“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald
And so I contemplate summer, part two …
I’m about to embark on a mid-summer journey that will take me from my mountain home, to New York City briefly, and then onto the ocean (my home away from home).
Last week, Kate made a similar journey east. I sat in the office knowingly, as she checked the weather for upstate New York on her phone. “Ugh, it’s only going to be in the 70’s!” she gasped. She was preparing for a hot summer week on the lake. I could clearly picture what she was expecting: East Coast humidity so penetrable that you’d need to take a dip nearly every 15 minutes. Sunblock would be an afterthought (after all, it just washes off) and she’d come home brown-skinned, as waterlogged as a sponge, and with a host of fileable memories from summer 2014. I started getting giddy just thinking about it …
On my trip, we will engage in the craziness of true family dynamics as we infiltrate ourselves into the busy routines of those who live a much different, coastal life. We’ll step off the plane to a dichotomy of smells and sensations that bring back memories of summer vacations past. In fact, I always laugh when my daughter—who breathes the most pristine air on a daily basis—says, “Mommy, I love the smell of New York City.”
That’s the epitome of memories, right?
Similar to Kate, I’m expecting blue skies and moist air, but I’m also anticipating the collection of creatures my kids will “borrow” as pets (frogs, crabs, and starfish). For sure, my son will ride the tractor with my father and I’ll enjoy a fancy fizzy drink down by the docks. The go, go, go of even our simple rural existence will fade in the hubbub of the busier atmosphere around me, while I stand frozen in time. And I’ll embark in a new kind of play—different from the mountain type. It might be a board game on a rainy afternoon, or window shopping on a busy street surrounded by tall buildings, or playing lookout on my paddleboard as my kids net sea creatures from below.
Similar to Kate recollecting her lakeside follies, I’ll capture memories of my summer escapade that will carry me through the waning fall. And when I throw on a layer in late September–as things start to slow and the nip returns to the air–I’ll remember my summer play in the sand and feel like a kid again just by the thought.
What memories fill your summertime kitty?