‘The season winds down while I’m still winding up’
I was on the phone with my mother the other day, discussing the fact that most of the 2016 championship-winning Cubs players had been traded — one, my fave, Javier Baez, is now playing for the Mets — when we interrupted our solving of the world’s problems with a big…heavy…sigh.
We didn’t even need to ask each other what the sigh was for. It was August, after all.
If June is spiked with the thrill of Friday-like expectation, and July is packed with the pleasures of an endless Saturday, then August is tinged with Sunday’s bittersweet longing.
The Child and her Whitmore Grampa solve the world’s problems on an endless July afternoon
It’s like when you were a kid and you were doing your homework at the dining-room table while Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Colorwas playing in the next room. It was Sunday night. Where on earth did the weekend go?
How many times did I get out the boogie boards this summer? Do you have to ask?
I’m pretty sure you know what I mean. It’s like you’ve just dusted off your white bucks on Memorial Day and then you realize Labor Day is coming up and you’ll just have to put them away again without having worn them even once. Or like you told yourself you’d have plenty of time to go through all the photos from that birding trip to Africa and make a book out of them already. And, speaking of books, please don’t get me started on yes, this summer I’ll get my act together and find an agent and/or a publisher to turn my stories into a real pages-and-ink book.
Stories? You bet I have stories. Some didn’t have such a happy ending. Just ask that Belgian guy in the back
But enough whining. Speaking of summers and beaches, here’s a joke that’s a favorite of my mom’s. She tells it best, but I’ll give it a shot.Continue reading