SUMMER IS A STATE OF MIND

Friday I stay at work for an extra hour.  I am determined to tie up some loose ends and file some important paperwork, so the teacher next door to me (who is also staying late) and I make a pact: Neither of us may stay past 3:30.  At 3:27, I go to her room and demand she exit the building with me.  We get distracted by others who are also in the building.  Honestly, I'm tired.  Two hours of professional development after a break-neck half day with students has left me deflated.  I am so close to the finish line that I can taste it, but I ... am ... tired.

I get outside and discover it is a beautiful, warm day. 

Last week, for some reason that I cannot explain, I bought a season pass to the pond near my house.  When my own children were young, the pond was plagued with bacteria issues and other blights.  We had a family membership at the Y, so swimming didn't need to be done at the pond.  This summer, though, I figure I can haul the kayaks down there, or maybe I'll sit in a chair along the shore and do some reading and writing.

Suddenly I have a strong urge to go to the pond.  I run home, change, grab a book and a towel, and head over to the little beach along the water.  I am somewhat surprised and somewhat not surprised to see that the pond is still exactly the same as it was the last time I was here, maybe twenty-five years ago.  It's also the same as when I was a teenager and made a few visits here.  The bathroom is still exactly the same, the cinder block building is still the same, and I'm shocked to admit the canoes even look the same. 

You know what else is still the same?  The gritty sand is still the same, and the smell of pond water is still the same.  Yes, it is so hot that after a bit I end up wading into the semi-clear water, ducking down, and coming back out to sit along the shore.  The sun bakes the smell into my pores.  When I get home, I jump into the shower, wash my hair twice (even though I didn't get it wet in the pond), wash my body with soap, then scrub with body wash.

Saturday morning I wake up around 8:00 and decide that I need a trip to the beach (the ocean this time).  I don't give myself a chance to change my mind -- I get into my swimsuit and shorts, throw on flip-flops and a sweatshirt, and off I go, grabbing a book on my way out the door.  The beach is chilly and the tide is coming in, so I walk along the sidewalk above the beach before I settle into my chair on a rock about five feet from where the surf is cresting on the sand.  The sun is strong enough to allow me some tanning time, but I only put two hours into the meter, just in case. 

When I come home around noon time, it's ten degrees warmer on my patio than it had been on the rocks at the beach, so I sit out in the sun for a little while longer.  It's not the same, though.  There's no stinky pond and there's no windy beach, which means my view is limited to cement and my fence. 

This is when it hits me: Summer is not just about the temperature and the sun.  Summer is also sitting at (or in) the pond and watching the water ripple from the old sand pits toward the scout camp on the other side.  Summer is about the smell of salt and the sound of the waves hitting the shore at the coast.  Summer is a state of mind.

If I can just make it through the next few days, staying late and getting organized and wrapping up the year, I, too, will find that state of mind.  Come on, summer.  I've got a pond pass and I've already warmed up my favorite parking space at the beach.  I'm ready.  Bring it.