waking up on memory lane

though my children are no longer in school (unless, like me, you count life as school – but we’ll save the philosophy for another day), i still operate on a school calendar. which means that the lazy, hazy days of summer are coming to an end. screeching to a halt. closing.

but wait: what lazy hazy days of summer?

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i can remember waking up and just lying in bed, the birds singing me to consciousness, the day beckoning me with all the opportunities it held as treasures. i felt so, so . . . in control of my life. there was time in those summer days, and i spent it traveling through books; adding to my collection of words and thoughts in my notebooks; swimming in the lake as the bottom gushed up between my toes; painting my furniture with antiquing kits ordered from the sears catalog; carving my initials in a tree; rolling down hills (and coming home with grass-stained clothes to prove it); eating lunch at grandmother’s house – my plate filled with fresh vegetables we picked maybe an hour before devouring them.

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i sewed, creating clothes i wore proudly. i stitched, grabbing something from the closet and embellishing it – transforming it – with decorative embroidery.

i added to the collage of photos that transformed my closet doors. i rearranged my furniture. i napped at will and without apology.

the days were leisurely full: deliciously, creatively, spaciously full.

am here in my beloved n.c. now – phoebe and i trekked up yesterday for a short visit. for reasons i cannot explain, the days are more spacious here – resembling those i remember so fondly – opening up to allow most anything i choose.

today i’ll be setting up my new computer (i do so hope it’s as easy as “they” say it is – am just transferring files from one apple laptop to another, but the hiccup is that the old laptop is really, really, really old while the new laptop is really, really, really new. am hoping my software will be able to make itself at home on the new playground.) and auditioning 3 paint colors for the exterior of the house: Zenful, Early Morning Mist, and Enlighten Mint. (i’m leaning towards enlighten mint – the color’s okay, but oohh those words.) (remember how i told you i collected words? sometimes just for fun, i go to the paint store and read names of paint colors.) (and you should see my collection of race horse names.)

i’m also looking forward to seeing a favorite cousin of mine . . . perhaps that’s the kindling for the nostalgic tone this morning. i do so enjoy our reminiscing – sometimes philosophically and psychologically, often humorously, always lovingly.

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  • http://quiltdivajulie.blogspot.com/ quiltdivajulie

    Oh my goodness ~ delicious is hardly adequate here.

    I had a cousin who used to come and visit every summer. Somewhere along the line, she grew mean and her visits became desperately awful. One summer, my younger sister had mano (a really really new “disease”) and my aunt was afraid to send her precious (aka awful) daughter to our house. What a blessing in disguise ~ it broke the pattern and we escaped her presence from that summer forth.

    I remember that feeling of the lake bottom squishing and squirting between my toes ~ the nibbles of schools of swift, shimmery perch and small mouth bass that lived in our lake !~ the gentle tickles and roughness of seaweed ~ and the glorious warmth of the lazy afternoon sun.

    Because I am so affected by the seasonal/daylight changes, I too operate on a school year calendar (although my back to school begins in September, not early August like the calendar dictates). I love new pencils, fresh boxes of crayons, empty composition books, crisp binders that creak when opened, and all manner of “newness” that comes with a fresh start (that fleeting atmosphere of endless possibilities).

    • http://thebarefootheart.com/ ever jeanne

      that is so funny about your cousin. funny how things tend to work out for the best . . . even when you’re just trying to get through the day (or in this case, one summer visit)! i, too, LOVE the newness of a school year. a fresh start. possibilities that stretch out before you further than you can see. . .

  • http://quiltdivajulie.blogspot.com quiltdivajulie

    Oh my goodness ~ delicious is hardly adequate here.

    I had a cousin who used to come and visit every summer. Somewhere along the line, she grew mean and her visits became desperately awful. One summer, my younger sister had mano (a really really new “disease”) and my aunt was afraid to send her precious (aka awful) daughter to our house. What a blessing in disguise ~ it broke the pattern and we escaped her presence from that summer forth.

    I remember that feeling of the lake bottom squishing and squirting between my toes ~ the nibbles of schools of swift, shimmery perch and small mouth bass that lived in our lake !~ the gentle tickles and roughness of seaweed ~ and the glorious warmth of the lazy afternoon sun.

    Because I am so affected by the seasonal/daylight changes, I too operate on a school year calendar (although my back to school begins in September, not early August like the calendar dictates). I love new pencils, fresh boxes of crayons, empty composition books, crisp binders that creak when opened, and all manner of “newness” that comes with a fresh start (that fleeting atmosphere of endless possibilities).

    • http://thebarefootheart.com ever jeanne

      that is so funny about your cousin. funny how things tend to work out for the best . . . even when you’re just trying to get through the day (or in this case, one summer visit)! i, too, LOVE the newness of a school year. a fresh start. possibilities that stretch out before you further than you can see. . .