Stealth Summer

Summer sneaked up on me this year. The general weirdness of the past several months seemed both to shrink and stretch time in ways that bear little relation either to the wall clock, the calendar, or even Einstein’s formulae. Only last night when a firefly flew past the window next to my computer did the time of year finally register. Here we are: at long last summer. I usually have a solstice party at my house on or about the 21^st with grilled burgers and the like. That’s a pretty tame celebration compared to an ancient Gallic practice of burning humans in giant wicker men. [From Caesar’s Commentaries: Alii immani magnitudine simulacra habent, quorum contexta viminibus membra vivis hominibus complent quibus succensis circumventi flamma exanimantur homines/ “Others have figures of vast size with limbs made of wicker, which are filled with living men who are killed by enveloping flames.”] All in all, I prefer the burgers, but even these were out this year as a social event (social distancing and all that). So, the solstice somehow came and went without my notice.

Sharon in Boston 1970

It is in particular the 23^rd. On this day 70 (!) years ago my sister Sharon was born. The timing was fortuitous for my dad. On June 25 (still the 24^th on this side of the Dateline) North Korea invaded South Korea. Sharon was my father’s draft exemption; otherwise, just 4 years after his discharge, he likely would have been called up again for the new conflict. I came along a couple of years later. Having an older sister, especially one far hipper than I ever was, was always a big advantage growing up. It kept me more aware, at least, of the zeitgeist than I otherwise would have been. On this day 25 years ago – again “(!)” – she died. The last person standing in an immediate family is apt to be acutely aware of birth dates and departure dates. Among the things she left behind was a box full of poetry. Some years ago I posted 100 of her early poems. Perhaps I’ll yet post a collection of later ones, but the early ones provide a youthful window on the 1960s. The reader can sample them at Echoes of the Boom.

Anyway, though I “missed” the first two days of summer, at least to the extent of being aware that’s what they were, I did (and do) enjoy the warmth and green. Summer remains my favorite season long after its association with “school vacation.” As a kid I used to pretend that I preferred winter, but that was only to be contrary; it always got a rise out of adults who would tell me, “When you’re older you’ll feel different!” There are, of course, latitudes where summers are punishing, but in NJ the other seasons are more punishing, still. The days between June 21 and September 22 are few enough: so few in fact, that I’ll spend no more of this one tapping at a computer keyboard. It’s time to go outside and laze in the sunshine.

Sam Cooke – Summertime (1958)