All winter, I'm like
everybody else: Come on, summer! Right until it arrives, I'm
eager. Every year I forget the season's many annoyances.
With windows open and
fresh air wafting in, the sounds of mowers near and far start early
and remain constant. The shrieks of happy or outraged children and
the radios of construction crews intrude into my thoughts. Music
blasting from passing cars prevents me from writing.
Virtually every road
leading to any destination is under construction. The flagman or
woman often seems not to know how to signal what's an order to stop
the car and what's a gesture while holding a flag and a
walkie-talkie. There's seldom any warning that my usual route will
become impassable.
There are ants inside
and bloodthirsty mosquitoes outside who like me especially much, and
for a fun three weeks, carpenter bees by the front door. In August,
the stink bugs will arrive in our bedroom and we can't see how
they're getting in.
The lawn and small
garden need weeding constantly, and there is little hope of ever
pulling all the wild grape or Virginia creeper. One end of my small
garden will consist entirely of bare earth due to seed germination
failures or the more expensive deaths of purchased plants.
There's a vacation to
plan and pack for, plus our anniversary and three birthdays, two of
them for the hard-to-shop-for family members. Underwear for all!
I have a funny tan from
walking in shorts and athletic shoes. Even though I sunscreen my
legs, my feet are fish-belly white in comparison. Sunscreen is very
hard to remove from a car's leather or vinyl, and impossible to
remove from the neck and sleeve hems of T-shirts.
This year, like last, I
detest the way I look in a bathing suit and cannot find my damned
sarong, which has got to be in the house somewhere. When I go to the
closest beach nevertheless, the water's so cold swimming is not an
option. And there's some kind of biting fly.
The air conditioner
cannot keep up on the hot days, and there's never any time to do the
craft painting or tree planting I planned when the snow lay thick.
There are concerts and
festivals and events galore, and parking within a reasonable distance
of any of them is a pipe dream.
But today my outing
reminded me of summer's underappreciated pleasure: I drove for more
than a mile on a newly paved road, not yet striped with lanes and so
smooth my tires made no sound. If I'd been on my way to get fresh ice cream in a waffle cone, summer would be just about perfect.
