Next summer can be a shirtless summer.

This summer can be an ice cream summer.

#TinyThreads

Way back in the 80’s, summers felt way different. I was just a child then, so summers lasted forever. They ran so far into the future that school felt a lifetime away. The deliciousness of a July day contained multitudes, and for a child in the 80’s there was freedom and adventure and an innocence that I fear has long disappeared. It was all there, in a pop song given a reggae slant for this island summer.

Things look so bad everywhere
In this whole world, what is fair?
We walk blind and we try to see
Falling behind in what could be…

A coconut limonada sweats down a hibiscus glass as a sprig of fresh mint perches jauntily near the rim. Summer heat and high humidity, still new enough to be welcome and not annoying, start from the earliest morning, when the stillness of the hour is enough to trick you into thinking it’s possibly cool. Friction and action lead to heat – staying quiet and stationary lends a coolness, even if it’s only the making of your mind.

Worlds are turning and we’re just hanging on
Facing our fear and standing out there alone
A yearning, and it’s real to me
There must be someone who’s feeling for me
Things look so bad everywhere
In this whole world, what is fair?

Certain wallpaper speaks to me in such a way that I almost toy with the idea of using it somewhere.

Then I remember how tedious it was to remove the wallpaper that was in our home when we first moved in, and I lose all the appetite for it.

This exquisite wall is at the Mandarin Oriental in Boston, where it shall remain.

What is it about a bundt cake that spurs conversation and camaraderie?

Is it some latent childhood memory that brings back the elusive rhythm of adults talking in the background that allowed kids to be invisible? In so many ways, that was what we always wanted as kids – to not be sticking out or the center of attention. To fade into the background so we could focus on our adventures. To not be bothered by fastidious adults and hovering parents. These days I’m on the other end of that scene – in the muffled background noise of the adults. There is a certain full circle symmetry there, mixed metaphors and all. That brings us back to the title and featured picture of this post: the bundt cake.

Maybe, like tea, it is ritual.

Something to occupy our hands and our attention, giving relief to any awkwardness among people in a room together.

The business of busy-ness is the point of much too much of our lives.

That’s the beauty of the bundt.

Our pool is open and our invitations have been delivered – the rest of the summer unfurls beyond what I can or want to see. The first summer gathering is already done, and two more weekends of guests are just ahead. Truth be told, I’ve always enjoyed the days leading up to a gathering more than most of the gatherings themselves, but I’m learning to let the enjoyment fill the occasion too. Smaller summer dinners are more my style – with casual, relaxed grill fare – no oven baking, no stove-top boiling – just simple burgers or steaks and some cool, leafy salad. The only question that remains: guess who’s coming to dinner?

Summer finds us more social, at odds with the way my youth went, when school’s social activities ceased once it was July. That was always summer’s big relief for my socially-anxious disposition – but there were certain exceptions. The Fourth of July was celebrated at the grand home of a family friend on Locust Avenue, and my birthday in August always demanded some sort of social grace. In 1990, I basically extended the school year during our trip to the then-Soviet Union. That’s where and when Suzie introduced me to ‘The Mighty Quinn’ soundtrack, which is what fuels the music for this post.

High summer is at hand – memories surface from as long as 30 years ago, and from just a few days prior – time working its strange alchemy especially when tied to summer. There is a hint of mystery to it too, the way the nights are always darker in summer than in winter. Surely more mysterious things are to come…

My father shared my sun sign – Virgo – and exhibited the typical care for fastidious neatness and order throughout his life. Dad’s been on my mind of late, probably because the high summer weather we’ve had of late rekindles his last summer with us. As I was preparing for our first flush of guests this season, I thought of him again. He used to hose off the front sidewalks and driveway of my childhood home whenever guests would be visiting, and as I found myself employing the same studied techniques, I felt comfort in the memory.

There’s a better cleaning that results from a hose-down compared to simple weeping, and in these dry, hot days, it doubles as a watering for the lawn. What once made me wonder at the point of such meticulousness in method, I now employ and enjoy as the best way to spruce up the look of a home. It is comfort and care, and a nice way to remember my father. It’s also a sign of hospitality and respect, two things that my father taught me through example and illustration – the very best kind of lesson a child can have.

This was a wonderful summer weekend – with friends and family and even the sun cooperating for a pool-centered celebration. Dive into this weekly blog recap and take it easy this week…

Whispers of retirement.

What’s up, Madonna?

A 50th birthday wishlist.

High drama skies.

Coquette echoes.

Electric pink.

Un Jardin Après La Mousson.

A pro-tip for my age bracket.

A Brian Sims appreciation post.

Pink ponies, pink tacos and putts – the tenth anniversary of our BroSox Adventure was a happy return to epic form.

Ten years is worth a look-back.

A guaranteed pool party.

Divine American psychology.

Absent psychotic.

The tide is high.

Halloween already?

One summer love.