Summertime, and the living is ...

I always consider Memorial Day the unofficial start to Summer. The days start to speed up, gathering momentum as they go, which makes it seem like the most fleeting of all the seasons to me.

I was discussing with a friend today how, on the days leading up to a long weekend, my energy levels tend to spike. I make a list. I make several lists. Of things I'd like to do, of things I should do. Should I repaint the dining room (it has been five years)? Should I bake bread? Should we take a road trip? Should I read Maugham's entire life's work? My head starts spinning.

When we were little, summer days stretched luxuriously before us. We had no cognitive grasp of mortality and this made us rather cavalier about how we spent our summer days. This knowledge can be a good thing; it gives our lives purpose and direction. It forces us to think about what kind of legacy we want to leave behind, but must it take away from our desire to seek adventure?

Maturity brings responsibilities that shape our choices, even how we spend our time. But I think I'll take my friend's advise and do a little bit of nothing ... what will you be doing?

Escape!

Once in a while, I've got to get out of town. Do you ever get that feeling? (I blame my father. When I was little, in the summer on any given Friday afternoon, he would come home and have my mom pack up the camper so we could live on roasted hot dogs and marshmallows for two or three days and we would get to tramp about the woods like wild children.) It doesn't have to be big; even a few hours will do. I need to go someplace where I can breathe more deeply and not worry about my list of things that need to get done.

So, on Sunday my husband took me to a place in Hocking County called Rock Stalls. The Indians used to bring their horses here for water and rest. If you don't mind using fallen trees to cross streams, or wading right through them, it's a beautiful place. Consider it therapy.

Happy birthday, Mom. I love you.