which shows off your implants. This look is just not in vogue. Your bottle blonde hair that’s teased with a half dozen cans of Aqua Net hairspray really does not add anything to the ensemble. Save your back, there’s a lot of walking to do at Summerfest, at least wear sensible shoes (maybe 1 inch heels) with your otherwise OMG, what the H is she wearing outfit. And if you are one of those people wearing this “Holly Hooker” outfit because you want to be noticed for how good you think you look. Let me tell you a secret . . . ssshhhhh . . . . you don’t look good . . . you look like trailer trash. Meet me in the magazine section of Barnes and Noble, I’ll buy you a copy of Elle, Glamour, or Vogue.

Guys don’t think you can escape the fashion horrors found at “Don’t You Own a Mirror Fest”. We don’t need to see your hairy chest. We don’t need to see the skull and crossbones, eagle, and names of you last ten girlfriends that are tattooed to your arms and back. We don’t need to see your size 40 stomach hanging over your size 36 shorts. Listen Bud, put down the Miller, your beer belly shows that you’ve already had enough.

Guys, listen up! Trust me, GQ and Esquire doesn’t advocate wearing a Harley tank top which shows your hairy armpits and those tattooed arms. You might think it’s sexy but here’s a reality check, it’s not! Okay, maybe it’s mildly acceptable. That is, only if you are trying to hook up with Holly Hooker.

Now, I don’t mean to pick on Summerfest. These OMG fashions can be seen at any of this City’s many festivals or even the Wisconsin State Fair. Don’t even get me started on how people dress there!

YOU can be dressed for the heat in fashion that is cool, casual, and appropriate for a great festival by a great lake; fashion that doesn’t make you look like you are attending a monster truck rally.

I really enjoy going to Summerfest. Look for me, I’ll be the one wearing cute walking sandals (try Think! or Naot brands – my favorites), khaki shorts, and a correctly fitting pink tank top (try J.Jill for something nice fitting and NOT lace). Oh yeah, and I’ll be the one without the heart, butterfly, and flower tattoos; I have NONE!

I’ll be the one enjoying the music and food without having to worry if I will fall in 4 inch stilettos. I’ll be the one giving you the “OMG what the H are you wearing” look.

Go enjoy the many festivals that Milwaukee has to offer. They are a part of our City’s heritage. But look in the mirror before you walk out the door. The fashion police are watching and your outfit; it might just be a crime.

Rumor has it that heavy, frosty glass mugs with orange, white, and brown logos are once again going to be popping up all over the Milwaukee area.  Yes, A&W Restaurants are making a comeback.  Soon they will become fixtures on every corner, like Walgreens and Starbucks. 

Excitement would overcome my Brother and I when my Dad told us to hop in the silver Caprice Classic because we were going to A&W!  My Dad loved ice cream and custard, which meant that many summer nights were spent at Baskin Robbins, Boy Blue, Gilles, or Kopps.  But a trip to A&W, that was something special.  The thought of a root beer float in a frosty heavy glass mug; that frothy foam on top of dark brown soda with scoops of vanilla ice cream was heaven.

After pulling into the parking lot, my Dad would roll down the window of that silver Caprice Classic.  Yelling into the speaker box he would place out order, “three regular root beer floats and one large float.”  The large one, that was for me.  I guess that partially explains the weight issue I had as a kid. 

Moments later out came the carhop who attached a silver tray to the car window with two clips.  On that tray, A&W root beer floats – heavenly. 

My Brother and Mom were mixers; mixing the ice cream into the soda until the dark brown soda was a light tan color.  My Dad, he and I were slurpers; slurping up the soda through the straw, leaving the ice cream to eat with a long spoon.  However it was eaten, an A&W root beer float was a treat.
 
I look forward to being able to take Monkey to an A&W drive-in.  Sure, she’s had that frothy A&W root beer many times but it’s been out of the can that I bought at the white bag store.  We’ve even made our own floats by pouring a glass of root beer and scooping vanilla ice cream into it.  It’s just not the same.

Missing is that family time on a warm summer night, each of us holding a heavy, frosty glass mug with a orange, white, and brown logo on it.  Missing is the metal tray hanging from the car window.  Missing is my Dad telling us to hop in the car. 

