You couldn't beat the weather this weekend. The temperature was all the way up in the 50s and 60s. The vast wastelands of slush and mud were receding, and there was no reason to stay inside whatsoever.
Saturday morning, I volunteered to take Deborah's sewing machine to be repaired — in Marion, a good 65 miles away. On the motorcycle. (Of course!) She'd been pining to have it repaired for some time, but the local repairman evidently either didn't know how much of a gem a Singer Featherweight is, or was trying to cheat us out of it by offering us $40 on it as a trade-in — and neither interpretation inspired much confidence. So with the case ratcheted down to the passenger seat, and a big grin on my face, off to Marion I went, to a shop where we've had it worked on before. I tried to make out like I was doing Deborah a great service, but she wasn't buying it. She knew I just wanted to go for a long ride.
Along the way, stopped at a light in Wabash, I saw this building, which I'll let speak for itself.
Sunday afternoon was even warmer and sunnier.
Paul found a Frisbee that the kids hadn't stepped on, and several of us retreated to the back yard. Deborah said she'd be out once Fiona woke up from her nap.
Deborah brought a Koosh ball to add to the mix. So after a while of simultaneous 3-way frisbee and 3-way catch, the game turned into something akin to shooting skeet. (Or Calivinball; I miss Calvin and Hobbes...) One person would throw the Frisbee, and the other person would try to knock it down with the Koosh ball. We teased Paul about not being able to hit the Frisbee, saying it wasn't his fault, because the reticle hadn't turned red yet — a lighthearted jab at his video game playing.
It was many hours before hunger drove us back inside.