In and out of summer
June 24, 2009 at 10:32 So strange to sit on the deck in June at the beginning of summer and know that there's been an imperceptible shift in the seasons. We're journeying toward the dark of December, the days curling up just a bit around the edges now before rolling into an ever-shortening scroll in the fall.
In middle age, summer is a season tinged with regret and nostalgia. Every glimpse of caramel-colored calves, suntanned shoulders, flat bellies, and smooth, unblemished skin makes me feel old. The park is full of scantily clad runners, and I envy their every breath and stride. I was once a distance runner, and I have never really made peace with the physical limitations that make running impossible now.
Summer used to be a long, languorous season, window curtains lifted from the sill by the breeze off the creek, hours spent at the river, the corn fields hosting thousands of fireflies, the radio station pumping out tunes all night. I spent afternoons parked on the sofa with a book, with my journal, or with the phone pressed to my ear. Nights were spent congregating near the concession stand in the community ball park, watching cheesy late night TV at home, occasionally catching a movie, cruising the streets of the nearest small town looking for people to hang out with, or lying on blankets or sitting in parked cars under the stars.
Summer was the season for boyfriends and for love--a time for discovery and a time for being discovered. A time when life stretched out before us full of possibility. We didn't know exactly where it would take us, but this was a source of excitement, not anxiety. Our minds spun with scenarios. We could conjure a half-dozen versions of happily-ever-after on command. No dream seemed out of reach.
Remembering that time in my life fills me with such longing for lost youth, lost innocence, lost faith.
Now I get up early and shuttle the kids to the tennis courts, to camp, to the park, to the library or to the pool. I pick up their friends and drop their friends off. The car is always filled to capacity. There's always a pile of shoes by the door.
I clean the kitchen over and over, feed the washing machine, and go to the grocery store daily. I hear the soundtrack to this summer blaring from iPod speakers and my kids' voices on the phone with friends, their sighs of boredom, their requests to be taken to the store.
At night I retreat outside and let the dusk obscure the years and release the memories. I'm no longer a soft-bellied, middle-aged mom living in a small city but a long haired, long limbed girl sitting in the shadow of the mountains, watching the heat lightning on the horizon, leaning into a boy's arms, and dreaming of the future. It's a good place to visit.
Later I'll open my eyes to the warm yellow squares of light beaming from the house, framing my view of my family inside, and I'll appreciate the mostly-happy-here-and-now the fates have delivered in 2009, accepting the disappointments lurking in the shadows. I'll stroll through the garden on the way to the door, letting the fireflies light the way and not be captured.
Reader Comments (15)
Loved the image of the scroll...all of this was beautiful...
"In middle age, summer is a season tinged with regret and nostalgia. Every glimpse of caramel-colored calves, suntanned shoulders, flat bellies, and smooth, unblemished skin makes me feel old."
YES. I KNOW. Perfect.
I too think of those heady days of youth. But deep down I'm glad that time marches forward...
Those times and places in my life are always just below the surface. Often when I'm walking, riding in a car, or otherwise passing time, my mind is busy revisiting the past and pondering the path between then and now.