Other than my pool-chlorine saturated youth, wherein the Thunder Hill neighborhood pool served as playground, babysitter and launchpad for endless underwater adventures as I cosplayed–best I could with my superball serving as a magical pearl–Neptina from ‘Marine Boy,’ I haven’t had a very water-based life.
An occasional boat ride here or there. An occasional trip to the beach for a few days when offered a free place to stay by a friend. An occasional getaway weekend with creeks and rivers aplenty. And, one time, a trip to the Dead Sea, though while I’m not quite sure that water counts as ‘water,’ being on the beaches in Tel Aviv certainly did.
In general, I don’t clamor for time in the water. Or on the water.
I like it. Being on and in the water. Quite a bit. But I haven’t built a life, hobbies, activities or friendship networks around water, be it beaches, bays, creeks or rivers.
But, somehow, in a matter of a mere eight days, I managed to be out on a boat three times–kneeboarding, wakeboarding and foiling–and at the beach for a day trip: Rehoboth, lovely as it is, albeit filled with jellyfish. Blech.
There’s something about the high point of Summer: early and mid-August. The newness of Summer has passed and hints of Fall are beginning to show. Trees once filled with fresh green leaves begin to sport yellowing leaves. Some drop to the ground, reminding us Summer isn’t eternal. It’s a season. And like all seasons, it begins, it peaks and it ends.
I’ve often found Summer an interesting season in that its arrival is so anticipated and desired. Then the heat, the haze, the humidity and the hum of countless insects sorts of lulls one into a bit of Summer laziness. The fun ramps up, the pressures of life sort of slow down. It’s time to play. To enjoy Summer.
But then that first slightly cool evening comes. Those once-green leaves, now brown, begin to collect on the ground. And the creeping awareness that the Summer Laze isn’t endless begins to touch in one’s mind.
For me, the window on all the “I’m gonna’s” in my visions of Summer Fun start to close slowly. Not dramatically or drastically, but slowly and steadfastly. There’s no time when Fall doesn’t follow Summer. When Winter doesn’t follow Fall. When Spring, with its on again-off again weather doesn’t speak to the Summer yet to come.
And while it takes the same amount of time for each season to arrive, crest, wane and then cycle through nine more months ’til it comes yet again; and while I like each and all the seasons for their gifts and differences, there is something about Summer’s height and, soon, closing weeks, that reminds me to live. Live outside. Do Summer things. Go places. Have fun. And make play while the sun shines.
