My friends, this is the thirtieth of August (and 8:41 or 20:41). Tomorrow will be the last of the month. For some, summer is over already. For others, summer ends next week. For still others, school doesn't disrupt their summer until the week after that. And for a select few who are indescribably optimistic, summer doesn't end until it says so on the calender, or even until every night for a month hits freezing. For me, autumn was here the first morning with that familiar, embracing chill.
I remember when my brother and two sisters got off, summer had started for them. I went on working. I love small children, and sadly I let myself get used and found myself babysitting children for free more often than I was doing my studies. Friday morning, I drove myself and my brother down to guitar, and when I got back and I wanted to do anything but finish that day's allotment, and don't remind me of that on which I am behind. Scrambling together, here and there, I finished the last sections on some tests and papers, rewrote incomplete works, and loaded tests that didn't go all through the first time. But that wasn't until later.
Summer "holiday", as it's known in London, Ontario, hadn't even really started when we visited there in August. Three religion tests hung over my head like death sentences in three different systems (Star Wars reference). Even now, I have one that I never even started. Looking over the lesson plans, I am convinced I never finished reading the material.
But it's cool, man. One of the things I love about home schooling is its flexibility. I can still live a life and study at the same time. I did learn everything in those courses. What difference does time frame make?
I can remember, we took a rainy camping trip in New Hampshire. Some friends of ours had been there long, and they were in a tent. With four children beneath their teen years, they were less then enthralled with their experience. Even so, we made good memories. Sad memories, too, as often happens in my experience of camping trips. The inability to get away from cranky people makes camping difficult, but we did make it through.
All July we stayed close to home. The annual pool party was called off and never rescheduled. My vegetable garden was mostly abandoned and its inspiring growth faltered. Supper club at the Wojnas' every Wednesday was a good way to get out of the house. I turned seventeen. I fell asleep that night and every night under the picture of my "long gone" best friends (each gone in different ways and for different reasons). I drove myself, my brother, and one of my sisters down to my paternal grandparents' house for the hottest weekend of the year, and we went to the beach for the first and only time this summer. My brother started trumpet lessons. I wrote more songs on my guitar, finished writing others, and came to the end of the extent of my guitar teacher's guitar fluency.
In August, I began voice lessons. I became co-consultant with my mother and sister for Thirty-One Bags. The possibility of teaching guitar was discussed. Both my sisters had birthdays. My youngest sister, my roommate, "moved out" temporarily and stayed with my paternal grandmother while our cousins were there. I started to move all my stuff into the living room, only to clean it up the night before she came back. I started school the Monday after the supplies arrived, and finished two last-year religion tests in three days.
Now it's almost September. Looking back upon the lost bits of lifetime, I regret none. I've struggled, against things and against people, and I've broken down, crying, and I've cried out to God, "What am I doing?" I've wondered, "There must be more to life with God than this festering millpond of barely more than lukewarm mindfulness." Daily Mass and weekly Adoration have yet pulled me through. Even on those days that are toughest on zombies, I got through them, and now here I sit. Mayhap, I am still a rather worse for wear, but I am weathering it out.
It brings to mind a hill of heather on a moor in the Land Across the Sea.... But I digress.
Something else I've just recalled is my robin nest. I do not recollect who first spotted it, but that robin had two broods in there, and, sadly, only one chick outwore all dangers.
Yesterday, I was clearing out the back woods from the debris still hanging out back there, left from the ice storm that came through a few years ago. I found three red-backed salamanders and put them in our old aquarium in an old, shallow flower pot. Furthermore, with the help of my "baby" sister, I cleared out the branches, logs, and leaves around one of the protruding boulders and, although such a small area, it looked quite nice already. I'd like to plant some pansies or mums, and mums would probably be best for this season.
What else might I relate?
In July, shortly after my birthday, I was finally able to assemble the first meeting of our Theology of the Body for Teens meeting. I have attended to the one for adults and I am familiar with more than the teen edition covers; however, this text was written to penetrate on my level. I can not express enough gratitude to those who have been even-tempered, extensible, and synergetic with your schedule.
Every morning, when I pull the curtains back from my window, I see a branch of ugly, yellow-orange sticking defiantly out among the green. And yet, in a few weeks more, among all the bright red and orange leaves, that branch will highlight and complement the others so beautifully and effortlessly. I think those who take that first step to change are like that. They're not always very appealing or appreciated, but when blended by all the others who follow their lead, they add to the beauty. And yet, they haven't become as glorious and vibrant as some of these later arrivals, and they will likely be unremembered for running the gauntlet.
But I always get philosophical after twenty-two hours. Have you ever tried to type out a tale at late hours? I often find that I have to throw out anything I have composed late at night. The scenes are repeatedly emotional or out-of-character for my protagonists. I've even had the worst of antagonists become sympathetic to his victim. End of story eight chapters too soon!
Well, please, if you have a chance to recall that which has happened to you this summer, I am most interested in your Summer Sweet Speculation.
^Oh wow.
Good night, y'all
~Meggy