Before Silverback Gorilla and I take Monkey to an A&W drive-in, I will share with her my frosty glass memories.  With many new restaurants opening in Milwaukee, it won’t be long before Silverback Gorilla tells Monkey to hop in the silver SUV because we’re going to A&W.   "Two large root beer floats and one regular float," he will order.  The regular size float is now mine.  As the carhop hands us our root beer floats, I hope that Monkey feels the excitement of my childhood.

One question remains, will Monkey be a mixer or a slurper? 
 

2 Pink erasers   

10 plain folders

4 Large glue sticks     got 2, need 2

Yes, Labor Day is almost here and that means that it’s back to school time.  Frankly, I think a better name for this season should be “pillaging season”.  As parents of school-age children, we become like pirates in search of precious treasures. 

Armed with our treasure hunt map (the school supply list) in hand, we go out in search of the loot that has been buried all summer. The one gem that keeps escaping me, the large glue stick.  Wherever I go, I see plenty of small glue sticks but my daughter’s treasure hunt map says that we need the large size sticks.  Shiver me timbers!

The no longer in business Treasure Island with its squiggly roof was the place that my Mom went to get the booty for my brother and me.  Its school supply aisles always had the goods.  Notebooks, the 96 count Crayolas with the built-in sharpener, and lunchboxes, Peanuts, The Jungle Book, or Hot Wheels; Treasure Island had it all.  I never recall my Mom complaining that the aisles were already pilfered when she got there.

Yes, I know that there are plenty of stores that sell school supplies.  Don’t think that I haven’t been to all of them in pursuit of two more large glue sticks, because I have.  After running around from store to store, I can proudly say that my daughter will go back to school with the required four large glue sticks.  I had no choice but to search for them.  It was large glue sticks or walk the plank.

Go ahead; tell me “why don’t you start shopping earlier?”  Yes, I know that Target puts their back to school supplies out around the Fourth of July, as I am sure many of the other stores do.  Oh joy, that’s what I want to do, start school supply shopping in the middle of summer.  Yippee, I can buy twenty #2 pencils at the same time that I am buying red, white, and blue plates and napkins for my Fourth of July BBQ.  Even if I did start shopping that early, my luck would be that we would be asked to get forty #2 pencils.  Yes, here it is on my list for this fall, forty #2 pencils - sharpened.  Add to list, electric pencil sharpener. 

I didn’t even get the school supply list until I went to registration a couple of weeks ago, so how could I have begun to shop?  Okay, maybe the list of goods was handed out at the end of last school year which, of course, would have allowed me to begin shopping earlier, if I wanted to; but if it was given to me, I lost it.  Okay, my fault for losing it (if it was even given to me) but what is the school doing handing out a school supply list in June for supplies that are not needed until September?  What were they thinking, of course the list will get lost.

Like the days of one-stop shopping at Treasure Island, the school district now gives us a one-stop shopping opportunity; School-Pak.  It’s the service that delivers all the required school supplies and even a backpack right to your front door.  It’s quick, it’s easy, but it’s no fun.  School-Pak erases the fun of school supply shopping, even if it means going from store to store in search of the elusive large glue stick.  It takes away the fun of choosing which notebooks to buy; High School Musical or Hello Kitty.  School-Pak, I’d rather walk the plank.

I love to cook.  I love good food.  I even love to read cookbooks.  Yes, I admit it, I am a foodie.

So as a foodie, how did I spend this past Saturday morning?  I went down to Cathedral Square Park in the East Town area of Milwaukee for the East Town Market and the Battle of the Chefs.

Lining the perimeter of Cathedral Square Park, a wide array of vendors sell everything from farmers market staples such as fruits, vegetables, and flowers, while others sell jewelry, dog treats, and buffalo meat.  Even Sharp Brothers, the Whitefish Bay knife sharpening gurus are there to make sure that your knives are sharp enough to cut through the hardiest of vegetables.

For us foodies, the Battle of the Chefs is as close as we will get to watching a live version of Bravo TV’s Top Chef or the Food Network’s Iron Chef.  This local competition is comprised of four rounds of four chefs with the winner of each round moving onto the final battle. The winner of the final round is honored with the title of being the best chef in East Town.

