Summer, please.

I think I was coming on here to beg off writing for the week. Sometimes I can't come up with things to say. Sometimes I have things to say but know they will be too egocentric- even though, isn't that kind of what blogging is about? But sometimes TOO much of that. Often I get a little maudlin. For someone who lives for an audience to laugh, that other part is still around.
I don't know what to say.
I feel very private when I feel small.
I am feeling small.

I will share this. I am visualizing the Summer these last few days. Not visualizing a serene scene while in a lotus position with any kind of breathing technique, because I am pretty impatient and have lost a lot of flexibility this winter. This visualization is more one hand spread across my forehead and squeezing my temples while the other steadies me in place a moment and I see Summer. If I could just get to Summer. I can see all the glorious things I want from the Summer. That poor season holds so much weight.

One scene I keep replaying is sitting on the bricks at the Cape and my sister in law Eileen is painting her toenails. We are chatting idly about some deep things. I can do this with her. And then she is off to see her dad or sister and I am content sitting and looking at sailboats.

Another is sitting at the table with my mom making a grocery list. The chair I am sitting on is strategically placed to hold the door open to a point, the bay breeze wishing to slam the door wide and billow the curtains, lists, napkins, and newspapers all over the kitchen. She is tapping her pencil on the table looking at me, willing me to give her the word she was about to write down...
Milk?
No.
Coffee?
No.
Shoes.
No!
Bats?
Kate...
Stones?
Nope.
Puddin'.
No.
Say puddin', mom.
No.
Puddin'.
(staring at me)
Write it or say it.
Puddin'.
Thasssssssriiiiiiiiiiiight.

I see shivering children and hear them talking a mile a minute while waiting for their turn at the outside shower. All of them healthy this Summer, please. The older girls running the show. The boys ignoring it. The children creating movies and plays to put on for the adults. And now I am the adult watching. I used to be the child making the scenes. Our genes run deep, even across adoption lines.

I see dad staring out at the water. Just calm. I don't care if he is reading or doing a crossword. I wish that he were. But in this visualization, he is peaceful and that is perfect. But I will put a book face down on his knee, waiting.

Brothers are in the kitchen prepping dinner and out at the grill cooking. And I think I am holding that new niece I have never touched. And it is noisy because one of my brothers is making the others laugh and add to his crazy story.

I think I have a beer on the table and my sister in law is back from her visit and my mom is clearing off the dinner table to set it and my dad is standing in the door way, one thumb hooked in his belt watching my mom. Always watching her. Even with his eyes closed.