Here in the northeast, it’s been raining for eons. Although today is our third day in a row where temps have reached above 90 degrees, which is hot, certainly, here in northern New Hampshire. This would have been a fantastic week to visit my brother and family on Martha’s Vineyard. Alas, we visited last week when the rain just would not stop. While the rain did not slow down our family fun, it did make going to the beach less attractive.
However, my dear sister-in-law, Holly, had the wherewithal to make reservations at their local bowling alley just in case we could not handle being trapped inside with one another for another single second. Now, in my day, our bowling alley experiences were dark, musty smelling, yet still recreationally fun. I even had a birthday or two celebrated at Leda Lanes with five or six of my childhood friends.
Both Geoff’s mom and my mom bowled in actual leagues, and they even carried their own balls to and from their home bowling alleys. Hardcore bowlers they were. But bowling isn’t something we’ve done much of us with our own children mostly because there isn’t one nearby, and there should be -- because I’d forgotten just how fun the sport is.