Nothing is more lush than the beginning of summer. The start of summer is full of sun, and colors in their most full and vibrant varieties, and long, lingering, “hesitant to go to sleep” daytimes. No one rushes in summer. There is a feeling in the air, that there is time enough to get everything done, even if “everything” includes a whole lot of nothing. No one makes any excuses in summer. You don’t have to make excuses when languid is the expected pace of anyone and anything. Summer is the excuse. I read an article today that suggested that depending on the person or the situation, the beginning of summer is either a time of hope, or a time of dread. I reflected on this idea. When I was a child, the beginning of summer was bursting with hope and excitement. School was off, pools were open, trips were planned, new adventures were as ready as one’s imagination, on a daily basis. When I was a mother of young children, I felt pretty much the same way. It was a relief to get off the hamster wheel of the school and sports schedules that pulled us in exponential directions. It was okay to sleep in, because the daylight would last seemingly forever. Now I am an empty nester. And I live in Florida. Florida is notorious for hot and humid summers. And we are only at the starting gate of “Hot and Humid.” I don’t dread summer. I enjoy the buttoned down casualness that seems to overtake even the most “buttoned up” of any of us (myself included). But any beginning “hope” of the summer season, quickly turns to “I really, really hope summer’s over soon” as the sun turns itself to the Broil setting, and the hopeful blooms of lush quickly turn into dry, shriveled patches of parched surrender, and hurricane season swoops in with its dramatic, unpredictable flourish. I get it now. The beginning of summer can be a time of hope and yet also, a time of dread. And Summer, with her optimistic, light-filled, bright disposition, boldly bouncing in, donning her hard-to-miss ANYTHING GOES colorful t-shirt, laughs at the idea that anyone could dread her coming into town. “Is there really such thing as too much of a good thing?” she boldly asks, as she heralds in the only season which we collectively dare to answer that question.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:
1682. What do you consider unforgivable?
