This is the time of year when we start to see people again. The summer’s heat and humidity is at its worst, the mosquitoes have awoken from hibernation, and yet, this is when we find ourselves back to a schedule of family walks and trips to the park. This is when Leila and I begin our weekly trip to the Arboretum for a Tyke Hike. After such a long hiatus, the question I always hear, the question I always ask is, “How was your summer?”
I love seeing our neighbors and familiar faces at all Leila’s classes. I love catching up and hearing about their summer adventures – about their travels, about their fun finds around the city. I’d like to share the same, but when I’m asked about my summer, the most honest answer is, “I have no idea.” When another mother asked me about my summer this morning, the only concise answer I could summon was, “We went to the beach.” As if it was a long vacation. No, we went to the beach, one day. For the life of me I could not remember what we did the other days. I could have told her that after 9 ½ years of diligent service our washer and dishwasher recently gave out on us. I could have regaled her with an anecdote about trying to buy new ones, about how in spite of Home Depot’s best efforts at literally walking away from us at the store and cancelling our order twice (or so I thought) that we finally managed to throw a couple thousand dollars at them for new appliances. After a few seconds I remembered how we spent a good chunk of our time at the peaceful, air-conditioned Museum of Fine Arts.
I just seem to always draw a blank in the brief, answer-responding time frame. Like some forlorn heroine of a Lifetime movie recently afflicted with short-term memory loss, I have this vague recollection of a lovely summer or weekend or previous hour. I just cannot seem to remember the details when someone asks.