Most of you will remember the old song, “Summertime, Summertime, Sum-Sum-Summertime” (either from 1958 or 1962).  In 1958 or 1962, SUMMERTIME was something to be cherished, to be anticipated, to be lived. [let it play while you read]

NO COOKOUTNow, however, I find that summertime lacks something.  For me, it’s just another part of the calendar. The HOT part.  There’s no vacation, nobody I know has a pool or belongs to a subdivision with a pool, there are no cookouts to go to with fun and food and drinks.  I don’t know anybody with a boat.  There is no sand in my summer.  For a girl who spent her summers “at the shore” that’s a sad sad situation.

Basically, summer is now just the “hot” part of the year.  I know… I know… a lot of you Northerners complain vehemently about the COLD WINTERS.. but at least in the winter there’s Christmas and all the wonderful things that come with Christmas.  In the winter, you can warm up by baking something that fills your house with a great scent and your tummy with a great treat.  In the summer, I don’t turn the oven on. Why invite more heat into my life?

True… the 4th  of July provides the opportunity to see fireworks, fireworksbut since I no longer go “in person” (traffic!) and I watch on TV it’s not quite the same.  I watch the NY or DC fireworks… not even anything local.  As much as I love fireworks, it isn’t enough to make Summer worthwhile.

I have cook-ins — boiled hot dogs and microwave corn on the cob.  Somehow, it’s not the same.  Even the watermelon growers have ruined summer by eliminating seeds — there’s nothing to spit!  Spitting watermelon seeds was a great way to keep the kids occupied for a while.  Alas.  Alack.

good humor

Of course, we didn’t have a white picket fence in the background!

Even the Good Humor man doesn’t come every night.  That was always a big attraction to summertime — you KNEW that at a certain time, the Good Humor man would jingle his bells and all the kids on the block would magically appear and wait their turn to get a Toasted Almond or Chocolate Eclair.  Even our dog waited for his Dixie cup — though he never needed the little wooden spoon.  You’d empty it into his bowl and <GULP> he’d down it in one large gulp and it would be gone… then he’d sit in front of you making puppy dog eyes while you tried to eat yours in peace.

There were summer pajamas.  There were window fans.  There was home brewed iced tea.

Now there’s just hot and the inevitable afternoon / evening thunderstorm. 

I can’t wait till Fall.  Or Winter.  Summer stinks.


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