It’s too early to say goodbye to another summer season

I’ve always had trouble saying good-bye to summer. As much as I try to deny it or push it down, I feel a grief at summer’s end like no other. The 10 weeks fly by so quickly.

Written or unwritten, most people have their list of summer wishes. While some are realized and some are not, this is the time of year to accept it all and begin making the transition to a new season. So, as we gear up for the start of another school year, here is a look back at this columnist’s memorable moments from the summer of 2009:

• Being away from my family for seven full days in June — the longest separation I’ve had from my daughter. While I was away, we talked on the phone as she was putting her very first batch of homemade scones in the oven. This produced a flash of awareness that, at age 11, she doesn’t need as much help in the kitchen as much as she used to.

• Sneaking away one evening to meet my husband halfway between Bloomington and Cincinnati at a Batesville pizzeria for dinner — being reminded that the most romantic dates are those that aren’t set up to be romantic.

  
  

• The feeling of terror upon finding out my 70-year old father fell off a ladder while trimming a tree near his house. Relief that he only has a small fracture in his lower back that should heal up just fine.

  
  

• The realization of a dream to offer a Young Women Writing for (a) Change circle in our community.

  
  

• Making moon-blessed water: setting out a jar under the full moon — an emerging tradition between mother and daughter, daughter and friends.

  
  

• Moon jellyfish glowing in the ocean near our feet as we walked along the beach at night while on vacation in coastal Alabama.

  
  

• Floating on the waves.

  
  

• Watching my nephew’s theater camp performance of “Man in the Mirror,” then finding out about Michael Jackson’s death right after the show concluded.

  
  

• Late-night firefly shows. There’s nothing like fireflies in Indiana.

  
  

• Discovering how a sensitive person is prone to difficulties with reading Harry Potter books at bedtime. “He Who Shall Not Be Named” has a tendency to creep into one’s dream life and frighten one into a shivering crouched position on top of the toilet seat.

  
  

• Letters from a reader, reminding me of the “I-me-my” syndrome in my columns — that I am close to Bob Hammel’s record (which isn’t such a bad thing in my book).

  
  

• Sharing Mom’s peanut shell antics with Herald-Times readers — Mom saying she felt “like a celebrity” that day.

  
  

• The sights and sounds of Drum and Bugle Corps performances in Lucas Oil stadium, sitting between my brother and husband, reminiscing about our involvement in the activity more than 20 years ago (has it really been that long?), all in agreement that Indiana University’s Memorial Stadium offers a much better atmosphere for the experience.

  
  

• Buying fresh basil from my friend Denise at the farmer’s market.

  
  

• The unusual coolness and low humidity — not so conducive to juicy red tomatoes in my garden.

  
  

• Retiring my daughter’s purple L.L. Bean dolphin backpack from school use, the one she has used since first grade, not due to wear and tear, but because she’s grown into a more stylish, over-the-shoulder, messenger bag for sixth grade.
  

OK, now the nostalgia has really kicked in. Therefore, I officially declare that summer isn’t really over until sometime after Labor Day. This declaration is supported by a Google search that reveals the last day of summer is Sept. 21.

School starts too early, anyway. Let’s just submit to the illusion of eternal summer, youth, happiness, barefootedness and freedom. Who’s with me? We’ll call it the Declaration of Never-Ending Summer.