9/09/2013

indian summer

The Farmers Market stalls overflow with dahlias, peaches, tomatos, and zinnias. Our own garden alternates between droopy and crispy, and at 5pm, we cannot sit in any of the front rooms of our house for fear of melting into the furniture. These days are better fit for the lake, the park, and the pool than for the office or classroom. Oh, how I wish I could make a pitcher of lemonade and spend the afternoon reading in a hammock. But I can't. There's work needs doin'.

Indian Summer. Beautiful and hot. It always makes me frustrated because the weather doesn't match the required activities. I remember coming home from school to a sweltering kitchen, my mom putting up peaches, apples, and trying to figure out what the heck to do with all the blasted zuchini. I just wanted to go swimming.

In fact, one time I did. I didn't walk to the kitchen, but instead went to the apartment pool, set my violin case and backpack on the concrete and took the Nestea Plunge, clothes and all. It was glorious. And my mom, in a flash of parental brilliance, didn't scold, but just laughed and told me to change, because she needed my help to press apples through the strainer.

~ ~ ~

My life feels like its in Indian Summer. It's almost a new season, but not quite. I'm anxious to get to the new, but the old clings to me, like a sweaty Tshirt. In addition to physical organizing and cleaning and packing, I have a lifetime of sorrow and confusion to sort through. It's slow-going.

I can see the next season. I am shaping a vision for that life. But it's just out of reach. Not yet. Just this or that barrier to overcome. Oh, hey, another layer of healing to go through. Another new system to develop. You thought you were done with this task/project/obligation, but nope. Not quite.

It's tiring and painful and lonely and sometimes boring, and it just goes on and on, like pressing a hundred bushels of apples through a tupperware strainer.

My man encourages me to keep pressing. "You are almost done. You are kicking ass. You are so close, and what comes next is gonna be awesome. Wooooo! Also, zinnias! You love those!" And most of the time I am with him, but sometimes its just, "Yeah. Zinnias are cool. But. Dude. I don't even really like applesauce. This sucks and I'm tired of suckiness. When does the suckiness stop? Wahhh wahhh wahhhh."

~ ~ ~

So, I'm here, pressing apples and sweating in my Tshirt. Just concentrating on the task in front of me, and hoping for a cool evening breeze. Trying to remember to be present in this in-between season and to appreciate the beauty it offers. Zinnias. Peaches. A few last runs through the sprinkler before settling down to the business of Autumn.

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. Or, in more modern vernacular, "Just keep swimming."

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