Summer Smiles
Because of an especially-blessed childhood, I will always celebrate SUMMER! Today I grabbed a head-start at 6:30 a.m. on my almost-daily walk/jog. An hour before my usual waking time, it was as if my inner child knew this was the first Saturday of summer vacation for schools in our parish.
Growing up in a semi-rural neighborhood, my summer vacation was heralded by early thrutter-thrutter of lawn-mowing, cows mooing to be milked, an occasional rooster arguing with the sunrise, and the absence of parental low-toned conversation over coffee. On school mornings, the sound of hushed dialogue in the adjacent kitchen meant only one of two things: it's too early to be awake, go back to sleep; or it's time to be up and the parents have forgotten to wake us -- hooray! Missed the bus...late for school. Maybe NO SCHOOL! The consequences or actual pleasure ensuing from a rush across town to join the class midway through arithmetic drills was slight compared to the wonderful jolt to normalcy. Any break in routine was a welcome event in our ordered (and to us, ordinary) school year. School mornings always began with my father's rendition of "vocal revielle" or, gratefully, sometimes just "time to get up, kids." So why, when summer finally arrived, did I suffer from early rising? Early rising describes the feeling of sleepiness on a non-school morning in competition with excitement about getting out of bed and doing...nothing.
All this looking back is a prelude to my morning encounter with a fellow suffer of "early rising syndrome." Dad was pushing the lawnmower across the lawn at 7:00 while trying to "beat the heat." 7-year-old daughter, barefoot, still in her red-dot nightgown, with bedraggled hair, was skipping rope, back and forth, in the street in front of her house, carefully orchestrating her rhythms to coincide with the mower's path from side to side. Now anyone over seven will agree: this is as close to "doing nothing" as it can be. On the first Saturday of summer vacation, however, it is tantamount to thumbing your nose at the principal. I returned her conspiratorial grin as we passed each other, and continued my early walk with a springier step, savoring all the forgotten sweetness of lawnmowing, hanging around in your nightgown and listening for the wheezing, squealing sounds of the yellow bus that wouldn't come around for several wonderful months. Happy Summer!
Growing up in a semi-rural neighborhood, my summer vacation was heralded by early thrutter-thrutter of lawn-mowing, cows mooing to be milked, an occasional rooster arguing with the sunrise, and the absence of parental low-toned conversation over coffee. On school mornings, the sound of hushed dialogue in the adjacent kitchen meant only one of two things: it's too early to be awake, go back to sleep; or it's time to be up and the parents have forgotten to wake us -- hooray! Missed the bus...late for school. Maybe NO SCHOOL! The consequences or actual pleasure ensuing from a rush across town to join the class midway through arithmetic drills was slight compared to the wonderful jolt to normalcy. Any break in routine was a welcome event in our ordered (and to us, ordinary) school year. School mornings always began with my father's rendition of "vocal revielle" or, gratefully, sometimes just "time to get up, kids." So why, when summer finally arrived, did I suffer from early rising? Early rising describes the feeling of sleepiness on a non-school morning in competition with excitement about getting out of bed and doing...nothing.
All this looking back is a prelude to my morning encounter with a fellow suffer of "early rising syndrome." Dad was pushing the lawnmower across the lawn at 7:00 while trying to "beat the heat." 7-year-old daughter, barefoot, still in her red-dot nightgown, with bedraggled hair, was skipping rope, back and forth, in the street in front of her house, carefully orchestrating her rhythms to coincide with the mower's path from side to side. Now anyone over seven will agree: this is as close to "doing nothing" as it can be. On the first Saturday of summer vacation, however, it is tantamount to thumbing your nose at the principal. I returned her conspiratorial grin as we passed each other, and continued my early walk with a springier step, savoring all the forgotten sweetness of lawnmowing, hanging around in your nightgown and listening for the wheezing, squealing sounds of the yellow bus that wouldn't come around for several wonderful months. Happy Summer!
posted by Pelican Stories at 7:00 AM
3 Comments:
Oh, how I miss summer! Fort Morgan, here we come!!
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