Monday, June 11, 2018

Breaking Hot

School's out. For two of my five kids, that still means something. For my other three whose lives no longer revolve around an academic calendar, not so much - the exception being my recent college grad who has yet to experience the impending arrival of fall without the hassle of moving back onto campus. I'm sure he'll adjust.

At Casa de Plate Spinner, the official summer kickoff usually takes place on Memorial Day with the hurried hassle of parade prep: digging out our camp chairs (crammed in the crawl space next to the Christmas decorations), slathering everyone with sunscreen, doling out water bottles, dropping one car off somewhere close to the end of the parade route so the boys could drive home after marching, then scurrying into town, dodging police barricades to drop them off in the town center where the rest of their scout troop was busy getting into position. That  done, my husband and I, and those not marching that year, would race to find a parking spot, grab our gear and hustle to find an unoccupied spot along the parade route (preferably shaded). Phew!  If we were lucky, we'd get settled just in time to see our guys march by, flags in hand.

This year, though, we had none of that. Our youngest, the only active scout left in my brood, chose not to participate. As if that in itself wasn't enough to make it feel like summer hadn't officially started, the weather has been unseasonably cool. And I'm completely OK with that.

My crockpot probably isn't. I'm sure it was looking forward to catching a break once I switched from slow-cooking soups and stews to grilling sausages and steaks. Also not cool with the chilly temps, I imagine, would be the proud possessors of season passes to the park district pool. And air conditioner repair guys (and gals).

Me, I'm already humming Christmas carols and addressing cards. If this keeps up, I might even start stringing lights outside.

I know I'm probably jinxing myself by even writing this post, but I just can't control myself. Cooler weather means no bugs, the grass is still green, I can still wear sweaters, and outdoor workouts don't leave me parched and panting. Best of all, I don't feel guilty cloistering myself indoors to get some writing done.

Because if the weather was warmer, I'd feel all sorts of pressure to, oh, I don't know - toil in the yard or go for a swim in the aforementioned park district pool. But that would mean I'd have to drag my camp chair out of the crawl space and, if memory served, it was right next to the bin of Christmas decorations...

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