Dinner at our house has always been the time to come together and share the events of the day. The other night my husband said with a grin, “I saw something really weird today.” Then he added, “You better finish the food in your mouth before I tell you about it.” I dutifully chewed and swallowed.

My guy had been to Fleet Farm’s huge sporting goods department checking on canoe prices. “You will never guess what they had in with the hunting and fishing gear… sexy women’s underwear. And not just a few, but racks and racks of fancy camouflage lingerie.” He painted a picture of a veritable Frederick’s of Fleet Farm.

I started to laugh, pondering the purpose of scanty, camo undies. Is a girl supposed to put down her rifle and strip in the middle of the woods to attract a buck? After all, those guy deer are all in rut in November. Might save money on corn and apples. Or is the lingerie show her guy’s reward for bringing home the buck? On the other hand, maybe female hunters just don’t want to go into the woods unaccessorized.

At any rate, my curiosity was aroused, and I decided to check out the merchandise. Sure enough, a sizable amount of floor space between gun safes and footballs was given over to female underwear. And I’m fairly certain these garments weren’t designed to keep a girl warm in the woods.

Skimpy baby dolls, bras, camisoles and bikinis were all available in two basic patterns, leaf and deer camo or blaze orange camo. Trim was black lace or hot pink piping. The hang tags read: “Wilderness Dreams – It’s not a passion, it’s an obsession.” I am not sure what the “it” refers to. I do know that somebody could make a fortune reselling this stuff in trendy, New York boutiques.

The dictionary defines picnic as “an outing or occasion that involves taking a packed meal to be eaten outdoors.”

I love eating alfresco, perhaps because so few picnics are possible in my frigid state of Wisconsin. Picnics vary in personality. Here are a few types – please feel free to comment on your favorites.

• The Spontaneous Picnic – When we are traveling, a perfect picnic spot often presents itself. Lacking a kitchen, we go to a grocery store for cheese, crackers, fruit and cold drinks. Napkins are the only other necessity… instant picnic.
• The Basic Picnic – Sunday summer nights were always picnic nights when our kids were growing up. We headed to a scenic local park, put down a sheet on our “picnic hill” and ate the following: tuna sandwiches on good rolls, finger fruits or vegetables and chips. Dessert of ice cream cones came later at the local custard stand. This basic picnic is fun, easy and doesn’t entail excessive equipment or dishes to wash.
• The Elegant Picnic – I’m still aspiring to have one or two of these picnics in my lifetime. They occur before the Ravinia type outdoor concerts or Santa Fe Opera.  People who own silver candelabras, Belgian lace tablecloths, bone china and sterling ice buckets bring said items to the concert lawn or parking lots. The food matches the elegance of the dinnerware – poached salmon, artichokes, brie, etc.
• The Communal Picnic – We’ve all experienced these large picnics with family, work or volunteer groups. They are characterized by two things; an over abundance of food and an eclectic array of offerings. Everyone brings “a dish to pass”. The success of this type of picnic usually rests on the shoulders of one woman. She is the one who remembers the serving spoons, large knives, spare utensils and paper products, bug spray and bandages. She is also the one who sees that all the serving dishes, platters and lids get returned (washed) to their rightful owners. And, most noble of all, she is the one who ends up with a refrigerator stuffed with weird food when the other picnickers blithely say, “Oh, you can keep the leftovers.”

Last Saturday we had dinner with the goats. The goats were on the roof. Mid-meal, I glanced out the restaurant’s large glass windows and found myself staring directly at a goat on the edge of the low roof. He was leaning over to munch on the tall juniper bushes that surround the building… dessert, no doubt.

Wisconsinites will recognize the locale, Al Johnson’s Swedish restaurant in Door County. In traditional Scandinavian style, the building has a grass roof, and goats are used as lawnmowers. (Note to ecologists: your “green” roofs are not a new invention.)

I am fascinated at how people will flock from miles around to see ordinary animals in incongruous settings. I am definitely one of these people. I love the goats, and I’m also a fan of the ducks.

Get me within 100 miles of Memphis and I’ll need to go to the Peabody Hotel to see the ducks swimming in the elegant lobby fountain. The ducks are a tradition at the Peabody, dating from the 1930’s. The ducks reside in a penthouse suite and are ushered down each morning in the ornate elevator by the duckmaster. A red carpet is rolled out, and the ducks parade to the fountain. The reverse happens during the evening cocktail hour. Hordes of well-dressed and well-heeled guests, drinks in hand, cheer the ducks as they parade back to the elevator.

My niece recently informed me that the ducks have started a franchise in Orlando and are also adding class to Little Rock.

I have not yet caught up with the penguins. They stage a daily parade (or walkabout in the vernacular) at the Edinburgh Zoo in Scotland. I’m saving up for a trip.

Click on the above links to view the action.

I am fully aware that a sunset is merely a sunrise in reverse. But I have a definite affinity for the former, perhaps because I’m not at my most alert in the A.M. hours.

Enjoying the splendor of a sunset is exclusively a human thing. I can’t gather the cats on the front porch at twilight to have them appreciate the beauty of the sun’s descent. They only focus on the stirrings of small, nocturnal creatures.

So it is up to us human types to gather on beaches and porches applauding the sun’s nightly show. In some locales, Hawaii and Key West to name two, bagpipers magically appear to pipe down the sun. These gatherings are free and, as of now, blessedly devoid of corporate sponsorship.

One of my favorite authors, Fannie Flagg, has her fictional characters in Elmwood Springs, Missouri, form a Sunset Club.

For years, every evening the same group… all brought their lawn chairs to Elner’s yard and sat and talked and watched the sun go down.

Here is a conversation between two octogenarian Sunset Club members from her book Can’t Wait to Get to Heaven.

That night everyone had gone home after watching the sunset, except Tot and Elner, who were still sitting in the side yard talking about the good old days. Elner asked Tot, “Do you remember that maple syrup that used to come in a little tin house, looked like a cabin?”

“Oh yeah. And remember that three-in-one rainbow, pink and blue and white coconut candy? And that brown bread that came in a can?”

“Hell,” said Tot, “I’m so old I still remember learning to read from those little Dick and Jane books they used to have. I guess old Dick and Jane are headed for the old folks’ home now… along with Nancy Drew, and the Rover boys. Little Orphan Annie must be a hundred and eight by now.”

Elner looked over. “Hey, Tot, I have a question for you. Do you ever have any regrets in life?”

Tot looked at her as though she had just lost her mind. “Regrets? Me? Oh, other than having an alcoholic for a father and an insane woman for a mother, marrying James Whooten, the biggest fool on the earth, and breeding two mutants, then marrying another man who dropped dead on our honeymoon… no, why?”

Maybe we all need to start our own sunset clubs.

Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire relied on the kindness of strangers. My husband and I find that relying on the kindness of family and friends is much more reliable. For instance, our TV died 25 years ago and neither of us had any desire to replace it. After several months of being a TV free household, our teenage son asked if we would object if he bought a TV for his room. Of course we didn’t, and he used his own funds to purchase a set. Knowing that we liked vintage Sherlock Holmes movies with Basil Rathbone, he kindly offered to let us watch his TV. Tongue in cheek, he suggested that he should place a cup on top to be used for a freewill offering. Of course, the cup never materialized.

At the present moment we are indebted to our cat for air conditioning. When we built our lake home, we viewed air conditioning as superfluous. The big lake is our air conditioner. However, we did have to install a small window air conditioner in the cat’s room.

We take a trip every August. The winds here get so intense that the screens sometimes blow out during violent storms. We couldn’t safely leave with the windows open or closed. We didn’t want the cat sitter to find a fried or missing cat. The room air conditioner was the solution.

So on those rare sultry, summer nights, we slink down to the cat’s delightfully cool room to sleep. She always welcomes us in.