This bonus post is to honor the official arrival of the first day of summer tomorrow. Last year summer happened in fits and starts that never quite took off. There were a few days of hot, stifling weather, but they felt too spread out to get into a summer groove, and most weekends as I recall were wash-outs. Andy wasn’t happy with the summer we never had, not only because of the weather but of other sadness and loss, so we’re hoping this summer is better. We always have that hope – the hope for the perfect summer. It’s an idea of summer we doggedly pursue, no matter what the meteorological records indicate, no matter what might step in to ruin the flow.
I usually make a few summer music mixes, old-school style, and try to find songs that evoke the season, not only in mellow mood and sound, but in the time of the year in which they were originally released. Music jogs the memory second only to scent. Last year our summer anthem was an ancient 80’s chestnut: ‘Don’t Dream It’s Over’ by Crowded House. I’m not even sure that one came out in the summer, but its languid, wistful atmosphere, and the sentiment decrying the passing of a certain time is perfect for the season that never seems to last long enough. It goes deeper than one might assume it would.
THERE IS FREEDOM WITHIN, THERE IS FREEDOM WITHOUT
TRY TO CATCH THE DELUGE IN A PAPER CUP
THERE’S A BATTLE AHEAD, MANY BATTLES ARE LOST
BUT YOU’LL NEVER SEE THE END OF THE ROAD WHILE YOU’RE TRAVELING WITH ME
HEY NOW, HEY NOW, DON’T DREAM IT’S OVER
HEY NOW, HEY NOW, WHEN THE WORLD COMES IN
THEY COME, THEY COME TO BUILD A WALL BETWEEN US
WE KNOW THEY WON’T WIN
Outside on the backyard patio, an old-fashioned boombox plays the CD – a relic from the 90’s with technology from the 80’s – and I pause with wonder at all the summers that have been burned into memory like music burned onto rainbow-deflecting CDs. Sheer panels in pink and green flutter in the breeze, hanging baskets of sweet potato vine are just beginning their descent, and a lounge chair is littered with wayward pillows as I make my way to the pool. Andy has heated it to a lovely temperature, and as high as the sun has risen in the sky, it still dances on the rippling surface of the water.
NOW I’M TOWING MY CAR, THERE’S A HOLE IN THE ROOF
MY POSSESSIONS ARE CAUSING ME SUSPICION BUT THERE’S NO PROOF
IN THE PAPER TODAY TAKES OF WAR AND OF WASTE
BUT YOU TURN TIGHT OVER TO THE TV PAGE
HEY NOW, HEY NOW, DON’T DREAM IT’S OVER
HEY NOW, HEY NOW, WHEN THE WORLD COMES IN
THEY COME, THEY COME TO BUILD A WALL BETWEEN US
WE KNOW THEY WON’T WIN
On the lime green float, I paddle to the side of the pool and dry my hands on a towel, then carefully pick up the book I’m reading. Pushing off with my foot, I float into the middle of the pool, gently bobbing to the hypnotic undulation of the water. It is a heavenly place to be. The song carries out over the yard.
Memories of neighborhood girls sunning themselves on towels, stands of Queen Ann’s lace running along brutally hot pavement, a bike ride down a forest-lined dirt path, hunting crayfish in the cold water of a running stream…
Baseball cards and powdery sticks of gum, heliopsis and hollyhocks and hummingbird moths, eyes glazed and burning in a chlorine pool haze…
The mesh netting of a swimsuit hung on a rusty iron fence, the first few pole beans hanging among all those pea-like blooms, the sound of a lawn mower roaring in the distance followed by the smell of freshly-cut grass…
