The perfect summer

When I was 17 I had the perfect summer. Somehow I managed to cram in two weeks at music camp, one week at Myrtle Beach, one week at an inner-city missions trip, one week at Bible camp, one week at church camp, and somehow managed to wash my clothes in between all the packing and repacking. It was as full of fun and memories and life changing experiences as you could possibly imagine. (I paid for it the following summer when I worked between 50-60 hours a week saving for my first semester of college.)

Yes, the summer of ’02 is one I have lifted to the gold medal level of summers. It tops them all. And I haven’t had a summer that’s really come close. Until this year.

This summer was practically perfect. As yet another Rochester winter melted into a bevy of spring concerts I found myself holding on for dear life. And then, finally, by the middle of June, we entered the sweetness of my favorite season.

Two glorious weddings, my birthday, two particularly stellar weeks at Csehy, a staycation, and then a full week at Rehoboth Beach followed by four days in PA with my folks. (And the Olympics were on for two weeks.) I remember what it is to feel fully alive. I watched a meteor shower at 11PM on the beach with my husband. I ran along the shore for miles, never feeling out of breath, drinking in the salty breeze and cool waves. I read at least a dozen books. I drank great coffee and found some new wonderful cold brew options courtesy of Starbucks. I’ve never had more fun in my kitchen. I’ve worn more makeup this summer than in my entire life, and it’s because I had the time and enjoyed doing it. Self-care is a real thing. I am finally starting to believe it a little bit.

My boys have grown. Owen is saying new words every day and reaching for independence as far as is humanly possible for a twenty-one month old. James has quietly grown about a foot and a half in height, while displaying new measures of compassion, intelligence, musicality, and humor. I had a little extra time this summer to step back and marvel at their little lives and how good God did when He made them.

I’ve seen my extended family. I celebrate that I am as comfortable around my in-laws as I am anyone. To be with them is to be home. Sometime in the past year the blurring line in my mind of “married into” went away. I am a Smith. And I love it.

I am also a Davis. And I love it. To sing alongside my brother and sister-in-law at their church was an honor. To cry, in person, with my mother over hopes and dreams so filling. To watch my dad guide his grandbabies in the great outdoors brought more tears to my eyes. And to praise the Lord for his mercies in protecting my baby brother through a potentially life-threatening crash…wordless.

Perhaps you can understand why it took me a little longer than usual to drag my sorry behind out the door to work today. My first in-office day in weeks. I pumped myself up on the drive thinking about connecting with my coworkers and reflecting on the past few months.

When I got in my office there was a message waiting for me. “Hey Julie! Would you mind giving this a listen and be ready to talk about it with me in a bit?”

I clicked the link.

It was to a Christmas musical.

Wahhhhhh!

I need more summer.

Book 49/50: The Piano Shop on the Left Bank: Discovering a Forgotten Passion in a Paris Atelier. I finished this a few weeks ago but forgot to put it on the blog for listing’s sake. This came highly recommended from a well-read friend. It was very well written and, as a pianist, naturally interesting. It was one of those artsy books—it was supposed to be as poetic and allusive as it was factual, even as a memoir. It was not particularly gripping—I chose to pick it up each evening. But I finished it, enjoyed it, and recommend it.