Here's a basic itinerary of my summer:
Ok, honestly, that's not my handwriting. Or my to-do list. But ice pops are non-negotiables.
I've plunked right into a 9-year old's vacation as a 27-year old.
Then, in Humboldt, NE, in the '90s, I would take my 10-speed to and from swimming lessons, and fall asleep on the couch to SportsCenter or The Facts of Life or Major Dad or Charles in Charge or Wings until Dad came home to lunch on Our Family bean with bacon soup and braunschweiger/MiracleWip/lettuce sandwiches. We would return to the pool and hit the library before dinner, and check out the scene on the playground by our house after that. Finally, bedtime when it was still light out. Horribly unfair, but probably why I did well on standardized tests.
Now, I have a 10-speed waiting under a tarp for me to air up the tires, burn some cals, and save the Toyota Matrix some miles. Not much for TV, but I will easily nestle into the couch for loan applications, Pinterest, Dostoyevsky, or rumpled-but-clean laundry, and nod off like the olden days. I have not purchased braunschweiger as an independent woman, but would eat it if it were free, sure as shootin'. Social life is more scheduled. Bedtime is later. Brain cells probably suffering.
What a trip. Pink icy pop?
Reminded me of Brideshead -- well, everything does when you have read it as many times as I have:
ReplyDeleteThe languor of Youth – how unique and quintessential it is! How quickly, how irrecoverably, lost! The zest, the generous affections, the illusions, the despair, all the traditional attributes of Youth – all save this – come and go with us through life; […] but languor – the relaxation of yet unwearied sinews, the mind sequestered and self-regarding, the sun standing still in the heavens and the earth throbbing to our own pulse – that belongs to Youth alone and dies with it. […] I, at any rate, believed myself very near heaven, during those languid days at Brideshead. (1.4.1)