The Youthful Magic of Summer Days

This post is a part of the Five Minute Friday link up. We write for just 5 minutes on a one-word prompt, without heavy editing, and see what happens. Today I am being strict about my 5 minutes and so I have a start and stop in there. The prompt for today is “summer.”

[start]

I remember when I was a kid, summer vacation was the best. I would stay up super late reading, and then sleep till noon or later.

My parents were both working by the time I was in junior high school, so there would be the inevitable list on the kitchen table of stuff Mom wanted us to get done before she got home. But it wasn’t bad.

The actual view from our house.

I grew up in the Oakland, Calif., foothills, so the days were warm but not hot. The mornings were usually cool and the nights could get cold. Our back deck looked out over the San Francisco Bay, or what you could see of it through the trees that had grown up over the years we lived there. It was very quiet. No major thoroughfares in the hills. Blue jays were our noisiest neighbors. Or sometimes the raccoons that would fight every evening when our elderly neighbor set out dry dog food for them to eat.

Taken by my brother on the last day the house was ours.

I remember going over there one night when she fed them to see a whole bunch of raccoons, young and old, holding those little brown balls of dog food in their paws, dipping them in the bowls of water, because raccoons apparently wash their food before they eat it. And then they’d fight over what was left.

I still like to stay up late, buried in a good book, but the responsibility of adulthood has crept in to take away the magic of those days. [stop]

There’s more I would like to say about those summer days in Northern California, but I’ll adhere to the 5-minute rule today. The rest will be for another time. Meanwhile, summer reading suggestions are welcome! Put your recommendations in the comments.

Sweet Summer Memories

Today’s 10-Minute Tuesday post (a day late) is on the prompt “Summer.”

The day had been its normal hot in Bakersfield that late summer day in 1968 when I was approaching 7 years old, the thermometer topping out at 100 dry degrees. My older sister and I had gone to bed in the cool back bedroom of my grandparent’s ranch house on Wible Road, anticipating a phone call about the birth of our new sibling.

I’m not sure where my brother was, but I don’t remember him being with us.

It felt right that that’s where I was awaiting this announcement, because I loved that ranch. I loved everything about the house and the grounds. I spent many days playing in the irrigation ditches among the cotton or alfalfa plants, whatever happened to be growing that season.

The smell of cut alfalfa still takes me back.

It always seemed to be summer when we spent time there, so hot was something I was used to. I clearly hear my grandmother “Mimi’s” voice yelling, “Close the door, the refrigeration is on!”

The kitchen of the ranch house was huge, the eating area separated from the cooking area by a bar. The windows looking out over the back yard with the brick walkway and covered outdoor kitchen area that I never remember being used as such. My great grandmother Nona’s house sat just feet away. The rose bushes in their neat rows bordered the side driveway where visitors often parked.

From the old wooden storage shed that held remnants of tractors and other paraphernalia of ranch life to the long rows of growing plants, everything about the place spoke of family history. And I loved it.

I remember one particular summer when I was either in junior high or high school. I went to Bakersfield to stay for a week. I spent most of it that summer at my great aunt “Zizi’s” apartment.

Zizi was my grandmother’s only surviving sister. They had lost my mother’s namesake, Ada, when she was young. Zizi, Zia Emma (“zia” being Italian for “aunt”), had never married, though she had been engaged at one point. We never really got the full story, only that she had moved back with my grandparents when she suffered a nervous breakdown in the aftermath.

That week I spent with Zizi, all I wanted to do was read. She tried to get me to go to the pool, but I only wanted to read. I don’t think she quite knew what to do with me.

Three years ago, my aunt—my mother’s sister—and her son—my cousin—made the decision to sell the house and land. It broke my heart. Never again would I spend any summer days in the stifling heat and lovely memories of that Wible Road home. My grandparents are gone. My great aunt is gone. No more card games with my Nona at the kitchen table of her little green house just a few yards from my grandparents’ place.

My heart yearns for them, those lazy summer days and my precious Italian family.

Oh yeah, and my newborn sibling was a girl. Not that she’s a side note; it just happened to be this memory that first came to mind at the word “summer.”

I have so much more to say about this place, but my 10 minutes are up :-). I will touch on this again in a future post.