The competition begins with the host, John McGivern, announcing to the chefs what the secret ingredients will be for that particular round of competition.  This past Saturday those secret ingredients were duck, honey, jicama, and kiwi.  The chefs and their sous chefs then have fifteen minutes to spend their given stipend in the market to buy whatever else they need to create their culinary masterpieces.  Forty-five minutes later these culinary creations are presented to a panel of four judges for tasting, after which a winner is announced.

This got me thinking, what if the North Shore had a culinary contest among its best chefs.  Who would slice out the competition and whose thoughts of being the North Shore’s best chef would be charred?  With wonderful restaurants in our community, it would be hard to choose not only the competitors but also the winner.  Chefs from Jack Pandl’s in Whitefish Bay, Devon and Ovations in Glendale, the North Shore Bistro in Fox Point, and the Riversite in Mequon would all be deserving participants.

The Town Square at Bayshore Town Center would be a perfect venue for such an event.  It offers plenty of space for the chefs and spectators, as well as nearby shopping at Trader Joe’s.

The sounds of sizzling food, the sights of the culinary masterpieces coming to life, and the aromas of fragrant herbs permeating the air, what a wonderful way to spend a sunny summer Saturday morning.  Okay, I know that not everyone would enjoy this type of event but for us foodies, this would be the icing on the cake.

Chefs, think about it.  Maybe you’ll be the North Shore’s best chef.  The timer is ticking away and believe it or not, next June will be here sooner than you think.  So let’s whip up some support and get this idea cooking.

Bon appétit!

If you go:  The fourth round of the East Town Battle of the Chefs will be held on August 23rd and the final round of competition with the winner being named will be on September 6th.  The battles begin at 10:30am.

Some call it a rummage sale, garage sale, yard sale or tag sale but let’s just call it what it really is.  It’s the "I’m cleaning out my basement and I’m going to sell you all the junk that I don’t want anymore" sale.

A few weeks ago a friend told me that she was going to have a rummage sale, so without hesitation I told her to count me in.  This was the perfect reason to begin the basement clean up.  That clean up that I’ve been meaning to get to but yet seems to be put off and off and off . . .

Last week I spent my nights digging out the treasures that I was finally willing to part with.  There were the picture frames received as gifts from people that apparently didn’t know that my taste in décor is not country.  There were the remaining unbroken glasses that my husband and I received as a gift when we were married over seventeen years ago.  Also, there were clothes and plenty of them.  Clothes now four sizes too small for my daughter.  Old clothes of mine, now four sizes too big; too big to keep even for a “fat day”.

This past Saturday a five family rummage sale was held in Bayside.  The new, I know that I’ll wear it one-day shirt with the tags still on it was sold along with old cassette tapes and the buy one get one free food choppers and mops bought at the Wisconisn State Fair.  Those State Fair items that we all buy, use once, and then toss into the basement. The driveway was lined with rows and rows of treasures that were taken out of five basements.  Five basements with newly cleared shelves. 

I don’t begrudge anyone from shopping at a rummage sale.  Some do it for the thrill of the hunt, others shop for a son or daughter going to college, and some shop rummage sales for economic reasons.  Whatever the reason for going to a rummage sale, there is a group of many rummagers who have one trait in common.  It’s been years since I had a rummage sale and I forgot about this one trait of many rummage sale shoppers.  They don’t realize that it is called a rummage sale.

Yes, I understand that I am ridding myself and my house of unwanted items but I am selling them to you.  If I wanted to give the stuff away, I would give it to a worthy charity and take a tax write-off.

Yes, I quickly remembered that part of the rummage sale process is bargaining.  People, you are going to a rummage sale, not to a market in Mexico.

No, you cannot pick flowers out of the garden to put in the vase that you just bought for fifty cents.  No, I will not take half off the coffee mug that is marked twenty-five cents.  What??  That would make it twelve and one-half cents.  Hmmm  . . . let me guess, I’ll need to round that down for you.  No, we don’t have a return policy if your husband doesn’t like the skirt you just bought.  People, this is a rummage sale, not the mall!

