Hate it. (But please don’t tell her, because her birthday’s in August, and she might take it personally. I mean, for all I know, she hates January, which holds my birthday, but there you go. I hate August.)
I hate the sticky-hot weather. I hate the way the grass starts going dull, the way the pool announces its limited hours, the way the garden looks all bedraggled and sprawling, like it has just given birth to some hulking inhuman monster and might not recover… I hate the way my kids get in August, right before school starts – they’re cranky and touchy and everybody has these unwritten rules about how they can be touched and how loud they can stand someone else’s voice, and how to play some game they made up last Thursday…
I hate the way the sky goes all flat and no-colored in the mornings. I hate the bushels of tomatoes piling up on the deck because I just canned a load of those already!, and I can’t get to them all before they go bad. The house is full of dust from the gravel road.
None of my fragrances seem right for the weather. None of my clothes do either: too casual or too formal, too bright or too dull, too warm or not warm enough, wah wah wah.
I don’t get to go back to school with fresh notebooks and a new pair of shoes.
Which wouldn’t be so bad, except I’m not lying on a beach somewhere with a Mai Tai and a new Elizabeth George novel, either.
This Is Me, right now:
So I need an attitude transplant. I’ll try reminding myself of the good stuff about August.
The flowers in front of the house are gorgeous right now, and there are swarms of butterflies around – little white ones and sulfur yellow ones, little brown-and-orange ones, those big black ones with startlingly blue spots on their wings.
I have 40 quart jars full of tomatoes in the pantry, plus 80 ears of corn and 10 quarts of peaches in the freezer. We’ll be eating good this winter.
Football weather and the things that go with it, like marching band and blue skies and autumn leaves, are right around the corner.
Even if nothing seems quite right in terms of scent or raiment, I have choices. Frankly, I should probably have fewer choices and be happier with them.
I could probably go back to school if I really wanted to.
The CEO doesn’t really do lie-on-the-beach vacations. (Ever seen a caged tiger? Then you’ve seen him with “nothing to do” on vacation. It’s a thing to be avoided.) But he has taken me some really cool places, and here’s a pic of one.
This is the Marine Parade on Manly, just a half-hour ferry ride across Sydney Harbour from the city. It was taken on July 30, 2007 – and keep in mind that an equivalent date in the Northern Hemisphere would be January 30. Note the people wearing shorts. That day, The CEO and I did go and sit on the beach. We talked instead of reading, and drank Cokes instead of Mai Tais, but we dug our feet into the sand and relaxed. It was nice. I can go there in my mind.
Images, from top to bottom: “2010 Book Lovers Calendar” from BookLoversStuff at Flickr, “Have a nice day somewhere else” from Indoorcat629 from icanhazcheeseburger.com, and photo Marine Parade, Manly, Australia from my personal files. I don’t remember which one of us took this one, actually.