The breaks of August

Karen and cousin Kay on a summer day.

IT'S AUGUST, THAT quintessential summer month when temperatures rise, and sometimes so do tempers. Congress is in recess, the president is on vacation, and the roads are filled with American families seeking new vistas or hoping to escape the turmoil of the last few months.

August always brings to mind the slow, lazy, endless summer days of my childhood, when temperatures hovered in the 90–100 degree range and relief was found at the municipal pool or movie theatre. August meant walking with friends to the nearest grocery for a popsicle or games of statue in the twilight. It was skinned knees and sleeping late, and playing jacks on a hot sidewalk.

But at the moment I'm on the patio, where it's a pleasant 79. Ray is asleep in the chair next to me and Zoe is sprawled across the love seat. I hear an airplane passing over, and water splashing into the pond across the road. A little traffic noise in the distance. The quick beat of wings from a hummingbird at the feeder.

This peaceful scene belies the busyness that more often reigns as Ray's needs become more time consuming, which sometimes causes me to hurry unnecessarily, which led to a couple of spectacular spills last week. But first I broke a plate that I liked; one holding memories of France. It was my own fault, and it happened because I was rushing.

The next day I broke a full, unopened liter of Greek olive oil because, in a hurry, I neglected to turn on a light, which would have saved both the oil and the time it took to clean up the mess.

That was followed two days later by a dramatic pattern in brown and black, splashed across the counter and down the cupboard doors. This time I was multitasking, and reaching for something to put away I swept my arm across two drip cones filled with hot water and coffee grounds. Fortunately the cups didn't break and the mess was considerably easier to clean up.

I am, as a result of the last few days, trying to slow down, to remember that it's August, to think of myself as on vacation, with nothing to worry about but where the next meal might come from. Instead of cooking I'll buy food already prepared from the great delis and grocery stores nearby—at least as long as my budget holds out. And I'll find time to take a walk, even if it's just to the road and back. And I'll drink a beer—or two—and refuse to worry about the state of the world or the state of our country.

This August is bringing us two eclipses (lunar and solar) and Mercury retrograde, so things may get rocky, if only because we think they will. But it's still summer. Take a deep breath and remember the good times. If I can do this, so can you.