Do you remember the hit song, Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer, by Nat King Cole, dad to radio/disco queen, Natalie Cole? If you don’t recall either famous crooner, please refer to Wikipedia, as you probably never used a real Encyclopedia. That was a joke, but a sad one, reflecting my present state of mind.
In my youth, summer used to be a relaxing reflective time, a planting and growing time. Yep, there’s a farmer in me. Attitudes and ideas change. Summer is no longer about running a lemonade stand, neighborhood car washes, biking to to the local library, squelling kids and water sprinklers or camping in a blanket tent beneath our parents bedroom window. Summer has become about how many sports camps can I sign my kids up for? How many summer events can I attend? How busy can I be and still sniff the roses.’ Um, who has time to grow ‘real’ roses?
Don’t get me wrong. I’m guilty on all accounts. Although, I’m now a ‘Nana’ my summer is hazier and crazier than ever and I’ve enjoyed much if it. But my writing goals, that includes blogging, have taken a rear seat to the buzz of summer insanity. I love nature, gardening, and long walks but yearn for the slower pace of raking crisp, autumn leaves and a three day blizzard that will keep me huddled inside with hot (spiked) chocolate and a crackling fireplace, while my sexy hero and feisty heroine spare for my undivided attention. Yep, I’m a hopeful romantic!
The lazy hazy days of fall and winter beckon me. Until then, I’ll sit on my backporch and enjoy the birds, squirrels and one audacious wild turkey (who needs a boyfriend), feast off of the banquet on our picnic table. And despite my present discontent, when Old Man Winter comes banging on my door, I’ll be wishing for the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer.
There is a reason for the seasons . . .