August Already
August 26, 2009
Evening at Rathtrevor
Aw, 10:00 p.m. and it’s dark. Already. At the end of June, July and August stretch out like suntanned limbs and the days ahead feel like they’ll never fade. But they always do—and so quickly. Like dark chocolate, summer is bittersweet: delicious, then gone.
Right now my house is full of kids ranging 8 – 13. My son is finally home from all his summer gallivanting and is celebrating his visiting cousins by having a movie-candy-pizza-trampoline fest. I’ve been to Vancouver and back, to Fort St. James and back, and houseguests during my at-home-times. In just two more sleeps, my sister Laura will be married, and then after one more sleep, I leave to drive to the Island to meet up with my daughter and husband who have been away all summer.
All the chaos is what I love best about the sunny season—and it’s what feels normal to me. This year, however, I’m actually conflicted about its coming to an end. I want to prolong beach days, camping trips, family and friend visits, overflowing flowerbeds, the Farmer’s Market, and long drives across the province—but the approach of September means my husband and daughter will both be home once more and I’ll finally get to see them again.
People who know about my quasi-bachelor state keep asking if I’m missing them. The answer in a word is, Yes. In two words, Absolutely yes. But there’s more than just the mushy-loneliness factor for me to contend with. There’s the weird factor.
I’ve lived with other people my whole life. Growing up, I had a large immediate family and a huge extended family. I moved out of the house when I was very young, but I roomed with my best friend. Then I met my husband. Then I had children—children who were often accompanied by other people’s children. By nature I need a lot of alone time, but it has always been something I have to schedule in or arrange.
Hours with no demands on my time by someone else, no schedules to try to synchronize, no need to consult with anyone about his/her plans before I make mine—it’s all very bizarre for me. There’s a whole world of single-people that is alien to me. Perhaps the novelty is best shown in this strange oddity: until this summer I had never, ever ordered pizza for one. Did you know that restaurants make small pizzas—ones with only six pieces? A perfect for dinner for one: inexpensive and so cute!
Cooking in general was different, actually. I love to cook, for two, for three, for a crowd . . . On my own, I found myself indifferent to meal preparation. I didn’t need to prepare regular meals or normal ones. I did things like eat miscellaneous tinned and frozen foods for a meal—sardines and green beans, for example. I was particularly awed by how food didn’t disappear from the refrigerator and when I did buy groceries, even splurging, it would cost a measly fifty bucks!
It was also slightly surreal to have a good friend come to visit and not have to share her with anyone—we watched chick flicks with no complaints from the peanut gallery (well, until the last night of her visit when my son returned home anyway), held to absolutely no schedule, and got to go rock collecting and garden-plant perusing for way longer than my family would have had patience for.
The biggest surprise of the weeks alone was that I didn’t get more work done. I find having to do things amidst a busy schedule is actually, dare I say it, better for my productivity. The hardest thing, initially anyway, was sleeping in an empty house for such a long stretch. The only thing I’ll miss is the reduced cost of living.
I’m happy, as fast as it’s going, that there’s time for one more (or even a couple more) summer-hurrahs. The car is ready to be packed. The audio books are chosen. The pets and house have kindly friends to take care of them. I am more than ready for less carefree hours and more convolution. It will take all my willpower not to speed down the highway. However sad I am to see summer go, I’ll be pleased to see autumn’s crisp leaves—and my dining room table set for four. In fact, with it still a few weeks away, I can enjoy the delusion that this time the upcoming season will linger and give me all the time I want to savour it.
First published in The Terrace Standard, Aug. 19, 2009
