This weekend, I was really loving summer-- the warm, gentle breeze; the delicate sunshine; the lazy breakfast on the deck-- and thinking about my summer favorites. There are probably more than ten, but I started to compile a mental list. They're not in any particular order- sorry, Mr. Letterman.
#1 Having my daughter and husband home for the entire summer. No school. Mine, all mine.
#2 I already gave this one away- but the summer breeze, the look and feel of sunshine, and the vibrance of the day always energizes me. I soak up as much as possible, and hope it gets me through the following winter.
#3 The great outdoors. Long walks, hikes, bike rides, swimming, picnics, evening strolls, an invigorating run. I'll take it any way I can get it.
#4 The drive-in. This is a summer *must* for my family. Every year, we wait anxiously for an appropriate double feature-- a good movie for the kids, followed by a decent movie for my husband and I. We do it just as my grandparents did it with their kids-- we get there early, the kids eat a picnic dinner, we play ball in the open space in front of the screen, change them into PJs, brush teeth, watch the first movie, tuck them into bed in the backseat, and watch the second feature. Ah, summer.
#5 Our annual picnic at the dock. Every summer we pack a picnic dinner and eat at our favorite dock in the Hudson Valley. It's always fun to watch the boats sail by, wade in the water with the kids, and take photos of them set against the gorgeous river.
#6 I said it once, but, HIKING! This is our day-trip of choice throughout the summer. We try for a few times a week, driving within an hour or so of home. Last year, Bash Bish and Mohonk were our two favorites.
#7 Lazy mornings outside. One of the hardest things about the school year is the rush-rush-rush feeling on weekday mornings. On summer mornings, whenever possible we make it a point to sit out on the deck, linger over breakfast, and enjoy the sun, the air, and the quiet. It's so peaceful, and shapes the remainder of the day.
#8 Conversely, ending the day outside is another cherished pasttime. As often as we can, we get back outside after dinner for a game of ball in the yard, a ramble around the neighborhood, or even playing a game on the deck. It's so peaceful to be outside, bumping into other families out doing the same, stopping to chat with the neighbors, and enjoy the communal feeling of summertime family life.
#9 The sounds of summer. There's something so reassuring about hearing the birds chirping softly, kids shrieking with joy in the distance, a dog barking from down the street, and feel the slow pace of the afternoon. It almost makes me wish I drank lemonade.
#10 Wind chimes. It's a sound of summer, but I love them so much, they get their own spot. Hearing the wind blow the chimes is enhanting, and sometimes I'll even tap the chimes during the winter and close my eyes, just to pretend it's summer.
Okay, fine, I went past ten...
#11 The BBQs. While I am not actually a fan of BBQ food itself, I do love the outdoor family barbecue. Often with extended family, and often an opportunity to sit, eat, talk, sit, eat, and talk. Watching the multiple generations interact is priceless.
#12 The Beach. We don't get there every summer, but when we do, it's revitalizing, and lasts me for months afterwards. Something about the sound and feel of the waves rolling in and out... I could walk on along the water all day. If I ever relocate, it will be somewhere with a beach. Preferably, Hilton Head, SC. I don't care how big or small my house is, as long as I face the ocean, can see it when I wake up, can see it when I fall asleep, and can walk on it whenever I want. A cardboard box will do.
#13 The memories. Sure, other times of year are filled with holidays, but there is something even more memorable about the freedom that comes along with no school, no snow, and an open road of possibilities. If I could stretch those two months into a whole year, I'd do it in a heartbeat.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Revelations
I'm alone in the house for the first time in quite a while. I feel like kind of a fraud. What am I doing alone? (My husband brought the girls out for to breakfast at the diner, for some daddy-daughter time) Why am I not cleaning? (Which is the first, and usually only thing that I do when no one needs my attention). What am I going to do with myself? I keep thinking about when I read, "Eat, Pray, Love," and was stunned at the concept of "dolce far niente," aka the art of doing nothing, and enjoying it. I'm Italian, after all, shouldn't I be able to grasp the act of mindfully relaxing?
Of course, I'm going to do a little cleaning first. I just have to. It's half compulsion (if I don't do it, it's going to bug me) and half pragmatics (if I do it now, it won't be waiting for me later, and I can enjoy the girls when they get home). I promise myself I'll clean for less than 30 minutes, and I turn on the ipod first so that I can rationalize that I'm listening to my own music and therefore having downtime. And besides, I actually like to clean, so it's not like I'm resenting it.
Next, I have to figure out what to do with myself. It's not that I don't have anything to do; it's what to do first. Catch up on putting pictures in albums, or sorting through folders of photos on my computer? Not in the mood. Clean out my side of the closet? Ha. This is supposed to be relaxing, after all. What are my hobbies? Okay, let's see. Photography, reading, crocheting (not that I've crocheted in, oh, five years?), biking, hiking, running, cooking, writing. Oh, got it. My recipe binder. I have a binder, I've been adding to it for years, and it's full of every recipe I've ever pulled out of a magazine, copied down from a friend, etc. I'm constantly sticking pages into the front pocket, making mental notes to add it to next week's menu, but once enough pages are sitting there, it's chaos. With my binder, comes its companion-- a yellow speckled composition notebook, in which I keep lists of meals I've made, what we've liked, and what I plan to make next. I wrestle in my mind for a moment. Does meal-planning and looking at recipes count as relaxing? This is still family care, so maybe I should do something else, like take a bath with scads of candles around.
