From Where I Sit

By Pat Spilseth, Columnist

The only thing more fleeting than summer is childhood.

Don’t you miss the backyard swing, starry nights filled with fireflies, swimming out to a diving tower, burying bodies in the sand and, of course, bare feet? I still dream about my favorite haunt, the weeping willow tree that I’d climb. My neighborhood friends Wendy Schaub and Barbara Carlson would sit with me high in the hidden branches, where we’d tell our deepest, darkest secrets and make plans for the day.   

Today, it’s back to barefoot summertime. Kicking off my flip flops, my toes curl and squirm as they touch the tickling grass and hot sidewalk as I make my daily trip to the mailbox for the morning newspaper. Summertime is freeing. I’m a senior citizen but I still love to go barefoot all day long. Finding comfy shoes is a problem. My feet hurt when they’re stuffed into shoes. Most painful are dressy shoes with high heels, but nobody I know who’s my age wears high heels anymore. I remember how my legs used to look so sleek and trim in sexy, slingback heels. Those pointed toes and four inch thin heels were so attractive, but what they did to my feet is unforgivable.

Since it’s Monday, I’m hanging sheets on a taut line stretched from post to post on my backyard deck overlooking the lake. I have room for only one line so I can’t hang underwear between the shirts and sheets, for the sake of modesty. Still echoing in my head are Mom’s instructions: “Hide the unmentionables between the shirts and sheets.”

When the moon winks at me tonight, I’ll slip deliciously into the sweet breeze-scented sheets to dream of sunning on the dock and skimming across the waves in our pontoon boat, sun on my face. Mmmmm, summertime has arrived.

Tho the drought has fried the grass and dulled the flowers, the grass feels like a shag carpet. Lacy weeds that look like Queen Ann’s Lace and a pink vine are the only remaining flowers in my untended gardens. Earlier, my gardens produced pink peonies popping between the yellow lilies and purple iris. Nothing in my yard looks great by mid-June.

I’m cleaning the screens which have been covered with white cottonwood puff. My pink and red geraniums have been blooming in the western windows all winter long; now they’re acclimating to the fresh lake breezes outdoors. They’ll perk up eventually, blooming anew with lush dark green leaves. However, it’s taking longer this summer for the flowers to look good. The drought has been brutal.    

My bench on the dock awaits me; I’ll take a diving plunge into the water to cool off in today’s 88 degree weather. How can you beat summertime? Today, I’m relishing summertime at its best.   

If only I could retain those beautiful childhood freedoms I had at 5, 10 or even 25! In my mind I can still feel the scorching heat of the metal slide at Glenwood’s beach on my bottom as I slip down the slide. My feet run the dusty dirt path around the merry-go-round as I push my pals faster and faster on the merry-go-round at the park. I can still feel the stretch in my arms as I reach out for another steel bar on the hand-over-hands and climb the monkey bars, higher and higher, almost touching the puffy cloud. I can still hear the Everly Brothers crooning “Kathy’s Clown” as voices drifting across the park from the Ballroom. I see dancers moving onto the slick floors in Lakeside’s knotty pine ballroom with the silver ball spinning in the ceiling.

Summertime magic inhabits my body and soul. My feet are itching to be outdoors. Who can resist going barefoot outdoors in these lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer?

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To contact Pat, email: pat.spilseth@gmail.com.