If you are not going to spend a few cents for a cup of lemonade from the lemonade stand that my daughter and her friends set up at the end of the driveway, don’t ask me if I have a bottle of water because you are hot and thirsty.  But since this is a sale and you like to haggle, let’s make a deal.  I’ll give you a bottle of water, wait, I’ll even toss in the cooler and whatever else is in it, and the twelve and one-half cents coffee mug in exchange for the blue Mini Cooper convertible that you just got out of.  Deal?

I know that I might sound agitated and seem like I have a problem with people that haggle for a bargain but I don’t.  I am proud of the five-dollar big blue glass pitcher that I schlepped back from a market in Tijuana.  My issue is with those who get carried away with the haggling process.  If you want one dollar off the suitcase that was shot put onto the conveyor belt by many baggage handlers throughout the years, just ask nicely and you will get that dollar off the marked price.

If you are at a rummage sale and see a fellow rummager being unreasonable, stop and tell him or her to be realistic and remember that this is a sale.  Tell him or her that this behavior casts a negative image on all rummagers.  If you are a bargain hunter, great.  If you are asking for a freebie, remember it’s a sale, even if it’s a sale of my old junk.

After the rummage sale on Saturday, I went to Bayshore Town Center to spend some of my rummage sale earnings.  I wanted a new set of wine glasses for an upcoming party that I am having.  My husband asked what I am going to do with the set of mismatched wine glasses that we currently have.  Well, they are off to sit on a newly cleared shelf in the basement.  They will stay there until it’s time for another "clean out the basement" sale.

Summer camp, one of the joys of a child’s summer vacation.  Summer camp, the opportunity to get dirty and not have your Mom upset that your white T-shirt is now gray.  Summer camp, the place where you are put in color-coded groups based on your swimming ability.  Summer camp is something that all children should experience, at least once.

For the balance of the week they will be known as Monkey and Apple Bottom.

Today at 7:45am Monkey and her friend Apple Bottom were dropped off at Indian Hill School to board the bus.  A bus full of girls with backpacks, water bottles and happy faces.  Girls ready to sing songs, swim, and make macramé bracelets.  A bus full of girls headed to Camp Silverbrook, the Girl Scout day camp in West Bend.

As soon as they got off the bus, the girls were divided into units.  Now assigned to a unit, Sunshine, the counselor, told the girls that their first activity would be to make an ID necklace with their chosen camp name.  This camp name would become their new identity for their week at Camp Silverbrook.  Monkey and Apple Bottom were the names chosen by my daughter and her friend.  Okay, I’m really not sure why Monkey’s friend chose the name Apple Bottom, but I do have to assume it has some meaning.

Monkey, well that was an easy choice.  Monkey is always jumping and climbing in the trees of our yard or hanging upside down on the monkey bars at the playground.  Silverback Gorilla has even nicknamed his daughter, Little Monkey.

As first-time campers, Monkey and Apple Bottom experienced many of the fun activities that camp offers. Today the girls partook in their first camp flag ceremonies.  Traditional Girl Scout ceremonies for the raising and lowering of Old Glory.  Apple Bottom, Monkey, and friends also swam, made magnifying glasses from plastic cups and used them to examine the foliage and insects found on their nature hike.

At 4:40pm, Apple Bottom’s Mom picked up the girls from the bus stop and Monkey was driven home to the primate house.  I admit that I was nervously awaiting her arrival home.  Did she have a good time?  Would she want to go back?

As soon as Mrs. Apple Bottom’s mini-van pulled onto our driveway, Monkey informed  Silverback Gorilla and me, that for the week, we are to call her Monkey.  Apparently I am now the Zoo Keeper of the primate house.  Seeing Monkey’s legs smudged with dirt, her white T-shirt now gray, and pony tail now disheveled, we didn’t have to ask if she had a good time, the answer was obvious.

Sand.  That was the one thing that the Zoo Keeper forgot from her days at Girl Scout camp.  Apparently when I told Monkey to take her shoes off when she got in the house, I forgot to mention not to dump all the sand on the floor.  Tonight I am busy washing sand out of a bathing suit and mopping up the sandy beach that is now on our foyer floor.  It's also a night of vacuuming up sand tracked throughout the house by the Silverback Gorilla and his daughter.  Monkey see, Monkey do.

