Designing a Summer

Or just letting it happen

Jul 28, 2023

Happiness maven Gretchen Rubin seems to have coined the idea of designing a summer, inspired by a Robertson Davies quote that says, in part: “My summer has been overcast by my own heaviness of spirit. I have not had any adventures, and adventures are what make a summer.” I relate to this “heaviness of spirit,” which doesn’t speak of design. I am having no adventures.

Must we chase adventure? If the quotidian is lovely, why not sink into it? Swing a little in the hammock or doze in the shabby, overstuffed couch.

I am designing nothing this year, summer is writing the script.

I picked sugar snaps and strawberries with an aching back. Then raspberries and blueberries, storm clouds gathering, thunder in the distance. Blackberries have just arrived, fat and juicy, marginally dangerous. Peaches, plums, and apricots are crowding the roadside stands. I’m blissfully drunk on fruit.

I felt confident and happy in the car for a minute, and then a squirrel ran under my wheels. You know how they do, that squirrelly this-way-that-way thing. He went the wrong way and I killed him with my stupid car. Ruined the morning.

I visited old friends for the first time in years. We ate and drank, laughed and walked so far I thought I might die. I heard stories of other old friends in crisis. I thought I was having a hard time, but I came home grateful for my relatively small struggle. We are all struggling, always, somehow, yes?

We moved my octogenarian father to my tiny town. It’s been a huge endeavor, with many months of planning (and waiting), many moving parts. He’s here now and we’re relieved, exhausted, and also happy. I could, and probably will, write about my dad. He’s a first-rate human being. I hope he gets a lovely, old-man chapter in this new place.

I have a stuffed inbox and am drowning in tabs, but don’t really want to look at the computer much.

The cat is peeing on the furniture again. She’s usually the best cat in the world, but this is not good. It sours the sweet. Steven asks, “What are we going to do?” Getting rid of the cat is not an option. Clean it up and love the flawed animal, that’s what we’re going to do. Just as we do with each other.

For the first time in years, I had an extremely disruptive panic attack (driving the car, 4th of July traffic, no shoulder). It’s depressing, infuriating, humbling. After a lifetime of rejecting pharmaceutical intervention for this maddening midlife development, I now have drugs. I might get on a plane in the near future, and everyone involved will thank my doctor.

So much great stuff on Substack lately:

Elissa Altman

with the advice to put down the sword.

Jami Attenberg

on managing flight anxiety. (“An apology for being this person who thought she was better by now.” I feel this so hard.)

Sara Petersen

and her Summer of Minimal Effort.

The minimal thing speaks to me. Perhaps I’ll give myself permission to abandon the (already abandoned) garden until the fall. Maybe I’ll read lots of little, light books. I should breathe, maybe swim? Order shoes for dad, eat cherries barefoot by the kitchen sink, and too many blueberries (as is tradition). I’ll drink refreshing summer cocktails, but also take a lot of breaks.

Side note: Does it count as a wine break if I’m eating Jeni’s Frosé? Steven bought it as a little treat (so sweet) and it’s quite good.

Dad came for salmon last night and left his teeth. Today, I’ll return his teeth and go to the Amish store. Then I’ll pick basil at the farm and make pesto. Designing a summer day.

A friend told me years ago, “Life just happens to you.” She was remarking on my life, specifically, but isn’t it just happening to all of us? Designs be damned, best laid plans, and all that — it’s happening. Best to enjoy it, somehow.

Cheers! 🌞
Lisa

The Long Middle

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