It’s a 100 degrees out there tonight, and I miss “summer.” But summer isn’t summer anymore. Summer as we now call it is actually spring with temps falling somewhere in the respectable 70s and 80s.
This new summer—I call it quasi-summer—isn’t summer anymore. Summer sports leagues have shut down, and only a few kids are still in the line-up, even in early June, just those lucky enough to have made the travel teams. All of the other kids have taken their bats and balls and have gone home, waiting for school to start so they can begin their routines once again.
So here we are. Quasi-summer is gone, and we find ourselves shoved back into the classroom, back into the groove, back into the routine, rushing the kiddos off to their fall practices in the 100 degree temps in football pads or shin guards. Where is that autumn breeze? Summer isn’t summer anymore. It is what fall used to be.
I remember when fall sports actually took place when the leaves actually fell. I remember when July was a time for fireworks and freedom. But now July is just a polite way of saying, “It’s time to open up the doors so that we can lock down our routines and those put those pesky kids and their teachers back to work.”
Right now on this hot 100-degree autumn evening, I miss summer, quasi-summer, a time meant for retreating to my “writer cave,” a term I blatantly stole tonight from a writer’s post on an ACFW message list. I miss writing all night and waking up when my body decided it was ready for the day.
But here I am back in the routine, rush, rush, rush. I’m wearing so many hats now that sometimes I forget who I am: wife, mother, daughter, high school teacher, devoted Red Sox fan, college instructor, taxi driver, maid—and writer. Somewhere at the end of the day, there has to be time for writer.
But at near midnight at the end of a busy day, my writer mind shuts down. I can’t find the creative words I want to say. Have I accidently used them all up in the mundane communiqué of the day?
- “Yes, I’ll miss you too. What time did you say you’ll get home?”
- “Have you finished your homework, taken a bath, fed the dog?”
- “Thank you for checking on the boys? How are you feeling today?”
- “Now, class, sit down, listen up, pick up your book, put down your pencil.”
- “What’s that? Pedroia’s back in the line-up? It’s about time!”
- “You say college students are flunking out too?”
- “What time is your practice, and did you remember your drumsticks?”
- “Where did all this laundry come from?”
As I shift from one hat to another, I lose myself, my voice, my opportunities to power up my computer and tap out my heart so that I can wear it on my sleeve.
Call it what you may, I miss summer.