The End Of Summer

Summer is nearly at a close. I always get particularly melancholy at the end of summer. As a child, I loved the summer. It was my time. I was cute, always looked older than my age (now? I look younger . . . go figure). Summer meant fun, it meant being young. The end of summer was like the end of an era - one you couldn't possibly believe could ever see a repeat.

As a teen, some days I'd put on a bikini, saddle (maybe) up my horse . . . his name was Ralph . . . and ride. I'd ride for hours and hours and hours. I'd find a pretty spot and let Ralph wander around and I'd just lay on his back and catch some rays. I was very flexible then (still am).

Other days, I'd lay on a chaise in my yard listening to music as loud as I could crank it and flaunting what the good Lord gave me and what a teenage girl didn't have the sense to cover up.

My mom was always out in the yard - pruning her prized roses. I had a friend - he'd been my friend since we were in preschool. He'd ride his bike to my house and when my mom wasn't looking, he'd pick one of her roses and lay it on my window sill - it faced the road. He was always so sweet to me when no one was looking ;)

The summertime meant swimming all day at the local spring fed pond. The lifeguards were always cute, the music was always loud, and the atmosphere was perfect. Or it meant boating at the lake, swinging into the river on a rope swing, or marshmallows at night, or cruising for boys at the mall or in the McDonald's parking lot . . .

As I got older and could drive, summertime meant marathon days with my beau. We'd meet up in the morning and part late at night. We'd get drunk, play cards, sit on the shore of the lake or argue about the genius of Bob Dylan.
Summertime meant all his "boys" would show up on the porch with their instruments. We'd set up a porch band. My sister and I would sing - she'd play bass sometimes, I'd play rhythm guitar or easy lead sometimes - if my boyfriend was being nice. We'd get wasted and play all day. Then at night we'd light fireworks and run around the yard like we were wild and free . . . and we were.

Summertime. It was beaches and sand, music and cars, beer and burgers. It was fireflies, and soft kisses in the dark, it was tanning oil and bikinis. Motorcycles, horses, boats, and marshmallows. Hay lofts, hay bales, horseback rides in the dark. Fire pits, guitars and best friends. There was no rhyme or reason . . . Summertime was simply youth - that moment in time that you could stop on any given day and bottle. It was bliss.

I don't feel young anymore. I'm not old, I just don't feel young. My last two summertimes have been filled with stress and pain. So the end of this summer is particularly melancholy.

My son is growing up before my eyes and I can't stop it. My family is falling apart at the seams, and I can't stop it. I'll never again, giggle long into a summer night with my sister about nothing or cruise the beach together giggling about the brave souls who bare all these days. . . This summertime wasn't filled with laughter and fun the way it was back then.

So, these last few weeks of summer, my plan is to try to recapture an old summertime. Tonight? I'm going out with my biker friends (don't tell mom - though I promise to wear a lid), I'm going to get a beer and make a toast by the lake - maybe even act the fool and jump in.

Maybe tomorrow, I'll saddle up an old friend and take a long, long ride. Or, maybe I'll restring my guitar and sing a bad rendition of Wish You Were Here . . . Maybe I'll flaunt what the good Lord gave me and I've still not got the good sense to cover up ;)

Or, maybe I'll just sit in the black of my back yard and count fireflies in the dark, sip a glass of wine, and toast my baby sister.

Summertime's about memories, feeling young and vibrant, so before this summertime's lights go out . . . I'm going out to get me some memories made. I'd like to feel whole, young and wild again . . . if only for a moment in time. That teenage bliss you should be able to bottle and sell? When the only thing that mattered was what color bathing suit would match your toenails? I'm looking for that - just one more time.