|My Favorite Photo from This Summer|
--author Kyra Davis on Twitter
"Packing up. Summer officially over for us. All the things I said I'd do are left undone."
--Judy Blume on Twitter
As a kid, I would write at least ten times as much as the other kids when we were assigned "what I did on my summer vacation" essays. They would turn in a page each, maybe, whereas I would turn in a crudely-crafted book, subdivided into smudged makeshift chapters: Here is where I went; this is what I read; these are the movies I saw; here's a list of my new records; and This is What I Ate.
This summer, I did not finish the book that was scheduled to come out October 1. It is highly unlike me to miss a deadline, but this is the year the hard drive crashed. I'm trying to let that go.
|maybe a third of the books I read this summer|
It was a terrible summer for movies. (See also: The American, or better yet: Don't.) I liked two: Please Give [Blu-ray] and The Kids Are All Right.
I had a lot of company, which inspired me to be a little more socially organized. One houseguest insisted "just do what you would do if I wasn't here" -- but I had to admit that, left to my own social devices, that would consist entirely of a Closer marathon.
I had a brief and minor summer Romance with a sweet guy where we both just sort of ...drifted off. He doesn't live in my neighborhood. He isn't on facebook or twitter, which I love -- but if it wasn't for a couple pictures in the blackberry, it means I would almost swear I hallucinated him. He said and did only nice things to and for me -- all things that made my life easier and not harder, without one second of drama (unless you count the time Lowe's was sold out of the particular garden hose we went shopping for) -- so I am counting him in the Success column. He was almost crazy-big and strong, and beyond good-natured -- repeatedly lifting very heavy things for me and putting them down right where I asked him to, so I will always remember him fondly ("Up, Guenther. Up!")
More significantly, I finally found a sofa, or more accurately, a sofa found me. That means, over the course of an entire summer, one room is finished at the new place. One. Still, if my cousin is to be believed, it is the sort of room straight men everywhere dream about.
I grew a decent tomato and basil crop, despite the drought. The tomatoes turned all of us into farmers this year. Harriette turned to me at a birthday dinner a few weekends ago and sighed, "I still have to pick tonight, do you?" Yes, I do too, I said. It's like we all agreed to take a second job this summer, and that job was tomatoes. Not that we take them for granted. It's a safe bet we'll all be reminiscing fondly about them at the next New Year's Potluck.
I killed off everything else, including the late great lemon thyme. R.I.P.
Despite ambitious plans, I did not accomplish one sprig of non-edible landscaping -- not one hosta, not one lily.
That makes it the summer of slack.