That's Life: Summer Has Slipped Away
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It is from that window I also take pleasure in watching deer prance across the lawn, and when snow has fallen during the night, it is the first place where I gaze in awe at the beauty of the mountains crowned with snow and bare branches of trees draped in lace mantillas created by snowflakes.
Standing at the sink a couple of weeks ago, I noticed that the leaves on a certain tree had started to change colors, the vibrant green fading into a muted gold.
Now in September, telltale yellow buses are on the road, transporting their precious cargo to and from school; the days are growing shorter; the condo pool is closed; and the sports equipment my grandchildren use when visiting me during the summer is stored in the basement. The signs are clear: the summer of 2008 has slipped away.
At the end of summer, people tend to reflect on what they did or did not do in that time span. Some chide themselves for failing to accomplish what they had intended to do — the bedrooms still cry out for a fresh coat of paint, the chipped tiles in the entrance hall have yet to be replaced, and the living room rug needs to be shampooed. But, it is said, "Our work waits for us," and I believe what we take away from the summer is generally more important than what we left undone.
If we garnered happy memories and experiences while gathering with family or friends or vacationing on Cape Cod or in the Caribbean, it was time well spent. Such opportunities do not roll around frequently as do the chores we may have neglected.
Friends and family who do not venture to the Berkshires once snow begins to mount, make their way to our doors in the summer. Surely, we would not send them away or discourage them from coming, because we planned to sand and varnish the deck or wanted to shop for wallpaper.
Each summer, I eagerly await the arrival of my grandchildren Alyssa and Nicholas, who as toddlers dubbed me Grandma Mass-a-chew-setts. My how they have grown, as is evident from the penciled lines on the back of kitchen door, where I record their growth spurts.
Because Alyssa and Nicholas are now teenagers, it is no longer the scent of baby powder that lingers in the guest room after they return to their home.
Instead it is the fragrance of the hair conditioner with which Alyssa rinses her hair, and the manly scent of the deodorant Nicholas uses that floats in the air when they have gone. And I find myself wishing they were once more swimming in the pool and would be coming back to me, smiling but hungry. How pleased they had been when I had already started barbecuing hamburgers and ears of corn.
Before I put away my sleeveless blouses and dresses and remove from the cedar closet the sweaters and wool jackets I keep there in the summer, I will insert in an album the snapshots I took over the summer, lest they get misplaced or lost. I am sure no one would not want that to happen to the photos that evoke memories of a family picnic or of an infant grandchild sleeping in your home for the first time.
As for Great Aunt Clara's secret recipe for clam chowder, which she divulged during the family picnic: "I'm getting old. It's time to pass it on," it will be put to use when the first cold snap sends us scurrying from the supermarket to the parking lot.
Yes, in autumn, we will again savor real home-cooked soups, stews, turkey casseroles and roasted chickens. And at end of day, we will relax in front of a glowing fireplace, reading the books we set aside in the busy summer months.
