The Summer In Review

It would be both cliche and untrue to say this summer went by quickly. It was complex, full, rich, and profound, but not hasty. Indeed, I cannot remember a summer more patient nor a time in my life when I have been happier.

Not all has been perfect, by any stretch. Much has been two-steps-forward, one-step-back. But I think that is one of the critical differences. Last fall, at a time when I was really struggling with a haunt from my past, a friend of mine asked a stereotypical question; "What's the worst thing that happens?" I was comfortable with this as I had been asked many times before and knew the pat, almost rhetorical answer she would give. So I shrugged my shoulders in smug complacency and waited from some trite answer of the sort I had heard so many times, comfortable that no one knew my darker secrets.

When she continued with the answer, "That Jen leaves you.", I actually started crying for a bit. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that someone would see that truth. I can handle a lot and have, but so much of my history is defined by making people artificially comfortable and safe and my world so by extension. But to have it named made all the difference, because, even though I knew that I could not control such ephemeral things as someone's love, I did not own that knowledge. I was still acting in ways which presented a version of myself largely divorced from the warty reality. In that moment, I really came to understand how my history of trying to control for certain outcomes had led to some really screwed-up results.

For those romantics out there, fear not. I have it on good authority that my relationship with Jen is stronger than ever. In fact, I posit that releasing that neurological fear of having to do what ever it took to keep her around has been one of the best quasi marriage counseling events ever. I cannot control what she does. All I can do is try to be real and hope that she likes what she sees.

And this relates directly to this summer as it both allowed me to not pretend that all things in my life were perfect (they are not) and to extend this understanding to my children (now all the age or greater than that of my engagement).

So this summer, while working to reinstate my law license, I applied for quite a number of service industry jobs. I got hired for none of them. Sexism is alive and well in Door County. If you are young and blonde and cute and female, you can make serious money. If you are middle aged and male, good luck.

Instead, I focused on simplifying (more on that in coming posts), exercising, seizing tons of opportunities for life (swimming, boating, kayaking, working on the house, volleyball, biking, lying in the sun, running through the park, etc...), relishing in relationship (I think we only spent one night of the week, on average, alone), and diving into rich artistic projects like the PMF's fantastic performance of Verdi's Requiem and, currently, a premiere theatrical performance at the TAP.

Letting go of controlling my children was blessed. Brynn could run her life without my feeling the need to care (care in the bad way not care in the good way). Lars could progress down his path of independence without my feeling the need to protect Jen. And Hannah could fail at her "emotional vow of silence", without my getting dragged into some sense that I had to fix something. Recognizing more fully that Jen is a fully capable woman who will (no doubt) make up her own decisions and act accordingly, has also been a blessing.

Finally, things continue to crawl toward resolution regarding financial clarity. The store is doing well and my past failings have largely been dragged into the light where the shock has killed some, given sudden growth to a few others, challenged my pride in all, and brought a peace to most. I do not have a perfect life, but I am not about to trade.

Lost To A Summer Love

I think my summer hiatus is over. And I am glad that I had one although it lasted somewhat longer than expected. For those of you who encouraged this blog's return, thank you. While it was only a matter of time, the reminders were appreciated.

I had a very good summer, but more of that tomorrow. In the meantime, a synecdochal story.  The other day I had the opportunity to perform at The Clearing. It was a short environmental play presented as a dramatic reading. We gathered a few hours early to rehearse and concluded the rehearsal with an hour or so to spare. Fortunately, I have my summer truck.

The summer truck is so named as it is a vehicle of possibility. Some time in early summer I throw kayak racks, a bike carrier, and an oversized, covered storage bin on the truck. Our kayaks and my mountain bike get added and the bin holds an assortment of clothes, sports gear, cameras, towels, soap, etc... At any given moment, it is possible, within a few minute's time, to be engaged in anything from sleeping on the beach to entering a triathlon. In any case, there is rarely a justification for not being actively involved with life if you have even a few minutes to spare. At the end of each day anything that needs cleaning comes out and is replaced. It is a carrier of possibility. It is a summer truck.

So, realizing the surrounding loveliness, I went back to the truck, stripped down, grabbed my running shoes, shorts, and Zen, and headed off down the curving gravel drives that wander the property, Gaither Vocal Band singing loud in my headphones to drown out my gasps. I ran 'til the exit drive T'd into Garrett Bay Road and headed into Ellison Bay. I eventually made my way back to the primary entrance and cut back onto Clearing property, again following the single-lane, gravel path.

Back at the truck I dumped my shoes and music, grabbed a towel and my flips, and went in search of the stairs that dropped off the short cliff to the rock beach below. I stopped once for directions, and, after a quizzical stare, which I assume suggested a complete abhorrence for swimming in that cold water (or so I heard someone mumble as I trotted away), I found the path behind the Lodge and made my way down to the water.

Off shore by 150 feet were two fishermen on a small bass-boat casting for smallmouth. While that was enough to prevent me from jumping in au naturel, it was not enough to prevent me from the experience of swimming along that bluff in the mid-afternoon sun. Actually, "jumping" is a bit of a misnomer. Typically, at the bottom of these bluffs, the water is clear and lovely and gets deep quite quickly. The beaches, however, are rock and the rock continues well into the water. There really are no sandy entrances and the rock, once at the water line or beyond, can get very slippery.

So I didn't jump. I kicked off my flips and threw my towel and sunglasses on a large rock. I then minced my way into the water until about a foot or so deep. At that point, despite the high uncool quotient, the best strategy was to awkwardly flop into my stomach and drag out into deeper water.

I found a larger rock out a ways which allowed me to stand completely submerged except my canted mouth, nose, and eyes. The water was crystal clear and cool. I just hung there, gripping the rock with my toes to counter the slight waves and let the sun beat on my face.

After I had cooled enough, I swam along the shore a little and then pulled, alligator style, eyes and nose just above the water line, into the shallow. I heard a buzzing and glanced to my right. All along the beach, now exposed some 6 or more years, nature was reclaiming dry ground with an assortment of flowers, milkweed, and occasional poplar or cedar sprig, roots crevassing down to the water table. The buzz was a humming bird methodically working from town toward the bay, appearing to visit every stop en route. I watched, nose deep, until far enough away to not be disturbed by my exit, equally ungainly as my entrance.

I toweled off and headed back to the truck and people and dramatic readings and things of apparent greater import. Yet my strongest memory is of the hummingbird, barely 10 feet away, filling its gullet.