Throughout the year I’ll put how many days until Memorial Day on the Chalkboard. It gives me an idea how far Summer is. When you wake up and read the February 23rd “Morning Chalkboard” and see Memorial Day is only 94 days away… it gives your cold Winter morning something to look forward to.
Memorial Days counterpart to me has always been Labor Day, the end of Summer. These next hundred days will bring late sunsets, sunburns and lightning bugs.
The one thing I like about summer is driving without a winter coat. I hate getting behind the wheel in a bulky jacket, reaching over to put a seatbelt on and positioning myself to see what’s behind me when I’m backing up. I hate it….
In the summer you jump in the car, throw on the seatbelt and backup and go. No slush, no snow, no frost on the windshield.
These last five or six summers I’ve been counting how many summers I have left. I plan on dying on Thanksgiving when I’m eighty five. That would be Turkeyday in 2051. That gives me twenty eight more summers before I go to my heavenly retreat.
Twenty eight summers…. That puts things into perspective. Fifty summers ago I was climbing trees, listening to Elton John on WLS and playing little league.
Twenty summers ago I was walking around with a girl wearing an engagement ring and ten summers ago that girl had a Hazel in her belly.
I’d love to climb a tree this summer. I’d love to find seventeen of my buddies and play nine innings of baseball. This summer I’d love to hear my dad yell, “Moooooooose! Street Lights are on! Streeet Lights!”
Sly and the Family Stone reminds me of Summer. Cold basement floors remind me of summer. Sitting on picnic benches eating soft serve, that’s summer for me as well.
In 101 days I’ll have 27 summers left. George and Fritz will both be in high school in 101 days. Hazel will still be busting my chops in 101 days and the White Sox will have completely disappointed me 101 days from now.
The summers of Bill Clinton and waking up with fat bottom girls seems like yesterday, but those days are twenty eight summers ago. Twenty eight summers AGO? More perspective…..
Hope to see you in the Summer of 2051. I plan on being the old fucker talking about the Reagan years and punk rock!
Enjoy a safe and glorious weekend. Give thanks to those that died protecting our home. Wipe the tears from your face during “Back Home Again in Indiana” and listen to the leaves. They have that fresh sound when the wind blows through them. In just 101 days those leaves will have a crinkled tired end of summer sound.