Tomorrow morning I’ll make a bag lunch for Monkey and as I do so, I’ll remember my days at Girl Scout camp.  What will the girls do today?  Will they make a sit upon, learn to shoot a bow and arrow, tye-dye a pillowcase, or drink bug juice and eat s’mores?

As Silverback Gorilla and Monkey leave for the bus stop, I’ll take a second to think back on my bus rides to camp.

John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, that’s my name too . . .

The playground, one of the joys of being a child.  Monkey bars, teeter-totters, swings, and maybe even a sandbox; when I was young, these were the staples of the park playground. The playground was a place to socialize, have fun, and use “outside” voices.  It was at the playground that we, as kids, also learned valuable lessons.  Always let the kid bigger than you skip the line so he can go down the slide first.  Never wear a dress while hanging upside down on the monkey bars.  Don’t take your shoes off to go barefoot on hot asphalt – OUCH!

McGovern Park seemed so far from our house in Glendale but really it was just a short distance west on Silver Spring Drive.  This park was my parent’s park of choice, that is when we went to the park.  Being that my Dad didn’t like crowds, we didn’t go to the park often, but when we did, it was an event.  In the green Coleman cooler, my Mom would pack sandwiches along with chips, and fruit cut into slices that turned brown from the summer heat.  Kool-Aid was poured from a harvest gold insulated jug.  After we ate, my brother and I had all afternoon to play on the playground.

Even though we didn’t often go to the park playground, my brother and I had our own playground, the backyard.  In our backyard we had a metal playset.  It was metal painted white with accents of red, blue, yellow, and rust from too many Wisconsin winters.  In the center of the playset were two swings, one with a red plastic seat and one with a blue plastic seat.  Both hung from rusted chain links.  On the right side was a teeter-totter with yellow plastic seats and on the left side, a shiny silver metal slide.

It was on our playground that we spent many summer days.  It was on our playground that we learned valuable lessons.  Holding onto rusted chain links while on the swings will turn your hands orange.  Sitting on a teeter-totter when one person (me) weighs much more than the other doesn’t make for a fun teeter-totter experience.  Wearing a bathing suit while sliding down a shiny silver slide that has been in the direct path of the sun is very painful – OUCH!

Today’s park playgrounds are much different.  The shiny silver metal slide has been replaced by an enclosed yellow plastic twisting slide.  The rusted metal playset has given way to weather resistant wood, and the traditional chain links are now coated in yellow plastic.  No doubt, the play structures of today with their red, yellow, and blue canopied forts, mini zip lines, and psuedo rock climbing walls only enhance the playground fun.

Driving throughout the North Shore you can see backyards taken up by smaller versions of the wooden park playset.  Kids with these wooden playsets have a playground right in their backyards.

Our Glendale backyard isn’t big enough to accommodate a wooden playset.  That is unless I want kids jumping from the fort trying to land on our deck or if I want to see kids attempting to jump up to use the power lines as a zip line.  So for our daughter, it’s the park playground.

The North Shore is full of wonderful park playgrounds.  Ellsworth Park in Bayside has a great new playground.  Kletzsch Park in Glendale is a Milwaukee County park.  It's a much larger park but it has a nice small playground.  Both parks have picnic facilities and plenty of fun to keep the kids busy.

However, my daughter’s playground of choice is Klode Park in Whitefish Bay.  This large picturesque park overlooking Lake Michigan combines the new and old.  A big sandbox and a teeter-totter sit along side a massive wooden play structure complete with a plastic slide and mini zip line.  Next to the sandbox stands a large metal frame which holds four swings that hang from traditional chain links.  With plenty of picnic tables, immense open green space, and restrooms, it’s the perfect place for a family outing.

Whether it’s a Milwaukee County Park or a municipal park, enjoy your park of choice.  Our North Shore community as well as Milwaukee County is filled with wonderful green spaces.  Spend a nice warm summer day taking advantage of these parks and their playgrounds.  Who knows, maybe you will even see someone pulling a sandwich from a green Coleman cooler or pouring Kool-Aid from a harvest insulated gold jug.  It might just remind you of your childhood.

