The ides of May

My grandmother, Lois, by the pool

Like most of us, when I was a young child, I couldn't wait for to June arrive (that's when school let out in California up until the late 90s in case you were wondering).  So back up one month to May: Spring Break was past, Easter Eggs (and more importantly the candy) were way gone and all those standardized tests were sealed, sent and "statistified."  Remember, in California there are no "snow days" and so the latter part of May became a waiting game for the end.  I can't remember how many "extra recesses" we got or the number of independent work periods (read: no work) we were granted.  As a child, the last weeks of May - as the temperature climbed higher and higher and we could almost smell the chlorine of the pool - were an excruciating period of waiting, dreaming and planning about what we would do with those cherished 90-or-so days of summer.  

The other day - during one of those teasingly hot May afternoons - I was jogging/walking/jogging and I stopped as if something innate (almost primal) was awakened within me.  The combination of the temperature, light and smell of the earth reminded me, "It's almost summer!"  That awakening got me thinking about that powerful and uniquely human emotion: summer!

As a child, summers are a carefree time where days spill into nights and where water and heat commingle in a delicious (and oppressive) pairing.  But then, as we get older, summers begin to take on more weight: change, transition, uncertainty.  Whether it be our transition into high school seniors (my most cherished summer) or that frightful time after college graduation, our human rhythms are actually timed to reset and recalibrate (or rewind) in the summer.

I've certainly had my share of fretful summers - in some ways this summer (2014) marks the first time in many years that I am not undergoing some major life change.  So that got me thinking about what it means to enter - once again - this time of year that became emotionally hardwired for excitement, angst and (dare I say) fear.  Do we enter it with wistful thoughts of the past?  Or possibly with fear or anxiety about what lies ahead?  Or do we finally get a chance to enjoy a summer by the water not worrying about the Fall?

I'll see you by the pool. 

---