Now that summer is about half way finished I thought I’d dedicate a blog to the season of heat, long days and smoldering nights.
Summer isn’t particularly my favorite season. It’s hot and sticky and for a work-from-home mom with a school age child it’s downright impossible to get things done. But some of the best memories have come from my thirty-thgievii years of summers. So today, I thought I’d mention my top three memories from my childhood, teenage and adulthood.
One summer when I was a little girl my family was in a traveling musical that went up and down the east coast, Arizona, and finally the island of Jamaica. My twin sisters and I weren’t allowed on the Arizona or Jamaica trips but we did make the long drive from Connecticut to Georgia and back again. We listened to Christian tapes like Kids Under Construction, Carmen, We are Called and Sandi Patty, as well as Neil Diamond’s Jazz Singer and Kenny Rogers’ The Gambler. We knew every word to every song and sang along the whole time. We visited amusement parks, museums, and walked Washington D.C. until our feet had fallen off and we’d collapsed on the lawns in front of the Smithsonian. It was wonderful and as for the cuisine… my parents even took us to a back-woods eatery in Georgia called Mammy’s Kitchen, where we ate on a blue checkered table-clothed picnic table outside and was served the most amazing barbecue on paper plates. We ate with our hands and licked our sauced fingers when we were finished.
At that age, I didn’t have friends that asked me over nor did it matter if I had my own thing to do. I did what my family did and it was great!We had art, culture and a vast tolerance of each other in a close quartered van we’d named Wally.
We tried to do family trips after that but my sisters and I had evolved into teenagers and before we knew it hanging around in a car for hours on end was not fun. We would chomp at the bit to be home and with our friends. Which brings me to my next favorite summer story. I was in my late teens just after high school graduation. A group of friends and I had spent the day on a boat and in the evening we’d gathered at a private cove by Candlewood Lake in Sherman, Connecticut.
As the sun set we cooked up hot dogs and sat by the campfire making s’mores. The fire crackled and embers sputtered, making a fun day a spectacular night. We were a good group of kids, no one drank, no one smoked, it was just good clean fun, basking in the cool summer night breeze. I don’t remember the exact date but it must have been in August, for once the moon had dropped behind the tree line we had a perfect view of a clear night sky as many of us lay on our backs against the bobbing boat docks. Above us the Leonid meteoroid shower rained down, shooting one star after another. It was so magical and beautiful! A truly perfect summer night.
Stars falling might be magnificent but there’s nothing like a sizzling summer romance. Up until I was twenty-something all my dating was done in the summer. There was the first kiss after seeing Jurassic Park, pool dates, and even roller-blading along a sandy boardwalk in the sunny California sun. But nothing was better than the one 4th of July on the beach. It was a hot and sticky night, the sand was warm, the blanket we laid upon was soft and the breeze across the ocean was heavenly. Fireworks blazed above, popping one after another as my, then, boyfriend lay next to me. His fingers trailed along my bare arm as the multitude of colors exploded in the sky. We had kissed a few times, hugged a lot and we really liked each other but we were not in love. Up until now his kisses had yet to be exciting – a peck here, a pucker there, but nothing to write home about. So this hand against my balmy skin was the most intimate touch we’d ever shared. And considering the absent way he brushed his finger pads along the soft hairs of my arm, I doubt he knew what he was doing to me.
After the fireworks show was over we gathered our things and made our way through traffic to pick up his roommate from work, but we were too early. So what else was there to do for two healthy young adults? In my mind there was only one innocent idea and it involved more than the chaste pecks we’d been sharing. I grabbed his face, pulling his lips to mine and kissed him as whole-heartedly as I felt. The poor guy didn’t know what had hit him. By the time the second-base make-out session was over, the friend’s shift was over and we were smiling as wide as the moon above. Our innocence had opened up just a little bit more and when the friend climbed in the backseat he eyed us queerly yet neither of us mentioned how much kissing we’d done just moments before he stepped inside. Silently we’d grabbed hands in the front seat and the guys brought me home – the night to be continued on our next date.
So in conclusion, yes, summer should be my favorite season for all its memories but just think… if this is my least favorite season, imagine what memories I have from my favorite times of year.