Yes, I know that the outcome of the game has implications for the World Series, but these All-Stars are there to play for the love of the game.  Rivalries are put aside in favor of good sportsmanship.  Yankees will play along side Red Soxs and Brewers will play on the same team as Cubs’ players.

Some of the players on the American League and National League rosters were lucky enough to make it directly into the Major Leagues.  Others had to come up through the farm system.  Each of these players showed that year after year he was learning more and able to move up in the ranks.  For these former double A and triple A players, not only was it an honor to make it to the Major Leagues, but then to be named an All-Star, well, that’s a Major League dream come true.

In the stands of this Mid-Summer Classic, most fans will also display good sportsmanship.  They will cheer for the All-Stars, regardless of the team the All-Star regularly plays for.  While there will be some fans at the game solely for the prestige of attending an All-Star game, others will be sitting in Yankee Stadium watching the game, for the love of baseball.

As the Major League Baseball season goes into the bottom half of the season, the Nicolet Rec Department’s Parent Pitch Softball League is in the bottom of the ninth inning of its season.

Far away from the House That Ruth built, young boys and girls take to the sandlot at Parkway School.  Some came directly into the Parent Pitch League while others came up from the T-ball league.  Being able to hit the ball after the pitcher throws it and not off a T stand, that’s the beginning of Major League dreams.

Boys and girls of different ages, sizes and abilities all playing side by side; each cheering on their fellow teammates when one is at bat.  Every child is allowed to run around all three bases and then run to home plate.  In the outfield, you might see a group of kids all racing for the ball.  Kids give other teammates the ball so all have a chance to throw the ball back to the parent pitcher.  Nobody is a ball hog.

It doesn’t matter if you have a friend on the opposing team.  Friends cheer on friends, regardless if they play for the Sharks, Tigers, or Fireballs.  At the end of every game each player gives a high five to every member of the opposing team.  Boys and girls are taught and show good sportsmanship.

Even though some of these boys and girls are more interested in picking dandelions or playing in the dirt, others already have the stance of a future Ryan Braun or throw like a young Ben Sheets.  Yet they all have one thing in common.   All are there to have fun and to play for the love of the game.

In the stands, most parents also display good sportsmanship.  Parents cheer on all the batters, even if their child’s team isn’t at bat.  Parents volunteer to help the kids with their swings or they assist as base coaches.

Sadly, while sitting on the bleachers of the sandlot, I’ve overheard a few parents yelling at the coaches.  Some parents were even saying that the children are not learning the game because each child bats until he or she hits the ball.  For these parents, my suggestion would be that you do not sign your child up for this league next year.  These are young children having fun.  Restrain your own competitiveness and teach your children the virtures of being a good sport, while leading by example.

Yes, our sons and daughters are learning the game.  In fact, they are learning three of the most important rules of the game.  They learn teamwork, good sportsmanship, and to play for the love of the game.  With these three values, they cannot strike out.

As a Brownie Troop leader, I know that it sometimes can be challenging to lead young children but I also know that it has its rewards.  Watching them learn, mature, and have fun makes the occasional headache seem insignificant.

I’ll speak for all of the parents of the children in the Parent Pitch Softball League (or at least those of us not yelling at the volunteer coaches) when I say “thank you” to the coaches and other volunteers. Thank you for teaching our children, giving them a chance to have fun, and most of all giving them the opportunity to have Major League dreams that one day they might become the next Cory Hart.  With the time and dedication that you have shown, you have made this season a home run.

Today marks the last day of Summerfest 2008.  The last day to hear your favorite band.  The last day to eat your favorite Summerfest food, and the last day to see whether it is as crowded around the Miller Oasis as it was last year.  Most of all, it's the last day to put on your big Summerfest smile before another year of lakefront food, music, and fun comes to a close.

