(My wonderful daughter-in-law and I found ourselves in the middle of the Michigan Marching Band for “Hail to the Victors!)

I was exhausted from the weekend travel. When I was invited to the Homecoming Tailgate in Ann Arbor, I thought I would have some income-generating work on Friday and Monday, so I was squeezed into a painful travel itinerary.

It is a mark of how far down in the world the Motor City has fallen that direct flights from the capital’s preferred APODs (aerial port of debarkation) no longer have early direct flights to DTW. I had expected to find something from Reagan National early bright, but alas, no. the only possibility was a pricey hope from the dreaded Baltimore Washington International, far and away across the wilds of Maryland.

I did the calculations. To make the 0605 push back, I would have to vault out of the rack at a little after 0300, shower and shave and be rolling before 0400.

I hate travel that hurts, but that is the way it was going to work. By the time I realized the billable hours had evaporated, and that Monday was an alleged holiday, I had committed. And so it was.

I will not wax over eloquent about the joys of grand-parenthood. There was the little guy to be seen, apple of my eye, and the fascination of seeing your child as a father, his bride a mother, and all the rest of it. I would deluge you with the photographs, but the kids are rightly concerned with exposure on social media and the rest of the mire that composes the internet, so I will just have to tell you that the lad is growing like a weed, each day containing new wonders: the ability to scale steps, stand awkwardly, walk unsteadily with assistance, and hold his own bottle.

Which is about where I am these days. Life is indeed a circle, isn’t it?

Anyway, despite the early hour, the travel worked, the jet was acceptable, and the Bloody Mary of victory was delightful on the way into the McNamara terminal at Detroit, into the Hertz bus, and eventually the interesting drive up Telegraph road, with all the wonders of the jumble of the various jurisdictions that compose Wayne and Oakland Counties.

The rest of the day was a orbit of emotion whirling around the just demands of an almost-toddler, walk on parts by my college room-mate and the legendary Michigan Marching Band.

My daughter-in-law and I got into the middle of the formation as they reprised their greatest hits in the Oosterbaan Field House. I was surprised by how all the years crowded in with memories of times past. I even got some videos of the brass section and drummers rapping out The Victors, arguably the best fight song in the college game.

I am not concerned about the privacy of the horn section, so in order to irritate my Ohio pals, I promptly posted them to Facebook. The weather was perfect, the partying on the lawns and porches just as I remembered. Homecoming is something special at a Big Ten School.

Actually going to the game would have been too much for the older and younger members of the party, and we were back at the house in the suburbs in time for kick-off. Having started singing, we kept it up, since the grandson seemed to delight in the cacophony.

(Yost Field House, hockey mecca of the Midwest).

The Homecoming game was a resounding victory over a higher ranked Northwestern team, and really, life does not get a great deal better than grandchildren and good old Michigan football.

(Alums mugging with M-flavored Imperial Stormtrooper).

By the time it was all over, I collapsed in the guest bedroom, and many hours later, heard the youngest member of the household stir. I turned over, marveling that I had no role in addressing his concerns, and silence returned. We all slept until nearly eight.

Breakfast was delightful chaos, with some of us crawling around the kitchen, and way too soon I fond myself back at the airport and airborne for Baltimore.

I won’t describe the drive back from BWI; it was filled with the sort of vehicular nonsense that has driven my decision to leave the Imperial City behind by next summer. But now the question looms: to where?

That will be the next mystery to unravel. I am looking forward to it. But meanwhile, I am back in battery here in NoVA, and ready to start ignoring all sorts of amazing things in earnest.

It is refreshing to be reminded that life is as simple, sometimes, as the smile on the face of a child.

Copyright 2015 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303

PS: the pool guys were busy in my absence. First color on the trees here, and this was the view from the patio on Sunday: