Running Out of Summer and Straight Back Into Reality

 

Running Out of Summer and Straight Back Into Reality

Todd Swank's Diary Entry for August 31, 2025

Life’s been nonstop since we got back from Hawaii, but we did make time to celebrate Miss Sheri’s 58th birthday. We had family, way too much food, and the reminder that cake calories don’t count if you eat them quickly. Time moves too fast, but the good stuff makes it worth the ride.

Abby had to work during Miss Sheri’s actual birthday, so we got to celebrate again a few days later when she was home. Turns out the secret to getting older gracefully is negotiating a deal for double birthdays—Sheri’s working the system like a pro.

We had our fantasy football draft at Steve “Cuds” Cuddihy’s place. Best commissioner in the business—equal parts rule enforcer, party planner, and therapist for grown men arguing over backup tight ends.

Last year was finally my year! I hadn’t touched the Cuddihy Cup since 2010, so lifting it again felt like a reunion tour nobody thought would happen. The thing isn’t so much a trophy as it is a piece of oversized lawn art—but after 15 years, even a bulky hunk of hardware feels like pure gold.

Karl and Tina invited us for a boat ride on the St. Croix River. It was a little chilly for August, so we bundled up in the cabin and cruised upriver to Stillwater. Nothing says “end of summer in Minnesota” like needing sweatshirts while you’re still technically in flip-flop season.

We wandered around Stillwater and found a crowd huddled around this osprey. The story was it got tangled in fishing line and some good citizens rescued it. Or at least that’s what they said—people will make up anything if it gets them attention. For all I know, the bird just wanted a break. Either way, it eventually flew off, so I guess it didn’t need our sympathy as much as we thought.

I did get to pose with my pretty wife by the river, which made me happy. Mostly because it proves I can still convince her to stand next to me in public after all these years.

We ate at Brick & Bourbon in Stillwater, where they treat dinner like a dare. The duck bacon wontons were ridiculous in the best way, and my smoked old fashioned came with a waffle and a strip of bacon sticking out of it. Not exactly a cocktail garnish you expect, but somehow it worked—and honestly, I respect any place bold enough to serve breakfast on top of whiskey.

Krazy Kory and Harli came to town for a night, so we hit up the Minnesota Lynx vs. Indiana Fever game. The place was packed, the crowd was loud, and we had a blast pretending we actually knew anything about WNBA defensive schemes. Sometimes it’s not about the score—it’s about yelling like superfans and hoping nobody around us notices we’re winging it.

We bought these tickets months ago hoping to watch Caitlin Clark play, but with her injuries this season we had to settle for seeing her work the crowd before tipoff. And honestly, it was still something special—she moves through an arena like a rock star, signing autographs and leaving a trail of kids who look at her the way my generation once looked at Michael Jordan. You realize it’s bigger than basketball—it’s a movement. Hopefully next time we’ll get to see her actually play, but even from the sidelines she owned the night.

We still got to watch a fun game, and the Lynx gave the home crowd plenty to cheer about. Napheesa Collier came back from her injury and played like she never left, dropping 32 points and reminding everyone why she’s the MVP favorite. Courtney Williams ran the floor like she had the ball on a string, stacking up a double-double without breaking a sweat. The Fever had their moments, but the Lynx looked every bit like the team to beat this year. Another amazing season for Minnesota women's hoops—this squad just keeps proving why they’re the standard in the WNBA.

Our friends Portia and Doc Vogt bought a new pontoon and took us for a cruise around Spring Lake. Doc was brave enough to dive in, but I conveniently “forgot” my swimsuit—which turned out to be a smart move since the water was cold enough to make a grown man question his life choices.

We had a great time out on the water. Conversations with Portia and Doc always seem to get deep—we pretty much solved half the world’s problems in between laughing, telling stories, and watching the birds put on a murmuration show. Not a bad way to spend a night.

On Friday we made the trek to the Great Minnesota Get-Together, and it felt like an obstacle course just to get there. The park-and-ride was packed, and we even had to evacuate our bus because the driver thought he smelled gasoline—nothing like a little drama to start your day at the fair. By the time we finally made it through the gates, it looked like a million people were already inside. Didn’t matter, though—we only had three things on our minds: corn dogs, cheese curds, and a bucket of Sweet Martha’s Cookies.

