Jazz weather and Scouts
It’s a day for jazz. Louis Armstrong’s glorious trumpet, lots of saxophone wailing and squealing and making all those musical human noises, wakes me up. It’s a humid, overcast day, too wet to rain, too dry to refresh. The squirrels don’t mind, but then, they walk even through snow, and dash around rippling in the light like fluffy waves. The occasional walker passes with a dog on a leash. Dogs are incurably cheerful to be outside, except when they’re not; they’re too transparent to be sneaky. It’s spring, sort of. The winter has let go its super cold, but the warmth and green is yet to come. The trees think about budding. The ancient tree before our house wells amber drops of sap from the gap in its bark. The moles are wide awake and have been for most of this mild winter. I came out on January first to find a foot-wide mound of dirt they had pushed up. They partied for the new year, I guess. We gathered and toasted the new year with sparkling cider and grape juice. My children all have jobs or activities; I’m at home, writing, thinking, listening. The red poinsettia from Christmas is still alive and putting out new baby leaves. I’ve learned to check its moisture by weighing the pot in my hand. Too light and I must add water, which pools in the red foil enclosing its base. Too heavy and I put it back down on the dining table, where it drops the occasional curled poisonous leaf. Good thing I no longer have toddlers.
Yesterday my son sat for his Life rank board of review in Scouts BSA. He’s been a Star rank for over two years; back then he and his sister enthusiastically earned ranks together. It was during quarantine that she joined, with just enough time to go from entering Scout to Eagle before her 18th birthday. Her mental health crashed and burned, and so did his enthusiasm. When his father died six years ago, two men told me they’d see him through to Eagle; one went on to other projects almost immediately. It’s not his fault; I understand he’s now responsible for leading a group of church congregations, none of which have scout troops. The other stayed for most of the past six years, but his eldest son has gone on to other projects and his last son has Eagled out. The troop dwindled from 15-20 youth, boys and girls, to only five young men, all either Star or Life. The remaining parents and leaders want their young men to finish Eagle, and so far the young men want it, too, as far as teens can be said to focus. They’re young.
When I knew he’d be sitting for his last board of review before Eagle, I went out and bought cookies and fruit for the boys. I felt it was the least I could do; the leaders have bent over backwards to support us and keep things going. The female Scoutmaster, whom we poached from another troop along with her Star-rank son, is enthusiastic about seeing this through, but very hands-off. The Senior Patrol Leader is a busy athlete. He’s used to having more moral support and help from his leaders. My son is the Assistant Senior Patrol Leader, both positions relics of a larger troop. He’s trying. It’s a challenge to keep going, but a new boy showed up, an 11 year old. My son and the scoutmaster’s son enthusiastically welcomed him. They ended by showing him Abbot and Costello’s Who’s on First? routine online. It was fun, and the boy’s mother said, heartwarming. He had been bullied elsewhere. I’m grateful we’re not alone.
