Summer’s are never long enough.
They are usually hot.
These two observations are obvious.
What’s not as o-b-v-i-o-u-s is the universal need to have it be done already.
Here’s my run-down:
~ My children are all grown and gone, and I miss the summer fun. You know- the moments when you are out of ideas and you are considering locking the little darlings in the basement. With the chemicals. And the power equipment. I don’t know if ‘Mommy Love’ fit’s perfectly into this topic- but I’m feeling it anyways, and this is my blog and I can do what I want.
~ It’s HOT and with the added pleasure of hot-flashes, I’m literally melting. Like the Wicked Witch of the West, but without the added benefit of a cool bucket of water. And the monkeys. I loved the monkeys (Little serfs, in bellboy caps, who would do your bidding and fly you around the kingdom. Where can I buy one, I wonder? Oh, that’s right. I birthed them. And now they’re gone!).
~ I am sick (repeat: SICK) of grilling. And grilling every damn type of flesh on the planet- including mine. How I long for a slow baked pot roast with oodles of grease and fleshy white potatoes, smothered in butta, and over salted. It will congeal in a low oven, wafting it’s high caloric perfume throughout the house, as I lounge on the sofa and let my nail polish chip away. There will be no need to ‘gather’ myself until the holidays. It is a happy time.
~ The construction in my house (post later) will be over and I will no longer feel the need to greet the cream of the male of our species (aka: toothless, chew chomping workmen) with an uncontrollable desire to be the woman of their dreams. But it’s so easy.
~ The cats will no longer need a double dose of flea & tick medication because the heat and humidity is a fleas Eden and the cockroaches will stop growing. Oh, how I love the cockroaches! They are brought to me as gifts by my adoring herd of felines on a regular 2am basis, because I am that kind of Wonderful. The kind that needs gifts. Even the kid’s knew this- but they brought me phone calls from police officers at 2am. Same thing really.
~ The sun will go down earlier and I will feel guilt-free in enjoying my Honey BooBoo without the neighbors watching as the sky darkens, because I’m letting it all hang out in solidarity with Mama June. I change my language to that of ‘People with cars on blocks who get married in Camo’ and Ben wonders around the kitchen, never once, asking me where the ice cream is- that is, of course, in the freezer, where it should be, where it’s always been, where he will have to find it, actually considering the global implications of such a stroke of the ‘obvious’.
~ And, finally, I will be able to replant my garden, because here In New Orleans, summer is the resting-time. Or is it the drinking time? I get them mixed up…
|The last Fig Fruit
of the season.
|My Orange Sherbert Hibiscus’s
last stand-until next summer.
|But the Meyer Lemons are still
|And the parsley is ready for pesto.|