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| Time and tide wait for no man. |
I'm sitting here on a Sunday morning, smack-dab in the middle of summer,
trying desperately to hold on to each fleeting moment of the season.
I barely believe my calendar when it tells me it’s the end of July,
which signals the beginning of the end of summer.
I
enjoyed the stretch of ninety degree days we had last week,
especially after last winter which doesn’t seem so long ago. On a
muggy Tuesday night, I attended a meeting for one of my various
extracurricular activities. The person who greeted me at the door
tried to make small talk by using the old standard summer
conversation starter, “Hot enough for ya?”
“Are
you kidding me?” I replied. “These are the days I’ve been
waiting for since last January. These are the days I thought would
never come. Hot enough for me? No. It’s not.” I could have just
answered with a nod of my head or a polite laugh, but I wanted to
make my opinion known.
I
want to find a way to make the remaining weeks of summer last. I want
time to drag slowly. I want the days to slow-cook in the heat. I will
relish the next few days of broiling, hot-as-an-oven,
fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk temperatures. Disco inferno me, please.
I'm
even enjoying my yard work this summer. Anything is better than
shoveling snow. Pulling weeds in the hot sun feels like a day at a
health spa. Mowing my lawn on a humid morning just makes relaxing in
the backyard more rewarding.
Working
full time is the only thing standing in my way from a summer of pure
bliss. Monday through Friday I wake up early and open my back door to
let in the cool morning air. I wish I could enjoy a leisurely
breakfast on the patio but there just isn’t enough time. The table
and chairs look inviting under the shade of my Maple tree. I'm afraid
if I sat out there with a cup of coffee, I’d have no incentive to
ever leave for work. I’d get lost listening to the birds chirp and
the tree branches sway. Instead, I wolf down my coffee and english
muffin and jump into my air-conditioned car and sit in traffic on the
expressway. I’m stuck in a flood of traffic instead of sitting by
the rising tide of Nahant Beach.
My
beach days seem so long ago. On weekend mornings I’d pack some
snacks and drinks in a cooler. I'd gather some beach toys for my son.
I'd grab some towels, a blanket and a folding chair and we’d head
for a day by the shore in the hot sun. We’d find our spot in the
sand, just the right distance from the water’s edge. We’d walk
the coastline for a couple of miles picking up green and blue sea
glass and looking for horseshoe crabs. I'd catch up on summer reading
while watching my son play in the water. When it was time to go home,
we’d rinse the sand from our feet and pack up. It was always a
challenge to drag everything back to our parking space in one trip.
We’d have lunch at Wendy’s, eating inside the car trying not to
drop any precious french fries on the floor. We’d travel home,
tired and sunburned, ready to do it all again the next day.
I’m
lost in my midsummer’s daydream until reality intrudes on the edge
of my thoughts. My son is now a junior in college. School (and
working to pay for school) consumes his life, just as work and paying
debts consumes my own.
I’d
give anything to go back to those days of summer past, to be walking
down that hot stretch of sand, proudly watching my son discover the
world around him. Our two sets of footprints follow us along the
beach, my larger ones pressing deeper into the sand next to my son’s
smaller, numerous ones as he tries to keep up with me. The cries of
the seagulls flying overhead are drowned out by the booms of the
waist high waves crashing onto shore. Inch by inch, the tide washes
away the tracks we leave behind, but that’s okay. My memories of
those days are cemented in stone, hopefully to remain untouched for
all time.
