Summer's Double Edged Sword

Good things are happening in the 'Burgh. The annual Park Place neighborhood picnic is coming up on Sunday and M's Drupal meet-ups are getting exciting. Summer brings movies in the park and free concerts at Hartwood and no school, which means we can sleep past 5:00am starting on Saturday, and Laurel can perhaps adjust her bedtime to a more acceptable hour (because having a kid who needs to go to sleep at 6:30 can be mildly inconvenient).

But summer is also hot, and for some reason, every year I forget how hot summer in Pittsburgh can be, until it's upon us, and sweat is dripping off my brow and I'm rubbing ice cubes on Laurel's neck to keep her cool. Part of the bliss of living in this climate is watching snow from our cozy upstairs window seat, and conversely, lazy summer afternoons where you have to sit in a tepid bathtub to make it until sunset. There's something about being really hot that forces you to slow down and do only what's most important. We will put wet wash cloths on our heads and splash in the baby pool and dream up a lot of different cocktails containing Campari.

As Laurel gets older, I start to think more about what experiences I want her to have. And one thing I get more and more serious about is making sure that our lives are authentic in a way that she knows summer...that physical memories of sweat and popsicles are permanently imprinted on her psyche. I want her to grow up feeling a real connection to the earth and her neighborhood and the cycles of nature.

Does that make summer sound really romantic in a K-can-make-lemonade-out-of-lemons kind of way? Like, you want to come down here and sweat your butt off with us this summer? It will not be pleasant at all times. It will feel endless. I will want to abandon my old house for one with central air, and trade in walking for a mini-van with tinted windows. But then the heat wave will break and I will remember that being a little uncomfortable never hurt anyone.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Yes, I very much want to join you in your summer. You make good lemonade.