Good Intentions

This post is indulgent. It is lethargic, slow moving. Summer's best days are behind us, and yet we are still with summer. The heat. Dry, or humid, it's heavy, oppressive. It impedes sleep, it hinders play, it hangs around, insistently meddlesome like fruit flies, or a rash. Things feel tacky, too bright, deflated. There's worse weather, and better ways to pass the time, but my office has an overhead fan, and so I am going to sit here, and indulge in a bit of a whine, petty reflections on these dregs of a season that should be packing to leave. It may be the ideal climate for carping, grousing, and other silly indulgences.

It wasn't my intention to complain. I had planned to share some of the good we enjoyed this weekend, or to recount a dear story about friends, 3,000 miles apart, who are kindred spirits, and always crossing paths, one way or another. Then I went looking through the photographs, and found bright, natural light streaming into still rooms, eyes squinting in the sun, overexposure, inaction, and lassitude. And so, the appeal of immersing myself in the realities and possible significances of life, in September, in Southern California, took over, and I began to reflect on all of it.

Reality... the heat makes us a bit cranky, more easily annoyed. We cannot always hide an expression of irritability, disappointment.

Reality... the nights feel a bit tortured, and long, definitely restless. Naps are not optional. Suddenly we are slumped, daydreaming, unconscious. It's involuntary. Late morning heat will lay you flat. A technical knock out.

Reality... this could be the tropics! No one's complaining about plumeria, or sunsets at the beach, and we love watching the massive clouds climb and rise over the foothills and eastern peaks. I suppose if I were not naively and eagerly awaiting a fall like they have in Wisconsin, or Maine, if I didn't pine for fall color, fall sweaters, fall brisk and crisp and cool, then what we have wouldn't seem so bad. Maybe I only need muumuus, shave ice, and to play ukulele music on the porch lanai. Maybe I should plant more guava trees, a mango tree, and make that lilikoi butter.

Some of you love the warmth, the light, summer heat. I know. Your reality is a dread of the dwindling light, of deep snow, ice, windchill, or even just poor surf, and gray clouds. Sorry. I cannot deny that I am not well prepared for the rainy season, for sad goats, and a muddy chicken run. I don't relish shivering on school days, forcing myself out of a cozy bed. I realize that late in January, I will think fondly of summer, a kind of mythical season of flower beds, sunny skies, and the heady fragrance of Coppertone in the salty air. But the real summer, that is here now, is too much for me. I do not bare this well.

I need shade.

I need cool sheets, cool drinks, and the dream that soon, very soon, summer will dismiss itself and make way for a new season, new weather, new ideas, and some relief. My good intentions are intact, and though I may be slow to act, I do hope to make the best of things. Thank you for indulging me this cuppa' whine.