53/100: Ah sadness... ah joy!

It is 5:30 in the morning. Crickets sing their melancholy, and the open windows let in the cool, darl air. In less than an hour, my son's alarm clock will begin to play whatever rock music plays at this time of the morning. He will tumble from bed, silent, unused to the dark, unused to the gentle prodding from bathroom to breakfast table to backpack.

After my son trudges up the hill to the bus stop, I will wake my daughter, wrapped mummy-like in blankets with dolls and stuffies. Her body will feel warm, and I will have the urge to lie beside her. She has more time to prepare for the bus that takes her away most mornings for the next nine months to school.

A bittersweet day. This has been a good summer--even I found the time to slow down--yet I welcome the return to schedule, to routine. And this morning, as every morning of the first day of school, I will find myself weepy-eyed as the yellow bus pulls away from the curb. Peace...

50/100: Half-Way Hump

Today marks the half-way mark for 100 Days of Summer. When I joined this celebration of summer, my intent was to post an observation a day. My focus would be on describing place, focusing on use of the sensory details to invoke the felt reality of a moment in each day. Easy, I thought.

No, not easy. Time snuck up on me most days, as did "obstacles" such as trips without internet access, work that felt relentless, and the happy visit of the muse that caused (happily again) a rush of writing on my novel. In addition to being a mother, a wife, a professor, I am a student, and the summer coourse entailed reading a book a week, along with attendant homework. Finally, I did not want to present some half-assed piece--the words, the images, the thoughts and stories of my fellow challengers (yes, I have read these on facebook, and marveled) are too beautamous for me to sully.

But... even though I have not posted every day, I have written every day, and these observations have found their way into my other works. I am working on a larger piece that backfills using these fragments from the past 18 days and will, in my own time, present it for public consumption.

100 Days of Summer has yielded a tapestry of beauty and feeling. I have enjoyed the journeys.

My favorite post to date? 19-25/100: A Week of Summer Sounds. A feast for the ear.

Peace...

26-32/100: SCRATCH and SNIFF

Day 26: Tomato leaves as they brush against the skin of your hand.

Day 27: Coconut oil and sweat on a sweltering beach.

Day 28: Ozone in the air after a thunderstorm rolls through.

Day 29: Char from burgers on a neighbor’s grill.

Day 30: Brown sugar and cinnamon melding with peaches in the oven.

Day 31: The chlorophyll of freshly mown grass.

Day 32: Cantaloupe on the way back from the farmer’s market.

Another sensory compression. Try to describe smell without using the word 'smell' (or any of it's synonyms). What scents do you associate with summer? Peace...

19-25/100: A Week of Summer Sounds

Day 19: The cicadas' thrum lulls me into afternoon.

Day 20: Lawnmowers whine, incessant bee-buzz of summer shearing.

Day 21: An ice cream truck circles several streets over, a lonely calliope of sound.

Day 22: Ocean waves crash on wet sand, a dull roar; louder still, the boom of thunder.

Day 23: The thwup-thwup of thousands of tires traveling homeward over the bay Bridge.

Day 24: Pop! Fizz! Soda bubbles tickle my nose, rock my mouth with commotion.

Day 25: Quiet fills Sunday morning streets, everybody everywhere but here.

18/100: Re-Cycle (Retread II)

Rubber shards litter the highway

more than I remember.

Perhaps it is the economy

driving truckers to a cheaper tire,

or maybe it is our green mentality

re-using a resource until it blows.

17/100: Outside Starbuck’s on the Way to Work (Retread I)

Every morning he’s there, his cart heaped with bags, staring at our coffees and scones. I always step around his mess, head to the hospital to crunch admissions, discharges, deaths, but today my iced caramel macchiato feels heavier, his eyes harder. I hand him my drink. He shuffles away, not even a thank you.

16/100: Road Trip

The road beckons.

From Baltimore to DC, to visit with family 'in town' for a conference.

Hotel pool, free coffee and mini-Danish; children frolic, high on sugar and an empty pool.

The drizzle relents.

A stroll down 12th Avenue, skateboarders jumping stairs 8 at a time.

Lunch of salad, flat bread, cookies.

Dorothy's ruby reds at the American History Museum.

Lemon water ice.

Hugs at the top of 12th and K.

From DC to Baltimore.

The road beckons.