Summertime memories not thrilling, but memorable

When I was a young girl, going back to school usually meant that in the first days of my new grade I had to write a paper titled, “What I did on my summer vacation.” It wasn’t easy. For one thing, I didn’t really do a lot. There wasn’t much to write about. Most of my summer was spent at home playing in the backyard. We caught fireflies and rode our bicycles through the sprinkler and chased the “popsicle truck” for fun.

There were a few mornings when we were shepherded into the church down the street for Bible school or maybe a week at the beach or at summer camp to break the lazy lack of routine, but for the most part, I just woke to sunlight in the morning, played the day away and then, tired, scratching the mosquito bites on my ankles, I went to bed.

The moon, carried with the breeze that stirred the live oak trees outside, poured in through the screen on my window and washed the room in black shadows and silver light. The sound of crickets and tree frogs serenaded me.

Looking back, of course, it seems idyllic. But as a child, when the time came to put it all down on paper, words escaped me. How do you write an ordinary life?

Now, with so much of an ordinary life behind me, the words are easier to find.

This summer I was reminded that time with our children is fleeting and precious. Watching my youngest daughter do the things her brother and sisters did, things like reading in the hammock, sitting on the front steps eating ice cream and building forts in the backyard, the same things I used to do, was a treat. The years may take their toll, but I’ll hold on to the image of a girl on a bicycle, her braids flying behind her and a wide smile on her face for as long as I can.

I learned some hard lessons, too. I saw that lives and hearts can cleave and separate. And that there is no such thing as a clean break. And when a home is divided, no matter how carefully you pack and try to sweep away the years, traces remain. In hidden corners a lifetime of memories, births, deaths, graduations, tears and laughter glitter like slivers of shattered glass. They flash unexpectedly, burning you like sunlight reflected on a mirror, and for a moment it hurts so badly you can’t do anything but blink back tears and look away.

This summer I remembered that in the mundane and commonplace existence, punctuated by periods of heartache and frustration, in which most of us carry on our daily lives, there are still – when you least expect them – moments of pure contentment. Long walks in the twilight with my daughters, a phone call from my son, an afternoon with a much-loved book and my dogs nearby were welcome respite.

And, perhaps the best lesson was being reminded that even – especially – in the midst of change, it’s important to remember what hasn’t altered. The sun still wakes us in the morning, the moon still shines down on us in the darkness and for at least three months out of every 12 we can reach deep inside and find the child we used to be.

It’s the same old story. I didn’t do much this summer. But it will be enough to hold me for another year.