I was never a Mom who cheered the return of school. Come to think of it, as a teacher and a student, melancholy was my essential emotion during the last week of August.
No matter how many sharp crayons peeked out of my school supplies, or how much I loved the notion of starting fresh, summer was- and is- the sweet season of freedom. When I was a kid, it meant jumping on my bike and riding to a place where Mom could not indenture me with laundry baskets or vacuums. When I was a teacher- summer meant travel, reckless late nights and a hodge podge of continuing education.
Now I am not really bound by a school calendar, but my spirit is tethered to the past. I am having my seasonal melancholy about all that I have not done. The list is long: I did not ride my bike (knee) or swim in my pool (idiot me) or go to New Buffalo to loll around like a BLOB (grandbaby coming, grandbaby arrived) . I read more news than novels. (bad, depressing choice) I supported Steve as he launched a new business model in the basement. (No choice, my marriage is a long term commitment)
Of course, there are things I DID do: I celebrated many weddings, welcomed and played with Henry Dahl (the highlight of my summer), ate Mirai corn, frolicked with dogs, kept my flowers alive. It’s a start.
Still, I am disappointed with the degree to which I embraced summer. It is, after all, the season that allow us to forgive Chicago for every torture that occurs from January until whenever nice weather arrives. This year “nice” was elusive. Come to think of it, it just arrived! I have perfect timing.
At any rate, I am in remediation mode.
I am going to rewind Summer. Now.
I have a 12 inch stack of ignored magazines, a Kindle full of books, a world weary husband, two dogs and a satchel of fairly unambitious clothing. I am off to New Buffalo to vegetate. I will eat at Stop 50 Wood Fired pizza. I will visit Oink’s for ice cream. I will buy a Stray Dog T shirt after eating a Maui burger. If it rains, I will lollygag around the outlet mall. We will barbecue and watch every sunset as if it is the last. I will splash on a noodle in the community pool. In one week, I will manufacture enough bliss to hold me until at least……February.
To ask more is unrealistic. But I will report on my “Summer”, and send pictures of my simple pleasures.
Come along. I am reading The Paris Wife. Read along. I am drinking gin and tonics in honor of summer- sip along. I’ll love the company.
Too soon, we will be complaining about short days, cold days- whatever makes us grumpy after summer goes. Let’s seize this opportunity to squeeze any molecule of bliss from August and September. To quote the White Sox, whose summer also lacks memorable moments, are you “all in?” I am.
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