We always stop by the DNR pond to check out the different fish that call Minnesota lakes and rivers home. There’s something oddly calming about watching them drift around together—different sizes, different kinds, all moving in the same water without overthinking it. Maybe that’s the lesson: quit fighting the current so much, just swim your lane and enjoy the ride.

We promised ourselves we wouldn’t go overboard at the fair, but five miles in five hours later, our legs told a different story. At least we slowed down long enough to catch some live music—okay, it was a mariachi band, not exactly what I had in mind, but I’ve got to admit their version of La Bamba was fire. And that’s kind of how the end of summer feels: you don’t always get the soundtrack you expect, but if you let yourself enjoy it, it’s still a pretty great way to close out the season.

@toddswank The new Boardwalk Kitchen & Bar allows you to watch and bet on live horse racing without going into Canterbury Downs. #boardwalk #shakopee #canterbury #horseracing #newrestaurant ♬ original sound - Todd Swank

@toddswank Congratulations to Taylor & Travis!! This is bigger than the Super Bowl AND the Eras Tour combined! #TaylorAndTravis #BigRockEnergy #EngagedTok #Swifties #traviskelce ♬ Style (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift

@toddswank Inside the $6M Kansas City castle where Travis Kelce got down on one knee and Taylor Swift said yes. From family dinners to hidden bars and enchanted gardens, this is the mansion where their Love Story became real. #TaylorSwift #TravisKelce #Engaged #LoveStory #Swifties ♬ Love Story - Taylor Swift

@toddswank Dallas: The league’s #1 farm system for everyone else. 🤦‍♂️ First Luka, now Micah… who’s next? #DallasSports #MicahParsons #LukaDoncic #Packers ♬ All My Ex's Live In Texas - George Strait

Hawaii 2025: A Week Immersed in Paradise

 

Hawaii 2025: A Week Immersed in Paradise

Todd Swank's Diary Entry for August 24, 2025

Miss Sheri and I had the chance to spend a week on the Big Island of Hawaii for some much-needed shenanigans in paradise. We stayed at the Hilton Waikoloa Village, where we quickly discovered it’s a whole lot hotter than Minnesota—in more ways than one.

We went with my sister Tracy and her husband Dave, who treat Hawaii like it’s their second address. They make the trip once or twice a year, while we’ve mostly been stuck watching their photos from the comfort of our living room. I’ve been telling them for years they needed to let us tag along, and this year they finally caved. Turns out paradise is even better when you’ve got family showing you the ropes.

Our first night after landing, we headed straight to Lava Lava Beach Club for dinner. Toes in the sand, ocean waves rolling in just a few feet away, and live music setting the mood—it was the perfect “welcome to Hawaii” moment. After nine hours of turbulence anxiety and imagining us plunging into the Pacific, sitting there with a cold drink in hand felt like paradise well earned.

Miss Sheri’s college roommate Robin lives in Hawaii and met us for dinner on our first night. She brought her sister Deanna and her husband Rodney, which was perfect because having locals at the table is like getting the cheat codes for vacation. They know the best places to go, what’s worth skipping, and how not to look like clueless tourists—though our sunburns probably gave us away anyway.

Tracy and Dave rented a Jeep to haul us around the island, which worked out great since every road in Hawaii seems to end with something worth staring at. The scenery is so ridiculous you can’t drive more than ten minutes without feeling guilty if you don’t stop for a photo. So we leaned into it—random pullovers, random poses, random proof that paradise really does look this good in person.

We signed up for a couple snorkeling excursions to see what kind of critters were hanging out under the surface, and the ocean did not disappoint. On one trip, a whole squad of spinner dolphins showed up to put on a show—leaping in front of the boat, twisting in the air, and basically acting like they’d been hired for entertainment. I’m pretty sure they liked us, or at least liked laughing at how awkward we looked in snorkel gear.

After our first snorkel trip—where things somehow morphed into a full-on booze cruise—we took a tour of Greenwell Coffee Farms. Probably not the ideal state of mind to absorb a crash course on how coffee is grown, picked, pulped, dried, and roasted, but we gave it a shot. We walked the orchards, saw beans drying on massive racks, and even got to sample their famous Kona coffee. I can’t say I retained all the details, but I do remember it tasted amazing… or maybe that was just the rum still talking.

