I just got back from a month away working on a book project. How wonderful that it’s still summer, and yet I’ve also felt a bit overwhelmed as I try to put my life back in order. This week I had a chest x-ray and an EKG to try to explain recent breathlessness. My daughter accidentally locked herself out of the house. The puffy tissue in my ankle demanded another appointment with a doctor, but it’s not anything to worry about. I’ve sent out numerous inquiries for work, but everyone must either still be on vacation or the world has forgotten the common courtesy of offering even a form letter as a response. Still, it’s August and I don’t want to complain. After all, once upon a time August used to be my favorite month. Here are a few reasons why:
Jumping into lakes or ponds without hesitation (more than any other time of the year, I can trust that the water temperature will be just right).
End-of-season and back-to-school sales.
Sweet corn—steamed, salted, buttered and eaten right after picking.
Summer drinks: from mojitos to gin and tonics.
Late-into-the-evening back yard gatherings. (And grilling!)
Giving myself permission to lounge with a great novel I’ve been dying to read.
In short, August is the time of year when most of us have managed to switch focus from working to living. Labor Day—perhaps due to the name of that holiday or because it triggers memories of starting a new, tougher grade at school—is when most revert back to the American habit of living to work. Except for a brief respite over the winter holidays, I tend to continue in that mode until just before Memorial Day—which, as an adult, is my new favorite time of year. What could be better than thinking about the promise of summer?