Summer is short, and now it's gone...
September 5 , 2006

The lakeside towns here in Harbor Country are now juggling their affection for out of town currency with the elation of getting their towns back. Back in Illinois, kids are getting to know their new teachers, parents are gearing up their new schedules, and all signs point to the fact that another summer has evaporated. Michigan supports its tourism industry by decreeing that school will begin after Labor Day, and by giving most students a week in February to ski the Upper Peninsula, and any other slope. Any calendar that adds leisure time is a fine idea. But it is September, reality rules in both states.

Steve is a solitary soul, and he likes to hide on vacation.  He would rather be far away and anonymous. I love the ease of using every minute to slow down and do nothing. I am also Catholic enough (just barely) to demand that we use this condo in order to justify having it. I spent most of August here, with Steve in residence sporadically.  Kids, their friends and family filled in the empty beds. I read a stack of books, and tried without total success to negotiate a canine peace with Mabel and Millie. The dogs require walking and exercise here (no fences). Since Millie is an incontinent pup and Mabel is tireless, some days I have a leash in hand for hours.  One would think that I would return smaller, but no.  Mabel is a good fetcher, and I can work her willies out without traversing any great distance. She has dominated the lake, but she was not disciplined enough to go on the boat. Her new life vest remains in mint condition. As we say every September, maybe next year.

We bought this place right after Matt was born, when I was too hormonal to see that it could stretch our budget. It is littered with family memories, and now it functions as a tether, linking us together, though rarely all at one time. Every road leads to the go-karts, restaurants or putt-putt golf that served as backdrops for family fights and feuds.  Vacations improve with memory. You forget the misery of corralling sandy kids and refereeing endless fights by imagining the sweet moments.  When we remodeled, we replaced doors that had hook and eye locks on them for enforcing “time-outs”, doled out for crimes to fraternal units. I had forgotten that we were ever that desperate. I had also forgotten that the boys just took the screens out and jumped from the second story window. They had nowhere to go, but they needed to triumph. They rang the doorbell and grinned. I am sure those adaptive skills will play into their future successes, but I fear that they will write tell all books linking us to incarceration and torture. Do not believe them! We had idyllic times between the kid wars.

I was the parent who was always sad to see the sweet unbridled energy of summer stuffed into a desk and backpack. I was fortunate enough to be a stay at home mom- sure, my brain curdled a bit- but I relished the lack of an alarm ordering us into the trenches.  Now that I am retired from the daily Mom business, September is just a symbolic end of summer. I am determined not to make it the end of joy at the simplest gifts life has:  a warm sun, cool night, bugs chirping, barbecuing, bare feet, books. I have a new bike, and tons of road left in me.  The maple trees are already tossing their spinners to warn me that leaves will follow. Apple crisp and football weekends lurk on the horizon. I love those, too.

Today I will empty the fridge, pack my suitcase, clean, corral the dogs and hit the 80-94 path to everyday life. My intention is always to get back for some fall color or winter coziness, but my summer mind is more elastic than my school year mind. Isn’t that a pity? At the very least, I hope I take a little summer with me for the road ahead.