My amazing wife really leaned into snorkeling on this trip. This photo was in the lagoon at our resort, but no matter where we went—lagoon, reefs, or open water—she was always the one staying in the longest. Growing up on a farm she never really learned how to swim, so I’ve always been a little paranoid watching her in deep water. But she proved me wrong all week, gliding around like she’d been doing it her whole life.

The Hilton Waikoloa Village has a lagoon full of sea life, and the turtles stole the show. Signs everywhere say don’t touch or block them, which gets interesting when one cruises past your knees like you’re not even there. I kept my hands to myself, but I swear if I’d sneezed on a flipper, the turtle police would’ve rappelled out of the palm trees and handed me a citation.

I spotted this bright blue eel cruising through the lagoon, and it looked like it had just swum out of a Marvel movie. I couldn’t stop following it around, half amazed and half waiting for it to suddenly turn on me. Normally, I’m way too paranoid about sharks sneaking up from nowhere to enjoy moments like this. But in the safety of the lagoon, I actually let my guard down—and for once just enjoyed watching a sea creature instead of imagining it eating me.

We ate our way through a bunch of fun spots with views like this. If my face looks extra pale, that’s not the lighting—it’s the emergency layer of sunscreen after Day One. I got roasted on the first snorkel, lotion and all, so the next couple of days were a little crispy. Lesson learned: I bought swim shirts and wore them the rest of the week. After that, we could actually enjoy paradise without me plotting revenge on the sun.

We took a break from the water (and my sunburn) and drove up Mauna Kea. The observatories look like sci‑fi golf balls above the clouds—insanely cool. The altitude, not so cool. After the “please acclimate 30 minutes at 10,000 feet” stop and a wall of signs about how altitude sickness can be fatal, I lasted maybe five minutes at the 13,800‑foot summit before I felt the lights dimming and told the team we were heading down—now. We got the photo, the memory, and the message: some views are meant to be admired quickly, then respected from lower ground.

Our next adventure was a night snorkel with manta rays—easily one of the most exciting things we signed up for. The boat ride over was full of energy, nerves, and just enough waves to remind Miss Sheri how fragile her stomach can be. You’ll also notice my brand-new swim shirt, which I proudly picked out in tie-dye. Nothing screams “wannabe Hawaiian hippie” quite like a middle-aged guy from Minnesota trying to blend in with a rainbow explosion. But hey, if the manta rays were judging, at least I gave them a show.

When my sister first said we were going to snorkel with manta rays at night, my immediate response was, “Absolutely not—that’s when the sharks come out.” After double-checking with ChatGPT (which assured me there’s never been a recorded shark attack during these tours), I hesitantly agreed. And man, I’m glad I did. They set up these floating rafts with what’s basically an aquarium roof strapped to the bottom, blasting UV lights into the water. The plankton swarm to the glow, and then the manta rays swoop in for an all-you-can-eat buffet. It’s like dinner theater, only we’re the audience floating on top.

Of course, Miss Sheri stayed in the water longer than any of us—no surprise there. My nerves really kicked in when the captain casually mentioned they didn’t have a normal life jacket for her, but they did have this “banana tube” she could strap on to stay afloat. Great. I’m already floating around at dusk waiting to become shark bait, and now my wife’s out there testing the limits of inflatable produce. But she loved every second of it, which I guess made it worth my mini panic attack.  I tend to worry about a lot of things on vacation.

Honestly, this was the highlight of the whole trip. At one point we had six manta rays gliding and rolling right beneath us, doing slow-motion barrel rolls like they were putting on a private show. A couple swam straight up with their mouths wide open, and one even brushed against my belly—it tickled, which isn’t exactly what you expect when a massive sea creature makes contact. I can’t recommend this enough if you’re ever on the Big Island. And yes, I’ve got a pile of videos from it that I might get around to editing and posting—assuming free time ever decides to visit me again.

We drove down to South Point, the southernmost tip of the entire United States, and it felt like the edge of the earth. The road out there was nothing but fields, cows, and a whole lot of nothing—no towns, no people, just isolation. At the cliffs we found fishermen using kites that looked like garbage bags to carry their lines way out into the ocean, plus a few brave souls cliff diving for fun. Nobody caught a fish while we were there, but I guess they reel in monsters sometimes. All I could think about was how the next stop south of us was Antarctica—and that messed with my head a little.

