Yup. Even Slackers get the Labor Day Blues

Standard

‘Summer, I miss you already’

I know, I know. Summer isn’t officially over till, like, September 21. But even if yesterday wasn’t Labor Day, I say that if I have to grill my burgers by flashlight it’s Autumn. Okay? And today it’s back to Reality (and the Big City), since even sporadically-employed freelancers like me have obligations and responsibilities. (See ‘I love the smell of SoftScrub in the morning’ for envy-inducing examples.)

But before I go, I’d like to recall a few of the summery things I miss already, along with those white bucks I never got a chance to wear:

Glam home upgrades. Look out. If the Southampton Hospital Designer Showhouse Committee gets wind of our new propane tank, they’re sure to come calling.

Nope. It's not the Oscar Meyer WeinerMobile. It's our snappy new propane tank. Now everybody's gonna want one.

Nope. It’s not the Oscar Meyer WeinerMobile. It’s our snappy new propane tank. Now everybody’s gonna want one.

Newsy neighbors. Due to an amazing stroke of parental luck (The Dude’s Dad had many famous–and grateful–patients*), we live in a neighborhood of BoldFace Names. One of our neighbors was recently on the front page of the Post for erecting an electric fence to protect the ‘Hillary for Prison’ signs he put up in his yard. Another, Jerry Seinfeld, was in the East Hampton Star’s Crime Log for running an illegal lemonade stand:

Ooops. The police were not amused by Jerry's kids' mercantile efforts. Maybe they should have offered them free lemonade.

Ooops. The police were not amused by Jerry’s kids’ mercantile efforts. Maybe they should have offered the cops free lemonade.

Oh, and we often ran into our next-door neighbor Lorne Michaels and his houseguests on the path to the beach that we share. The Child was with an equally-comely friend recently when they heard a gravelly ‘Can I help you, Ladies?’ coming from none other than Jack Nicholson. (They said ‘no thank you’. Whew.)

*For examples of amazing largesse from The Dude’s Dad’s grateful patients, see ‘Malcolm and the Duchess’ and ‘De Kooning’s Revenge’

Speaking of houseguests. I’m gonna miss them too, bless their towel-draping sand-strewing little hearts. But what am I saying? I am in possession of an empty room (actually The Child’s, but empty most of the time now, thank god) in New York City too. And you know what they say: ‘It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a hostess in possession of an empty room must be in want of a guest’. But I say if you are over 18 and didn’t share a bathroom and/or bedroom with me while I was growing up, it is extremely tacky to ask to stay with me. So there.

Books on the deck. Cooking and eating there too. (Sometimes all three at the same time.) This was the summer of reading about a tortured individual facing brutal cold and virtual starvation in the face of soul-crushing emotional deprivation. Oh, and I also read about some Australian in a Japanese POW camp.

Man buns at the farm stand (and pretty much everywhere else). In case you didn’t know, the East End of Long Island, sometimes known as The Hamptons, used to be a pretty sleepy Bonacker-populated place. Until the hipsters discovered Montauk. Click, and you can read all about the Doom at the End of the Season, which has crept into Amagansett too.

All this trendiness hasn’t affected me all that much, since I rarely leave The Compound, except to go to the IGA, the post office, or the dump. (I can sense your envy escalating.) Oh, and I do visit the farm stand, for my corn-and-tomatoes fix. Where the clientele this summer resembled the cast of ‘Portlandia’: hair swept into high ponytails, gingham-check shorts, Birkenstocks, a discreet tattoo or too, those Buddhist-Bead bracelets. And those were the guys.

A typical Hipster Summer Look. But not at my house

A typical Hipster Summer Look. At my house, not so much.

Resort wear. Speaking of clothes, I am going to miss the way I got to dress all summer. Basically, it was: get up, throw on shorts and one of a vast collection of tee shirts, slip on flip-flops (which I used to call ‘thongs’ until The Child convinced me not to). You can admire one of my several functioning pair in the photo at the top of this post. And here are a couple of my favorite shirts:

So, I guess it’s time to get out there and enjoy my last day of Summer before both of us (me and Summer) sail off into the sunset. See you next week, with a very Citified Story of Some Sort.

Amagansett, New York. September 2015

 

 

 

21 thoughts on “Yup. Even Slackers get the Labor Day Blues

  1. drallisonbrown

    The sad thing about the end of summer is not knowing when the end actually is! Here in SC, it stays warm, so I don’t realize that “this is my last dip in the pool or the last boat trip.” It just creeps up on me…

    • Oh gosh! I was just thinking that very same thing. That ‘omigoshIdidn’trealizethatwasmylastswim’ feeling. Sheesh. Thank you for understanding only so well what the heck I’m talking about (!)

    • Hahaha! I resist those early evenings with all my might. You should see me out there grilling by flashlight! And yes, I’ll pass along a ‘hello’ (or at least a neighborly nod) to the Boys on the Beach for you!

  2. ” . . . hair swept into high ponytails, gingham-check shorts, Birkenstocks, a discreet tattoo or too, those Buddhist-Bead bracelets.”
    Yeah, I think I’d be staying close to the compound, too. LOL

  3. Teresa

    Thanks for this, Alice. We don’t get to celebrate Labour Day so a different kind of ‘back to it’ depression is settling in…kind of a quiet creeping silent un-named dread. But that’s just me.

    • Oh, Teresa. I totally ‘get’ that back-to-it depression thing. That’s actually why I wrote this piece. To try to dispel it. It works. Sort of. What works even better is knowing my friends are reading, and enjoying, my stuff. Thank you! xoxoxo

I'd love to hear from you