Ah, summer. It’s not my finest season; I’m a winter baby at heart. Seriously, I came home from the hospital bundled in a Christmas stocking, and I still love crisp air and snuggling under piles of blankets and wearing layers of boots and scarves. I start to get giddy every year, long about October, when you can smell fall in the air again. Summer, however, heralds the following things for me: ants, poison ivy, mosquitoes, applications of pesticide directly to one’s skin to ward off mosquitoes, sunburn, stifling heat, suffocating humidity, general stickiness, three showers a day, and unattractive skimpy clothes. I am the summer version of the Grinch; I don’t even like watermelon and ice cream and swimming pools and lawn games, which are all supposed to make summer an enjoyable experience. I have been a big whiner since the first day we crept above eighty degrees, like six weeks ago.
But the good news is this: three days in, and summer’s not half bad so far. I have decided to spend some time every day here:
and that time is to be spent reading trashy novels while sipping ice-cold fizzy water.
And last night a bunch of us went and drank ice cold beer while leaning against the lovely cool stone wall at Tir Na Nog,
while listening to a fun local band and not feeling guilty about being up late. Because it’s summer.
Then, today, we walked to lunch down Fayetteville Street and saw something that I consider to be a fabulously good omen: this guy, and his red resonator guitar.
It made me happy all afternoon. So did
the beer I drank at lunch my decision to break a personal rule or two, since summer is a good time to ease up a little. And change your pace, and possibly take a fashion risk now and then, and do something to get out of the typical 8 to 5 routine.
After work was a most fabulous evening on the Mordecai House lawn.
I actually think the Mordecai House is more than a little bit spooky. Once I was walking around the neighborhood taking pictures, on a bright summer afternoon. I strolled up the lane towards the house, and as soon as I got close enough to take a picture, I had that intense creepy feeling of being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and turned and left, in a hurry. The very next week? The Mordecai House was featured on an episode of “Ghost Hunters.” Shiver shiver shiver. And, have mercy, is that a ghostly face I see in the second story window??
It’s not. But there was a bluegrass band, and a crowd of people in lawn chairs, and food truck I hadn’t hit before. Klausie’s was worth the wait.
The Down Home (pineapple and bacon, yum) got a big thumbs-up.
The band, Acoustic Manner, was a crowd pleaser. They put on a great show, while the sun set and the sky turned pink behind them.
music on lawns, and the sound of cicadas, and thunderstorms, and flip flops, and sparklers, and beach days, and porch swings, and lunches on patios and sidewalks, and corn on the cob, and July tomatoes, and crepe myrtles, and kids in red wagons decorated for the Fourth of July, and sun hats, and blockbuster movies, and sharing ice cold fizzy drinks with people you love.