The best poem I've read in probably 5 or 6 years leads me to recall a feeling about summertime that I'd nearly forgotten: relaxation. I mean, honest-to-god, no-commitment, complete-and-total freedom from responsibility, just-laying-back-and-sunning-without-a-care-in-the-world relaxation.
The last time I felt it? 1998. The summer before my parents sold the house I grew up in and everything in my life mutated, shifted, warped, and changed -- and never really righted itself again. In short, the last summer before adulthood set in.
Here, in no particular order, are the beautiful things I remember and desire to feel/be/know again: Squeezing the kids' chubby arms into floaties that squeaked and resisted as we pushed/pulled/yanked them on and hanging their flotation-device-built-right-in bathing suits, sopping wet, on the fence to dry. Coming in from the extreme heat to the chill of air conditioning, showering with cool water because my skin was so warm, soft cotton kick-around clothes, and the coldness of freshly cleaned sheets against my sun-burning legs as I watched Pulp Fiction, and Dazed and Confused, again and again. Sneaking beers and smoking Dunhills, eating chicken cutlet sandwiches, and wondering if he really was the one (he wasn't). Driving around, for lack of anything better to do; searching for ice cream stands at 11:30 p.m. and never wanting to go home. The excitement of knowing there were more good books unread than read... Being in love. Freedom. The smell of the grill; the taste of hotdogs, which has never been the same since. Music playing through the kitchen window two stories above. The sounds of my parents. Car doors slamming as the brood arrived; hot, burning-your-legs seats. Ice coffee trips. Hanging out in the basement, listening to music, shooting pool. All the contrasts that meant so much on my skin -- heat and cool; bright, dizzying sunshine and shadowed basement half-light. City escapades and chasing Norwood Baddies. Tossing the kids in the water, horsing around until we got yelled at.
Never knowing those days would end or that the feelings, the beauty, the total carelessness and wonder of it all wouldn't last forever.
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2 comments:
Ha ha ha... yes I remember some of those things.
And I agree it is a really good poem. You don't see so many these days that have something so important to say to go along with the beautiful words.
I am glad it was this poem that evoked these idyllic pasts.
I will have to send you more poems.
Hi! It's been a while since I checked your blog and I'm so glad to see you're still writing. OK, Norwood Baddies - what's that? Should I be on the lookout? I agree with your post by the way - I went thru a time in my twenties when I would have given anything to have a summer day back on Long Island. Somehow things were sweeter, spicier, hotter, colder, I don't know, but I wasn't sure my senses were working right anymore and I couldn't enjoy things the way I used to. I've come to my own conclusion that if. I. stop. rushing. my senses pick up more I'm more aware and all that good stuff. Living in the moment. And not ruminating and worrying so much. Easier to do when young, I'm thinking. I miss talking with you. hugs!!!
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