Summertime is, by default, my favorite season. Not necessarily because I prefer it, but because my extremities are inclined to numbness during the three other seasons. I love the heat. I love my cut-off Levi’s that are held together by a couple iron on patches and several fervent prayers. I love a sundress and being barefoot. I love driving the lawn mower and running over things I shouldn’t. (Okay, that last part isn’t true. But maybe if I didn’t love it, I wouldn’t do it so much.)
I do need to tell you that this summer bent me. Like metal that begs to snap but stubbornly does not. I spent the summer in the washing machine–unfortunately not on the gentle cycle. Tumbling, fumbling, rinsed and wrung. Floppy, sopping, limp and numb.
Early on, my dad experienced a stroke. Our family showed up in the ways we knew how, each contributing in our own ways to take care. He spent a few weeks with me. He’s with me now, gently sleeping while I write. While his physical health is A-OK, he does feel pretty foggy-headed and does act a little silly. He likes naps and forgets things pretty easily.
I lost my best friend, Jasper, this summer. It’s been a bit over a month since Jasper left, but my heart is still quite raw and still quite tender. I swear to you, the physical and emotional pain of losing this dog shattered me. I had five years with him, and I don’t think a hundred would have been enough. If you’ve followed along with me for any amount of time, you really know that Jasper went everywhere with me. Enthusiastically so. God, it hurts. Still. I don’t suppose you need to linger with me here in the hurt. Let it suffice that this summer was heavy–in both public and private. Spoken and unspoken.
I think what I need to say is that crying took up most of my days. Avoidantly scrolling. Scrambling. Fumbling. Weeping. Complaining. Did I mention crying? I rotted a lot. On my phone. In bed. Dishes piled and weeds grew. I wallowed (or “wallered”, if you’re my college roommate from deep Texas) in the hurt. An unfortunate cold or flu or Lord-knows-what had me on hospice there for a couple of days. I bedridden with hurt and with sickness and with exhaustion. Mushrooms rotted on the log and in my fridge. Dear Lord, how did I make it through?
When I think of wallerin’, I prefer to envision a happy pig in mud. Or a cozy bumblebee, asleep in a zucchini flower too full and too happy to move. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the wallerin’ I got up to. You know that already. But you also know that there was a lot of nectar around me, inside me. It was hard to find, but it was there. I’ll read this back slowly and wallow in it.
- Niznik tandem mowing. What’s that? Two mowers, two Nizniks, and a happy dog laying in the sun.
- The milky way in my back yard.
- The way my house smells after an afternoon of pouring candles.
- A long shower, maybe seated, with achy muscles. Hot water, intentional washing. Tender massaging.
- Snacking on garden veggies while doing farm chores.
- Jasper snuggled in his chair.
- The aforementioned bumble wallerin’ in a zucchini flower.
- Cucumber salad.
- Vanilla hazelnut latte.
- The sun rays streaking through the trees while I’m picking mushrooms.
- The birds’ and crickets’ and frogs’ chorus on a slow morning in the garden.
- Bouquets picked in a field or on the side of the road.
- Hot sand and sun after a dip in the lake.
- Jasper’s chocolate eyes.
- Honey’s long lashes.
- Martinelli’s apple juice in the round bottle.
- Fried potatoes.
- Fresh garlic.
- Ginger and lemon tea.
- When my hair’s curled and my make-up’s done.
- My green glass straw.
- Jason Derulo’s “Want to Want Me”
- When I drink enough water.
- Fresh sheets. That one’s not going anywhere.
- Farmer’s Market drives with Tamara.
- A freshly cleaned bathroom. Toilet scrubbed, mirrors spotless, floor squeaky.
- A nap when I’m tired.
- A candle burning with the lights out.