I do believe summer started without us

Cynical and I have differing views when it comes to summer. For him the equation is simple:

Mowing + Heat = Hades

For me, well, being as I (annoyingly) tend to see the glass as half full, I find lots of joys that accompany the months of June, July and August. Sure, the heat is something I could do without, but I also realize without soaring temperatures, iced tea wouldn't taste so wonderful and my obsession with icecream wouldn't be justified.

This summer it has taken me a while to get into the swing of things. I haven't been motivated to be outside as much as I generally am this time of year. And well, without my daily dose of strawberries, it just hasn't been the same.

Over the weekend, however, I was able to do a bit of "catching up" with summertime. And now I think we are back on track: summertime and me.

For instance, I began my Saturday by helping a friend with a neighborhood yard sale. I only made $17, which isn't bad for what little I managed to gather for it. Is there anything that smacks of the season like a yard sale?

Each year my folks and I attend a Blues festival about 30 minutes away. The setting is perfect for a summer outing, located along the banks of a river, shaded by huge trees. You can buy nearly anything you want to eat; the only thing is that it's always on a stick. It's sort of a Father's Day weekend tradition for us. So, sweaty, tired and a tad worn out, I headed over post-sale, to visit with my folks, drink a Java Shake and unfortunately grace the porta-potties lined up for the patrons. (Is there anything worse than a porta-potty? No, there isn't.)

I had enough time for an act or two before I headed back for my fourth play of the week. I must admit that as much as I love live performances, four plays in one week left me "played out" shall we say.

On Sunday we took my dad out for Father's Day and did a bit of shopping, picking up another summer staple: sandals and tennis shoes for Cynical.

So, summer had begun at Chez Ragged. . . and the most marked way we ushered in the season was a Sunday night trip out for ice cream. When I was a kid we would often drive to a local dairy bar, get ice cream and drive out into the county, the three of us kids sliding around in the back seat of my dad's Rambler, the windows rolled down, my long hair flapping around the car, dipping into everyone's ice cream. We'd be sweaty and dirty from a long day of playing outside, our necks full of "granny beads", a combination of sweat and dirt.

After the ice cream and the drive, we'd come home for a nice cool bath, I'd put on my cotton pajamas and turn on the GE fan that hummed me softly to sleep.

No GE fan or Carter's pajamas, but I did sleep soundly with my stomach full of ice cream, my skin slightly tinged by the sun and summertime memories under my pillow.