Summer Time, and the Livin' is Easy

I love summer.  I despise winter.  It's as simple as that.

Growing up in Michigan, one might think I would be favorably inclined toward the season of snow and ice, but the fact is, since about the age of 8 or 9, I have dreaded the onset of winter much as I dread a trip to the dentist, or a funeral.  The only time I ever want to really see snow is on Christmas day--and even then, I would prefer the snow come without the frigid temperatures.  Of course, that never, ever happens.


As children, we were into children's winter "sports", such as sledding, tobogganing, ice skating, and, of course, the annual "snow-bowl", which was our neighborhood football game that took place on the first snowfall of the season.  And I do remember having fun participating in all of those events.  But I can also remember the exact moment I swore that, when I "grew up" (which has yet to happen), I would move to the south, or Hawaii (and see where swearing gets me--I live in Northern Indiana).  I can't recall my exact age when this revelation occurred, but I was in the woods behind our house, with my brothers and some other neighborhood kids.  We were engaged in the fun game of diving down this hill, sliding on our bellies in the snow and then stopping (hopefully) before reaching the pond.  I loved doing that sort of thing, because I was quite the daredevil.  I launched myself from the top, at the same time thinking that I was impressive in both form and distance.  As I hit the snow, I could feel myself speeding up and could see the pond coming ever closer.  I was unable to stop.  As I recall it now, I can see it in slow motion, as if it is part of the opening credits of "The Wide World of Sports", but, sadly, representing the "agony of defeat" line.  I slid, head first, into the pond, which, at the time had a thin layer of ice--so thin that it broke the moment I hit it and almost my entire body went underwater. 


That day was a frighteningly cold day (as are all days in Michigan in the dead of winter).  I came up crying. My brothers, of course, were laughing, and laughing...and...laughing.  Soaking wet, I began what seemed an interminable walk home.  I remember shivering and feeling the tremendous weight of my wet clothes, and I worried about frostbite (not as if I knew what that was).  I envisioned freezing to death before making it to the house.  I imagined my parents out searching for me, and finding me, half buried in snow, a solid dead block of frozen ice.  In reality, the walk was from pond to house was 7 or 8 minutes, but as a little girl, it seemed much longer, and it gave my imagination ample time to create scenarios.


By the time I arrived home, my hair, which was long and thick, was frozen into icicles--even my eyelashes were frozen, and my stocking cap was stiff as cardboard.  My clothes also had transformed from cotton into ice and I had much difficulty getting things off.  Back in the day, I wore heavy jeans to play outside in the winter.  Frozen jeans are nearly impossible to peel off, and to this day, I remember the struggle I had trying to get them off of me.  Of course, I cried the whole time, focusing on how very miserable I was.  From that point on, sledding and playing in the snow had no appeal for me.  I hated being cold.  I hate being cold to this day.  I will never, ever like the cold.  The only ice I ever want to see is in a cocktail glass.


I hate winter so much that even the advent of fall brings on a sense of malaise and even depression.  We have some absolutely stunning autumn days here, especially when we are fortunate enough to experience "Indian Summer", right when the colors of the leaves are at their finest.  Still, for me it is just one day closer to the season I dread--one more nail in the coffin of summer.  Even now, in the height of summer, I wish with all my heart that time would stand still.  Every day of summer that has rain or is remotely cool seems a wasted day. It is one day I can't take the dog to the beach, or swim or golf or be outside just feeling WARM.

But really, as I reflect more seriously on it, I think my love of summer goes deeper than a desire to be warm.  It comes from, I think, a barely conscious wish to recapture childhood, and a much more simpler time--a time without worry, or bills, or figuring how to make it from day to day on my little paycheck.  As a kid, things such as oil spills and politics and the economy didn't enter into the fray.  My biggest worry then was how severely I was going to be punished for my latest childhood adventure.  Some adults may have discovered the secret to enjoying life, and I suspect those folks tend to have endless supplies of cash, but, for me, true enjoyment is reflecting back on my youth.

I received, recently, one of those email attachment things we all get.  This was a slideshow reminiscing about the simplicity of childhood.  I suspect that the person who put this together grew up in the 1950s or 1960s.  My childhood went from the 60s to the 70s, but I can certainly relate to what's in the slideshow, which I'll link to here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6cy6ibCAU40

The odd thing is that most of memories referred to in this slideshow are summer childhood events.  Yes, there are a few references to school (yukky) and Christmas.  But, in reality, the things that I think back on, and the things that this slideshow reminisces about are summertime things; things such as Red Light, Green Light, Red Rover, hide and seek, wiffle ball, swimming, lemonade, picnics and beaches.

It may seem strange that I can only recall a few happy events from the dead of winter.  I'm sure there were more, particularly around Christmas time.  However, even my fond adult memories center around barbecues, cottages on lakes, picnics at Lake Michigan, boating, golf tournaments, hiking with the dog (and never in winter), traipsing through woods in Northern Michigan, eating ice cream on Mackinac Island, traversing through Arizona canyons, tubing the Tickfaw river, and other summer vacations.  I have NO good memories of snow skiing, snow shoeing, or snow anything.  It doesn't help that I was pathetic at winter sports.  I tried skiing on several occasions, but could never get up after falling.  Help, I've fallen and I can't get up.  And there I would lay, in cold, wet, frigid snow, making me hate winter all the more.

The onset of winter causes, in me, a profound heaviness of heart.  I know it's a necessary season in these parts.  My friend Gooch tells me it's good for the soil, and so the farmers need it or something.  I try to care, really, but it feels like death--death of happiness, or, if not death, at least a hibernation of sorts.  It's a time of darkness.  It's a time being sedentary, eating everything bad in the cabinets, and gaining weight.  It is certainly a time of incurable sadness.  But, I suppose it's also a necessary time of anticipation, waiting and expectation.  And, of course, hope.  Hope that, as always, spring will follow and the snows will melt.  The sun will shine again, life will be resurrected, and, for a few months, the much simpler, carefree easy time of youth can be recaptured; if not in reality, at least in memory.  And, as my friend Gooch would say, this is probably an allegory for something else much more esoteric, abstruse and complex revolving around the ultimate Mystery of life here on earth.