sheblogs
Goodbye to summer By ELEXIS HAYS
us. If there were a convenient pole, like on Green Acres, we could possibly try climbing that. All in all, despite the mess, the chaos, uring the summer we move to it’s a simpler, happier way of life. The big our house at the lake, in a tiny news in our little town this summer is that little town, outside the technology the firemen have TWICE run the firetruck sphere, where I drink alarming amounts of into the firehouse. No murders, no white wine and lie in the sun until I grow political theatrics. My heart resounds with yet one more set of fine lines and wrinkles. joy to be in the dark about Weiner. (Now, In that tiny little house, I fail see? I just snickered to myself because miserably to achieve any of the sunI’ve been with teenagers all summer.) I’ve drenched fantasies I concoct all winter. enjoyed being out of the loop. I never ride into town to the In the end, I yell and scream, farmers market, on an antique bike and everyone cleans up. There with a handmade basket on the is vacuuming, dusting, front, to collect fresh vegetables endless loads of washing. still dewy with organic We clear off the dock, goodness. The wind has put covers on things and yet to whip through my turn off the lights. The long, gauzy skirt. My little house gives a big hair doesn’t flow in the urs! sigh and it looks as if we breeze. us yo d n e were never there. I do manage to s @ c editor an. Coming home, swing by Bojangles for nor thsidewom everything feels big. I’m butter soaked biscuits amazed that we need this occasionally, though, and can much room in which to live. now distinguish between generic I’m starting to feel the old pull inside and Nestle’s raw cookie dough with a 70 me again to clean out some closets, percent scientific accuracy while wearing find a calendar and organize us all. This a blindfold. morning, I caught myself yelling, for the I wear my swimsuit cover-ups as high first time all summer, to HURRY UP! I fashion. I think drawstring pants are the watched the traffic report. I regarded the bomb-diggity. By the end of summer, I giant pile of mail. I got a text from the find I closely resemble Orson Wells, in the library that I was late. And just like that, later years. we are all forced back into the real world My brain atrophies. I read smut and of school, schedules and shoes. fluff. I begin a blog in my head and then The real world sucks. ■ wander off in another direction. (Hey, look! A squirrel!) Friends bring their pontoon over and Elexis Hays is a licensed wildlife rehabiliwe idle away hours sunning like seals. tator who lives on a I issue the “be on good behavior” farm in Cumming with decree to all kids. They disregard it, and her husband Buddy all goes on as usual and we find that we (a.k.a. The Goose), like it that way. daughter Amelia There, we have no Internet. No (a.k.a. Cricket), son television. To make or receive a call, one Shep and WAY too has to go out the front door, stand by the many animals. Her street and position one’s self just right. blog: andapossumin Then, we yell and hope someone hears thedishwasher.com.
andapossuminthedishwasher.com
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24 | northsidewoman.com | september2013
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