Saturdays

All summer long I've been longing for some sort of feeling or experience that up until recently I couldn't put my finger on. Isn't that life? Constantly longing for something you don't exactly know what. Completely and utterly miserable feeling I tell you.

Anyways, this desire has been following me since May. An overwhelming feeling hits me every single Saturday that I'm doing nothing rewarding or enjoyable.

Today I realized.

This is my perfect Saturday.

• Up at 6 or 7. Early enough to still feel dew on the ground and perhaps a mist or fog slightly in the air.
• A tall toffee nut frappucino/no whipped cream from Starbucks.
• Perusing this Farmer's Market where I'd purchase a BabyCake, some okra and berries, a carton of free range eggs, a bouquet of fresh flowers and a jar of homemade apple butter.
• I'd drop off my purchases and head to Bardstown where I'd find a cafe with outdoor seating for lunch.
• After lunch I'd indulge in the local antique shops, boutiques and used bookstores. By the end of the afternoon I'd have bags full of precious treasures.
• Shopping would have been exhausting so I'd see the afternoon out with some penny candy and a cherry coke from the Hurst Drug Store Soda Fountain.
• The drive home would be evening, just as the sun begins to set and the air becomes cooler. I'd defy all previous misgivings about driving with windows down and enjoy the air on my cheeks. The radio would blare embarrassing songs I'd never admit to listening to and I'd drive for and hour or two as though gas only cost $1.50 again.

Such a simple dream, such a simple experience and yet it all seems like the farthest thing from actually happening. Which begs the question, if we are all supposed to live like there is no tomorrow why is it always so hard to throw caution to the wind and actually go for it?

I'm still not sure. But I'm fairly certain it has something to do with responsibility.

A Perfect Day: Part 2

It was one of those thick summer nights. The kind that leave your skin sticky and your hair frizzed at the edges. We lay out under the night sky watching the stars dance. Two best friends with their toes tucked neatly into dew strewn grass. Our 18th summer together. The last one we'd ever have of our youth. The world spinning madly on. Barreling too fast for either of us to comprehend. But for one moment, just us girls as time slowed for the last time.

I told her about how he'd never grow to love me. No matter how much I wished he would. She told me of her nights, trying to find comfort in all the wrong things. We drank lemonade until our lips burned. Worried about how everything would change soon.

The whole world was moving as we stood still.

When we were little we would dance around our backyards and sing made up songs about summer. We would swim in my pool until our toes turned into raisins. Then we'd walk up to the park and sit on the bridge and talk about how amazing our lives were going to be and what we would name our children.

As teenagers we'd go for rides in my car. For ice cream cones or slushies at the gas station. We would sing stupid songs way too loud with the windows rolled down so we could feel the night breeze on our cheeks. Then we would sit on my front porch watching cars drift down our street. Never saying too much. Neither confronting how fast life was changing.

I moved away the summer before senior year. I got accepted to UK. I took care of my sick grandmother. I made friends with a group I would have never befriended before. I fell, hard, for a boy who'd never love me. I made bad decisions. Good decisions. Sometimes no decisions at all. Life changed. Our friendship changed.

And yet. On a sticky summer night at my new house, in my new backyard, away from all of the fuss I was reminded of what makes family. How certain friends are different. We laughed and cried until it hurt. And giggled. Cause that's what teenage girls do best. Lots of giggles.

I think of her. And how it's all gone. And how life is so different than I pictured it would be back then. And I remember nights like that. When you find the beauty in just getting to be yourself with your best friend.

The whole world was moving and we were standing still.

A Perfect Day: Part 1

Katie has started a series called, "A Pefect Day". I encourage all of you to try this on your own. It's a wonderful way to fight these winter blahs and remember a really good day in your past. Here's my first one:

The first memory that stands out in my mind is crossing the bridge over Tampa. My first real glimpse of the Gulf of Mexico. A big expansive body of water, larger than anything I'd ever laid my eyes on. The sun seemed to dance on the surface and reflect off of my surprised eyes. The real deal had far surpassed the anticipation.

The next memory is a fork in the road. Literally. Like something out of that story about Robert Johnson and the crossroads. One direction led to swampland, the other to my sweet salvation. A gas station stood on the corner with two pumps and quite abandoned. I think I'd seen it before in a bad horror film.

The signs in Fort Myers blew my mind. Beach this way and that way. Alligator crossings. Sanibel Causeway up ahead. And the beach shops, on every corner with their colorful inflatables hanging on ropes. Signs proclaiming nothing over $9.99. A bargain hunter's dream.

A tollbooth and $6 later and we were crossing. Estero Bay spread out before my eyes like a Thanksgiving Feast. Boats and fisherman dotted along the waves. The sun twinkling on the surface in a more furious fashion than Tampa. An island lay up ahead.

A vacation rental office awaited with keys. A credit card imprint, a pile of paperwork and a folder full of directions and more information than we'd ever need and finally I'd arrived. A parking lot full of sand. Sand! I'd never seen such a spectacle. Periwinkle Way laid out before me with it's shops and bait houses. And palm trees, truly tropical remnants, proof that I'd finally made it. 19 years and a dream.

The sun was setting, the sky had turned overcast as Jon sped ahead towards the surf in his red swimming trunks. I walked gingerly, taking the sights in. A long expansive beach lay before me, much more real than I'd ever imagined. Everyone said smell the salt in the air. I guess that was salt I smelled. It was the freshest air I've ever been in before, despite the heat it felt fresh and not heavy. Shells of every shape and color dotted the beach. I kept my flip flops on until I reached the surf, then delicately slipped one off, swept my foot across the surface and then dug my toes into the wet, warm sand. Perfection. I'd found another home.

One definition of home is any place of residence or refuge. That day, on the sand with my feet in the water I stared across the gulf before me and the island behind me and discovered something that I hadn't known I'd been missing. A place of refuge. Solitude. Peace.



June 4, 2005: A Perfect Day.