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Summer Blooming Local Crepe Myrtle
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If there's any time of year that we might leave our worries and our schedules behind, it would be now--summer. We rent a cabin, set up a tent, open the summer home or hang out in the back yard, sprinkler spinning. Whatever our summer traditions are, whether from childhood when grandparents and cousins joined in, or newly born, this is when a memory or a yearning kicks in.
When I was a child, as a school teacher my mother had the summers off. She stayed outdoors, laundry drying on the line, reading and studying. She packed me off to summer school classes for enrichment or to the local pool. I went to Y camps, Vacation Bible Schools of all denominations, and to my grandparents'. I read books lying on my bed. We slept al fresco on our upstairs screened porch. My brother and I rode our bikes everywhere, though not together, he with his friends, I with mine. It may not sound like stillness, but in a way it was. Worry-free is its own stillness. I know that now.
When my children were toddlers we lived in a country parsonage in Illinois. We had a backyard wading pool and swing set. I put a hose at the top of the slide to cool the aluminum and the children slid or tummied-first into the pool where the dog waited for them. Only the cat stood aloof. I made Kool-Aid popsicles and we dribbled watermelon down our chins. If you ran through the sprinkler right before bed you could skip your bath.
When my law practice was full-time summer meant swimming after work or over lunch, fewer meetings, an abbreviated court schedule and judges, lawyers and staff on vacation. Law is a profession that measures workdays in tenths of an hour. It can be a job, like many, where time is brutal. But not in July and August. For eight weeks no one hurries. The summer pace of law is a respite for everyone, including the clients.
Now we spend time with grandchildren. Today returning to her house with my granddaughter, we saw young parents hanging out across the street. In-arms or belly-wiggling, a gaggle of babies squirmed and reached, blankets and all kinds of toys spread on the grass, moms and dads chatting but at the ready. Hard work, I know, but what great neighborhood camaraderie!
If you haven't had the chance to take advantage of summer, there's still time. Slow down. Leave the clutter, make no-cook meals with all those fresh veggies at the market or in your garden, grill some fish, kick off your shoes as soon as you get home. Put no demands on anyone, especially yourself. You know what works best.
I almost feel nostalgia for last summer when we had so many friends for patio visits, separate chip-and-dip bowls and long conversations, albeit six feet apart. With everything outdoors we could let the inside go. To combat the stress, we were easy on ourselves.
I want to carry over some of that summer stillness to now. To listen to it--the cicadas at night, the Cardinals at daybreak, your favorite warm-weather music. The sounds of children, of water splashing, of bare feet running in the house . . . . To feel it--the heat and humidity, yes, but also the fresh breezes and cool rain. Dewy mornings, sunny afternoons, shaded eyes, air-conditioned cars . . . . To touch it--dragonflies gently perched on your hand, combing wet hair. What says summer to you? Maybe the stillness is not so much external, but is in our hearts as we pause and appreciate the season. As my yoga teacher says while we settle, waiting her guidance, "Take a breath . . . ."
Nina Naomi
