It’s crappy outside, yet again. It’s not thunder and hailstones like it has sometimes been this summer. But it’s the kind of damp, lukewarm day that makes hanging around outside unappealing. And now I am waving the white flag. I am officially giving up on this summer and looking forward to autumn.
I look forward to wearing jeans during the day, so that my bruised and bitten legs don’t have to be on display. I look forward to boots and tights and anoraks and mustard and burgundy and plaid.
I look forward to apples and root vegetables and stews. I look forward to firewood and the smell of my fireplace and the smell of other peoples’ fireplaces when I walk around outside. I look forward to the sound of leaves crunching under my feet when I hike, the smell and the color of autumn keaves.
I look forward to starting up at school again, to the energy of an academic environment, to walking through campus with a cup of ooffee in one hand, to using the gym at school, to running outside any time of day rather than having to wait until late in the day when the heat has died down.
I look forward to my kids coming home. I miss those little monkeys. I do. I miss cooking for them. And I look forward to helping my little one (not so little at 10, really) get and remain organized during the school year. I look forward to the structure of school days, of going back to getting up early in the morning, getting the kids out to the bus and getting something done in the morning (two days a week, it will be Experimental Psychology starting at 8:30 a.m.), getting my ass moving early.
I look forward to fall travel baseball, to the High Holidays (not so much for the synagogue experience, but for the yummy harvest-themed food).
I look forward to having my freedom curtailed a bit. God, I know that is kind of lame. I ought to be able to curtail myself to the extent necessary without the need for an external force. But, well, maybe I haven’t been doing so because I know the externals are coming anyway: kids, their school, my school.
Yeah, I know, I had a lot of hopes pinned on this summer. I had planned on marathon yoga sessions, improving my backbends, long walks with the dog. The broken hand changed everything. I couldn’t do any of those things. I had a very different kind of summer than I planned. I got to take some long runs, some long hikes. I got to practice yoga without vinyasa. I got to see, once again, that when you have downtime in yoga, it’s still there for you when you get back. It’s comforting, although I tend to forget it after a while. And I got to realize that summer is not going to be the only time in which to make improvements to my practice. It simply can’t be, especially since I didn’t get to make any this summer. I got to see a lot of friends, to push my social edge, to meet new friends, to have some social adventures that my yoga-intensity had never allowed me to have.
But now, I’m reminded of something Brian said to me last year about the last few days of camp. After Color War is over, despite how much he adores camp and everything about camp, he feels ready to go home. He starts to long for home a bit. I get that. It’s like, summer has been really fun and exciting and filled with adventure. But today, as I noticed some fallen yellow leaves (early, yes, all par for the course with this summer’s odd weather), as I nurse a hangover from a fun afternoon into late evening spent with a friend and our beagles in the city, as I start to mull over my fall schedule, I realize that I’m not going to mourn the end of summer. I’m ready for fall.