The sun setting on summer in Strathmere.

As of 3:20 p.m. today, summer officially went on vacation.

Fall has big flip-flops to fill — and it will. That’s the beauty of living with truly changing seasons.

Our vacation ended Saturday, as we meandered home from Ocean City, N.J.

(We made one final stop in Riverton, taking in the late afternoon sun on a bench by the Delaware River.)

The shore never disappoints. As one friend reminded me, there’s nothing better than “vitamin sea.”

So many joys to remember. I’ll share just two.

I jot down to-dos in my calendar. 

(Perhaps I’m a dinosaur, but I still like the spiral-bound, paper kind. I go for ones with pretty pictures.)

On Sept. 13, I glanced at the calendar and saw just one note:

Make sun tea.

I filled my glass pitcher, plunked in four Wild Sweet Orange tea bags, and set it down in a sunny corner of the porch.

Check.

My single to-do totally done! 

—

Another afternoon — I forget what day; vacation brain loses track of time — my husband was off on a long bike ride, and I pondered what leisurely thing to do next. It’s about one o’clock, I thought. I could take a walk, read, lounge on the beach, do a crossword puzzle, do a crossword puzzle while lounging on the beach …

Decisions, decisions.

I glanced at the clock and my heart leaped: It was only 12:20 — I had just found an extra 40 minutes of vacation!

Time, it seems, is in the eye of the beholder.

Vacation time can take you into a whole new zone.

Just one more ...

A sign of the times

Ah, September.

Summer will set.

Fall will rise.

In between, a heavenly taste of both.

 I startle easily.

Just ask my family, who often hear me yelp with surprise when they come into a room, especially if my back is turned. As I’ve told them, apologetically, I have a rather loud inner life.

That life grew a bit noisy earlier this week while I was walking home from the bank. Instead of enjoying the walk, noticing the trees, the summer flowers, the neighbor’s dog lounging in the shade, I started rummaging through some worries and what-ifs — the kinds of thoughts that accomplish little, unless you count torpedoing your peace of mind as an accomplishment.

As I reached the corner of our block, I glanced up and saw four large letters set against a red octagon:

STOP

I just had to laugh.

Sometimes the universe really does give you a sign.

The woods in March

Long before the pandemic set the world on edge, therapists and other wise ones have recommended the idea of “forest bathing.”

In simplest terms, being in the woods is good for you.

Humans have known that for eons, but it took someone in the Japanese Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries to come up with a word for it in the early 1980s: “shinrin-yoku” … roughly translated as “forest bath.” The government officially encouraged its citizens to go into the woods.

Sound advice.

Lately I’ve explored woodsy parks with a dear, six-foot-away friend. I’ve known her since first grade, our friendship as deeply rooted as the trees we wander through. (It’s not only the forest that’s therapeutic.)

The woods tell an essential story: Life always changes, and life endures. No matter what else may be happening in the world, the treetops will transform, from bare branches, to the hint of buds, and now the unfurling of leaves. Come summer, the forest will offer welcome shade, until fall — in a flash of brilliance — turns all that leafy green into orange, and yellow, and red. Each leaf lets go, leaving the branches bare once more.

Robert Frost was right. The woods are lovely, dark, and deep. 

Go see. 

The woods in April

While we waited for breakfast outside our diner this morning, a family of four arrived, settling down at a catty-corner (and socially distant) table.

The little girl, a toddler, turned around and smiled at us, wide eyes welcoming, two curly pony tails sprouting from the top of her head. She tapped her tiny black sneakers on a rung of the highchair. Converse style — holding barely five inches of feet. 

Children — and diners — are good for the soul.

✧✧✧

About this time last year, we put the diner on speed dial. We're still sticking to outdoor seating, but, with vaccines, I can see a booth in our not-too-distant future!

We discovered our lower limit for al fresco dining: 42 degrees and sunny. It helped to have a coat long enough to sit on, a cushion against the chill of metal chairs. Today — a cloudy 51 — was a cinch.

One more reason to love spring.

Diner takeout. An early pandemic essential.

 Nothing like a bit of vertigo to boggle the brain.

Last Sunday, the walls of our bedroom went for a spin. Not a fun trip for me.

I’ve experienced vertigo before,* and fortunately this bout was brief, but, as usual, the aftereffects lingered. 

It’s as if someone hammered a gong inside my head. All those vibrations bounced around like a game of pinball—and my brain had a lot of quarters.

On Monday, I made it through work without … tilting.

I wear reading glasses, and at the end of the day, I get in my car, take off my Covid masks and switch from reading glasses to driving glasses. My brain knows the drill.

As I sat back in the driver’s seat that afternoon, I couldn’t find my driving glasses. I checked the case, my bag, the glasses holder at the top of the windshield.

Nothing.

Finally I found them … on my face.

(You probably saw that one coming.)

Full disclosure, I have caught myself wearing my “missing” glasses before. My brain can slip a gear all on its own, but vertigo certainly jumpstarts the process. 

It’s been a week now, and the fuzziness in my head has subsided—for the most part. Last night I almost put a cereal box into the cupboard with our plates and mugs.

Boggle, anyone?

 ——

For more adventures in vertigo, along with the science behind it, see: Listing to the left ...

See you next time!

On this summery day at the end of winter, I checked off a chore long lingering on my to-do list.

I took down our Christmas lights.

To be fair, I did unplug them a couple Fridays ago. After sunset that night, I took one last look at those brilliant LED colors, gave them thanks, and tugged the cord from the porch outlet.

I stood a moment in wistful darkness.

I can explain why I put off the chore for so long — cold, snow, rain, the aforementioned to-do list — but the main reason is a simple one: In the dead of winter, I like holding onto light.

 

That, and a personality trait summed up perfectly in a greeting card that makes me laugh:

“I used to just crastinate, then I decided to go pro.”

It’s good to know thyself.

 As I was driving home from work today, just before noon, I heard Joe Biden solemnly swear “to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

I began to cry—tears of relief and joy—and then jubilantly beeped my horn ... for several blocks.

Hey. We do it for World Series and Superbowl wins, why not for democracy?