Then I tell myself to hush up... and decide it's much better to do what I actually like to do, than what some calagon commercial tells me I'm supposed to do. I whip out my binder, three-hole puncher, and sheet protectors (I'm such a food nerd) and settle on the couch with a cup of tea (now that feels required) and some Ben Folds Five playing on the ipod. And I sift. And marvel. And dream. Dream of my one-day cafe, and which recipes I'll serve there. Dream of having the time to actually try all these recipes. Dream of the lazy summer gatherings we'll have, at which I'll get to make each-and-every-thing that looks mouth-watering and tantalizing.
It's quiet in my brain, as I've finally stopped convincing myself that this is a valid activity, and am actually enjoying it instead. And then the revelations begin. I think about how wonderful alone time is, and how I (and so many mothers) never feel entitled to it. I think about the basics that I require in order to feel sane and capable, and decide that they're precious little (healthy kids, a happy spouse, a swept floor, an empty sink, and a clutter-free dining room table) compared to what we think we need (insert mental image of latest Pottery Barn catalog here). I think about being carefree and laid-back, which are my two goals; too-often prevented by my two realities, rushed and sometimes overwhelmed/grumpy.
I decide that I'll encourage more of this alone time (after all, my husband is always wanting to take the girls out) and see where it brings me. More refreshed, perhaps. More energetic, hopefully. More spontaneous, well, let's not get carried away. And even if I only agree to this because I think it'll make me a better mother and wife, maybe a little something will benefit me, just me, in the process. I'll tuck that into my subconscious, but just don't let my conscious know.
Of course, I'm going to do a little cleaning first. I just have to. It's half compulsion (if I don't do it, it's going to bug me) and half pragmatics (if I do it now, it won't be waiting for me later, and I can enjoy the girls when they get home). I promise myself I'll clean for less than 30 minutes, and I turn on the ipod first so that I can rationalize that I'm listening to my own music and therefore having downtime. And besides, I actually like to clean, so it's not like I'm resenting it.
Next, I have to figure out what to do with myself. It's not that I don't have anything to do; it's what to do first. Catch up on putting pictures in albums, or sorting through folders of photos on my computer? Not in the mood. Clean out my side of the closet? Ha. This is supposed to be relaxing, after all. What are my hobbies? Okay, let's see. Photography, reading, crocheting (not that I've crocheted in, oh, five years?), biking, hiking, running, cooking, writing. Oh, got it. My recipe binder. I have a binder, I've been adding to it for years, and it's full of every recipe I've ever pulled out of a magazine, copied down from a friend, etc. I'm constantly sticking pages into the front pocket, making mental notes to add it to next week's menu, but once enough pages are sitting there, it's chaos. With my binder, comes its companion-- a yellow speckled composition notebook, in which I keep lists of meals I've made, what we've liked, and what I plan to make next. I wrestle in my mind for a moment. Does meal-planning and looking at recipes count as relaxing? This is still family care, so maybe I should do something else, like take a bath with scads of candles around.
Then I tell myself to hush up... and decide it's much better to do what I actually like to do, than what some calagon commercial tells me I'm supposed to do. I whip out my binder, three-hole puncher, and sheet protectors (I'm such a food nerd) and settle on the couch with a cup of tea (now that feels required) and some Ben Folds Five playing on the ipod. And I sift. And marvel. And dream. Dream of my one-day cafe, and which recipes I'll serve there. Dream of having the time to actually try all these recipes. Dream of the lazy summer gatherings we'll have, at which I'll get to make each-and-every-thing that looks mouth-watering and tantalizing.
It's quiet in my brain, as I've finally stopped convincing myself that this is a valid activity, and am actually enjoying it instead. And then the revelations begin. I think about how wonderful alone time is, and how I (and so many mothers) never feel entitled to it. I think about the basics that I require in order to feel sane and capable, and decide that they're precious little (healthy kids, a happy spouse, a swept floor, an empty sink, and a clutter-free dining room table) compared to what we think we need (insert mental image of latest Pottery Barn catalog here). I think about being carefree and laid-back, which are my two goals; too-often prevented by my two realities, rushed and sometimes overwhelmed/grumpy.
I decide that I'll encourage more of this alone time (after all, my husband is always wanting to take the girls out) and see where it brings me. More refreshed, perhaps. More energetic, hopefully. More spontaneous, well, let's not get carried away. And even if I only agree to this because I think it'll make me a better mother and wife, maybe a little something will benefit me, just me, in the process. I'll tuck that into my subconscious, but just don't let my conscious know.
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