 

Longing For Lake Tahoe

I have been battling with discontentment this summer. Last summer I got to spend several weeks driving to and from Colorado and hanging out in the mountains. This summer, with sweltering temperatures and cloying humidity, I sit at home, not wanting to venture out past 9 in the morning.

Maybe some people like living in Florida in the summer; I would not be one of them.

And yet that’s where I’ve been for the past 24 summers, with small breaks here and there to be elsewhere.

I long for elsewhere. I long for Lake Tahoe.

When I was younger, my family and I spent many a joyous vacation at Lake Tahoe. Whenever I smell pine trees I fly back in time to that log cabin nestled in the woods that we shared for oh-too-brief vacations with my grandparents. 

The beauty of the mountains, the coolness of the water, the serenity of the lake.

It was idyllic. But I was a child and didn’t have the responsibility of cooking or packing or planning. I just got to enjoy the scenery.

Why, Lord? Why Orlando?

I guess it’s not all about me.

But I long for the beauty, the outdoorsyness, the cool nights sitting on the porch. How did I get to be this person who doesn’t even want to venture outside?

Would it have felt better if I didn’t have Facebook shoving it in my face that so many other friends get to be elsewhere?

Pennsylvania. Paris. Milan. Minnesota. Washington. Wales.

I see the photos. They draw me.

But here I sit watching another afternoon thunderstorm. Remembering that God’s grace reaches Orlando, too. Maybe my city needed me this summer as it bent under a terrorist attack.

Maybe my daughter needed me as she took another step closer to maturity. As she finally got her braces off. As she struggled with the wherewithal to follow through on her desires of the spring.

Maybe my middle child needed me as he toured college campuses and tried to figure out what he wants to do after graduation. Maybe he needed me to listen to his fussing about his online class, his summer reading, his hatred of math.

Maybe my eldest needed me here as he navigated a breakup with his first girlfriend. As he applied for and started another job. As he took his first online summer class for college.

I am here for a reason. I can whine about my circumstances or I can embrace the plan God has for me. In Philippians chapter 4, the Apostle Paul says, “I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

The plenty of beautiful surroundings and the days of my youth. Being brought low to where I don’t even want to step foot outdoors through the long days of summer. I know this isn’t exactly what Paul was referring to, but it’s how I feel.

I can do this. I can live in Orlando for another summer. Or 2. Or 30. If this is where the Lord has me, then He will strengthen me to live in it.

And at just the right angle, the retention pond could actually look like a lake.

Time Keeps on Slippin’, Slippin’, Slippin’

I sent my baby boy off for his sophomore year of high school today. He won’t like the fact that I called him my baby boy. Plus, he’s taller than I am now. But it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t read my blog anyway. Sigh. Last night I asked him if he wanted me to get up and say goodbye to him in the morning (which is a BIG sacrifice for me, since he needs to leave the house at 6:45 or so to catch his bus at 6:52). He said no. Then he added, “You can if you want to.” So when I woke up at 6:47 and asked my husband if he had heard him, and he told me he hadn’t, I went to his room to check.

Yep, there he was snoozing away. 5 minutes until the bus arrived at a 3-minute-walk-away bus stop. Wasn’t gonna happen. So, being the kind mother that I am, I drove him. Got him there 3 minutes before the bell for first period. I don’t think he made it. But, I was guessing they were giving grace on the first day of school. But what a way to start.

So, my big, strong Air Force officer wannabe son still needs his momma. Whether he wants to admit it or not.

My desire to hang on, to make sure he has everything he needs for the day, that he hasn’t left anything behind, is hard to break. Last year I stopped myself from checking that he had his athletic shoes for an ROTC field day that he was attending. He had to wear his uniform there, but then change into PT clothes later on. Turns out, he forgot the shoes. The result? Major blisters and torn skin on the soles of his feet for his error. Lesson learned? I think so. But it’s hard to see your children suffer the consequences, isn’t it?

But what’s that saying? What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger? I bet he won’t be forgetting his shoes again.

When we go to a restaurant, my husband is telling me, let him ask the questions. Don’t baby him. But not asking the right questions can have physical consequences as he is severely allergic to dairy products. And I have more experience knowing what to ask. And what if he doesn’t have his allergy medicine with him? And, and, and.

Let it go. Cut the apron strings. He’s a big boy now.

Wrong. He’s still my baby.

Thankful today for:

561. growing independence

562. a new computer coming

563. approaching fall