Oh perfection. Someone today asked, why can’t the weather always be this perfect? In my head, I said, because then we’d live in San Diego. And then it would be so, well, you know.
Snips and tidbits this first weekend of summer brought memories of bygone summers. Atlantic beaches, Cape Breton to the Carolinas. Family. Sweet boyfriends. Songs of summer. Cars of summer. Roadtrips of summer. Long days. Short, soft nights. And, you know.
Drinks of summer. There was Kool Aid. Seven Up. Slushies. Mateus! Harp and Heineken, Bass and Bluenose. Strawberry daiquiris, the summer of Cornell marine bio on Appledore Island, with weekends in Portsmouth, NH. A bartender there gave us his secret for the best daiquiri: splash of cream.
The summer I graduated college was a bikini and wine coolers on the Outer Banks. White wine with ginger ale, ugh! What were we thinking? So great.
In the South, Coca Cola is just fine as a morning pick me up, and when you live in that heat and humidity you understand why. Sweet tea, yup. It all starts to make sense.
The first summer of graduate school in Princeton, the density of fireflies brought me back to the Virginia of my early childhood. It was like the night was just, popping with light. Magical.
Here in the Hudson Valley the season may be shorter, but all the sweeter. This year more than ever. To savor.
Summertime, and the livin’ is just, easy. But wouldn’t want it year round. ‘Cause then we wouldn’t notice, really. Don’t you think?