Tracy and Dave told us our next stop was Green Sand Beach, which sounded official enough that I figured it had to be some kind of national park. That illusion fell apart fast when the first sign we saw was spray-painted on the side of a beat-up car door. At that point it felt less like a state attraction and more like the opening pages of a Stephen King horror novel.

To reach Green Sand Beach you’ve got to bounce across miles of roads that look like they were designed to destroy vehicles for sport. The advice we got was simple: “hire a local.” Sure enough, this guy offered us a ride for twenty bucks a head and pointed to a pickup that looked like it had been through a war zone. I honestly thought I was paying to be kidnapped. He stuck me in the front seat and put Miss Sheri, Tracy, and Dave on wooden benches in the back. But after the ride there and back, I realized he was actually a great guy—and we ended up having one of my favorite conversations of the trip.

As soon as we started driving, it became obvious why his truck looked like it had survived a demolition derby. We weren’t on a road—we were bouncing through trenches of sand, rocking side to side like a carnival ride that should’ve been condemned. Then it hit me: he stuck me in the front seat because he knew I’d never survive in the back. He may have been right. By the time we got to the beach, Sheri, Tracy, and Dave looked like powdered donuts from all the dust they endured on the trip.

I also didn’t realize we’d have to climb down the side of a cliff just to reach the beach. On the ride over, David mentioned the local government once tried to shut the whole thing down because, shocker, hauling tourists to a sketchy cliffside with no safety rails might be a liability. That was comforting to remember as I crept down a set of metal stairs that looked like they were built by a 5th-grade shop class. Nothing like a little risk of bodily harm to really spice up a vacation.

I’ll admit, once we finally made it down, the beach was stunning and probably worth all the bumps, bruises, and mild panic attacks it took to get there. But I do have one complaint: they call it Green Sand Beach, yet the sand didn’t look green to me at all. It looked more like someone sprinkled a little gold dust around. Still pretty, but let’s just say if this was a paint swatch at Home Depot, “green” wouldn’t be the word on the label.

After our trek to Green Sand Beach, we stopped at a black sand beach that actually felt like a proper park. No ransom-looking signs, no death-defying truck rides—just a parking lot, palm trees, and sand that was, well… black. Way more accurate branding. We didn’t stay long, but I’ll give it this: sometimes it’s nice to enjoy the view without feeling like you might not survive the return trip.

The highlight of this stop was three giant sea turtles that had hauled themselves out of the surf and collapsed on the sand like they’d just finished a marathon. A couple dozen tourists quickly formed a photo paparazzi ring around them, kept in check by signs warning that if you so much as touch a turtle, you’ll basically lose your hands. Now that’s some serious conservation—equal parts respect for nature and a dash of mafia-level intimidation.

Our next stop was Rainbow Falls in Hilo, an 80-foot waterfall that drops into a turquoise pool. On sunny mornings you can actually see rainbows in the mist, which is how it got its name. There’s also a lava cave tucked behind the falls that, according to legend, was home to the Hawaiian moon goddess Hina. Pretty amazing that something this dramatic is only a few steps from the parking lot—Hawaii makes it way too easy.

The park around Rainbow Falls is just as impressive as the waterfall itself, thanks to trees like this monster banyan. They don’t just grow—they take over, dropping roots from every branch until the whole thing feels less like a tree and more like an alien life form. Standing under it, you half expect it to start moving and carry you off. Hawaii doesn’t just do waterfalls and beaches—it even makes the trees look like something out of a fantasy movie.

After exploring the southern part of the island, we landed in Hilo and met up with Robin and her parents for dinner. It was great catching up—and even more impressive hearing they were about to celebrate 62 years of marriage. They both grew up in Iowa and then traded cornfields for palm trees decades ago. Talk about an upgrade. That’s like going from a black-and-white TV to a 4K flat screen and never looking back.

Seven nights went by way too fast. I’m so grateful my sister invited us along and gave us the push to step out of our comfort zones—whether it was climbing down cliffs, braving altitude sickness, or floating in the ocean with manta rays. Hawaii has a way of reminding you that life’s best moments come when you take a few risks and soak in the magic around you. Paradise isn’t just the place—it’s the experiences you share with the people you love.

Rest in Peace, Blue. You were a Good Boy.