I love summer. I step out on my deck with an armful of damp clothes. A mower buzzes to my left, and clippers to the front. Birds chirp, a dog howls, and a screen door slams. Is it the sound of others working while I don't have to that gives me such peace? I hope not, that seems awfully petty. It takes about two weeks to really relax into it anyway. The initial rush of summer projects slowly starts to wane. Fix the downstairs bathroom, call a plumber to really fix the downstairs bathroom. Drag around furniture for carpeting estimates, replace the furniture for teenager parties, to be followed by move the furniture again for the carpet installation.
It's the freedom to choose, the clothes that drape pressure-free drying on swing and railing, the laughter and antics of "not quite ready to be grown" kids, time with family and trips across the country. It's the bitter-sweet knowledge of like it or not, they are mostly grown and summer may never be quite like this again.