As we walk through the turnstile for the last day of Summerfest 2008, we will all reflect on the many concerts that we have seen throughout the years.  It may have been Bob Dylan, Huey Lewis and the News, or even Bob Hope, all who performed at the old Main Stage.  Maybe it was Paul Simon, Tina Turner, or John Denver at the Marcus Amphitheater; we all have our memories.  After each concert someone wearing a concert tour T-shirt could be overheard saying, “this was the best concert ever.” This person could point to the concert date on the back of that T-shirt and say, “I was there.”

We also need to look beyond those headliners that we saw throughout the years and reflect on the musicians that we have heard on the smaller stages; and there have been many regardless of your taste in music.  Where else but at Summerfest have you been able to hear the talents of Ringo Starr, Marcia Ball, and Kansas for one small price.

And then there have been the many up and coming artists performing throughout the day.  Their talents were never overlooked.  Today, the end of Summerfest 2008 is also your last chance to see tomorrow’s next star.

While we walk from stage to stage with a beer, soda, or bottle of water in our hands, we will be wearing a big Summerfest smile as remember those concerts from years gone by.

Even though today marks the last day of Summerfest 2008, it also marks a beginning.  The beginning of a new generation of people putting on a big Summerfest smile.  While these people may have attended previous Summerfests, tonight will mark the first Marcus Amphitheater concert for many of these younger Summerfest attendees.  Tonight the Jonas Brothers perform.

As I get ready to take my daughter to her first concert, unless you count The Wiggles concert a few years ago, I think about how many other young girls will be at the Amphitheater tonight; many holding their mother’s hand, many stopping to buy their first concert T-shirt, and many walking into the Marcus Amphitheater for the first time. Their ponytails blowing in the lake breezes, their eyes widened when they see the enormous stage, and big Summerfest smiles on their faces, as they look for their red, yellow, bleacher or lawn seats.

As mothers, we too will be wearing a big smile.  We will delight in this bonding experience with our daughters; a right of passage, taking our child to her first concert.  While we sit in our seats waiting for the show to begin, we will all reflect, if even for a brief moment, on our first concert experience.

Whether it was Bobby Sherman, David Cassidy, Donny Osmond, or any of the many other teen idols on Tiger Beat posters that adorned our bedroom walls, we too once upon a time, went to our first concert.  We’ll think about how excited we were to actually see our idol in person.  We were not listening to our hi-fis play scratchy 45s or 8-track tapes that we saved enough money to buy at Musicland.  No, we were hearing our Tiger Beat picture sing live.

We will imagine what our mothers were thinking as they watched us sing and dance along to our idols on stage.  Did they pull earplugs out of their Coach or Etienne Aigner purses?  Did they really want to listen to the music or were they there just to accompany their daughters?

Then as the walls of the Marcus Amphitheater come alive with music, we will be snapped back into the present.  Moms will dig through their Coach or Vera Bradley purses pulling out earplugs.  We will put them in to help mute the noise, whether it is to help us ignore the music or to help drown out the screams coming from all the pre-teen and teenage girls.  The noise will be deafening and smiles will abound.  Each one of us will look around at the sea of mothers and daughters in the Amphitheater.  We will all realize that we have become our mothers and we now know what their sentiments were when they took us to our first concert.  We hope that our girls will one day be able to share this same experience with their daughters.

After the last encore is played, the sea of mothers and daughters will disburse. We will re-join the other Summerfest patrons.  Girls will be proudly wearing their concert T-shirt and each saying, “this was the best concert ever.”

When it’s time to leave for the evening, young and old will walk out the center white Mid-Gate, each person sporting a big Summerfest smile.   The last Summerfest smile for 2008.

Where has summer gone?  Where has the time gone?  As a kid, the Fourth of July marked the halfway point of summer.  The half way point between the last test of the year and the opening of a new notebook.  Time has snuck up on us and the halfway point of summer is here.

The Fourth of July means BBQs, parades and fireworks.  Fireworks - a Fourth of July tradition.  The dark summer's sky lights up with glowing orange worms and yellow and green starbursts.  Today it seems like there is a fireworks show every weekend; each proclaiming to be the biggest of them all.  As a kid going to see fireworks was an event, not a weekly happening, and I was lucky because I got to see three fireworks shows. 

Like many Milwaukeeans, our Fourth of July would begin on the night of the third of July.  Fireworks at the lakefront, a Milwaukee tradition.  Thousands of people gathering along the shore of Lake Michigan with coolers, Frisbees, and blankets, all in search of the perfect spot to clearly view the glowing orange worms and colorful starbursts that would soon light up the July sky.  

But not my family; my Dad didn’t like crowds so he gave my Mom, my Brother, and me a different perspective on viewing fireworks.  He would load us into our maroon Oldsmobile Delta 88 and we would cruise I-43, I-94, and parts in between; back and forth, driving north, south, east, and west.  As long as a car window faced east, our faces were peeled to the glass, looking out of it in hopes that we would see a glowing orange worm or colorful starburst.  Staring out the eastward facing windows, we would say, “I hear one, maybe we’ll see this one.  Oh, there’s a bridge in the way.”  “There’s one!  Look above the Marc Plaza.”  Oooh! Ahhh!  When the point came that we had to twist our necks like an owl to look east, my Dad would say, “don’t worry kids, I’ll turn around and you’ll see some more.” 

And that he did, driving back and forth, cruising the streets and highways of Milwaukee, until the car continued north on I-43 to Silver Spring Drive.  Our fireworks show, all four or five of the fireworks that we actually saw, was over but we knew that we were in for a treat.  We were gong to the Milky Way for custard.  Granted,we went there often, but on the third of July we just didn’t get cones of chocolate or vanilla, we each ordered a large hot fudge sundae. Gooey hot fudge atop mounds of melting creamy vanilla custard, topped with a bright red maraschino cherry. Adhering to our lesson in crowd avoidance, we sat inside that maroon Delta 88 and carefully ate our sundaes, making sure we didn’t drip any gooey hot fudge or melting custard onto the crushed velour upholstery.

Our second and third fireworks displays came on the Fourth of July.  Again, it was a chance for my Dad to give us his unique perspective on viewing fireworks and lesson on how to avoid crowds.  Just after the sun set and the sky darkened, he would call us together.  “Come in the kitchen, you will be able to see them out the window.”  There we were, all four of us standing around the small kitchen window facing northwest, looking at the fireworks about to be shot off from Brown Deer Park.  

"I hear one.” “I don’t see anything. That must have been a ground firework.”

"Look, through the trees, green starbursts.”

Oooh! Ahhh!

My Dad had the timing down perfectly.  He knew when the next fireworks display was to begin.  About twenty minutes after standing in front of the kitchen sink, looking northwest through the trees towards Brown Deer Park, he would say, “come on kids, let’s go outside.”

He had two blankets on the ground and two lawn chairs made from scratchy green and white webbing, one for him and one for my Mom.  We weren't going to the park; our front lawn was the park.  My Dad sprayed my Brother and me with bug repellant so strong that we smelled like a can of Off for a week.  My Mom was in charge of pouring us glasses of pink lemonade from her harvest gold jug, which frankly became swimming pools for the mosquitos that didn't land on us. Holding our pink mosquito swimming pools, we sat outside on those blankets and chairs facing southeast to get a clearer view of the fireworks that were soon going to be shot off from Kletzsch Park.

"I hear one.  There was the boom."  "I don't see anything.  That must have been a ground firework."

"Look!  Through the trees, green and yellow starbursts." 

Oooh! Ahhh!

While I was lucky to see three fireworks display, I now realize that each year what I actually saw was a half of an entire fireworks show, if that.

This year marks the ninth annual Glendale Days, the premier Fourth of July celebration in the North Shore area.  My husband, daughter, and I have attended several of the previous eight Glendale Days and we will be there again this year.  We will listen to music, enjoy carnival food, spray ouselves with not so smelly bug repellant, and wait for the summer's sky to turn dark so that we can enjoy the glowing orange worms and the colorful starbursts that light up the July sky.

By the way, the Fourths of July that the three of us have not spent at Glendale Days, well, we have spent them on the corner of our front lawn.  We were sitting on our blankets, holding our glasses of pink lemonade, and looking southeast towards Kletzsch Park, watching the fireworks through the trees.  And some how I could hear my Dad saying "Oooh! Ahhh!"