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August20, 2006 - Hearts and Humor - Cruise Control >> |
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Hello gang Thanks for the wonderful comments on my last story. This is repeat night. I think a lot of you have read this one before, but I hope it brings special memories of summers gone by. Summer's End We didn't have much of a spring this year. It was cool and rainy, but a little over a week ago, summer dropped on us with 90 degree temperatures and humidity so high, even the small patch of hair left on the top of my head became unmanageable. I sat on my deck the other night, mopping sweat from my face, and pondering the coming summer. My son was excited. After he finished his final exams, he'd have more than two months to do what he wants to do. I remembered what it was like when I was young, in school, and waiting for those final days of school to end. On that last day, I was excited. I wouldn't hear a word my teacher said. The bell rang, summer began, and we'd run out the door, yelling and tossing old books into the air. I'd rush home, show my mom my report card, tell her I graded, and run outside to…to what? I was free for two months. I could do whatever I wanted, but my mind was blank. The routine of school was gone. I didn't know what to do with myself. My friends were bussed five or ten miles from neighboring communities. They were gone until the Fall. Why was I sad on the last day of school? I should have been ecstatic. I sat by a rock. My old dog, Blackie, came along, licked my face and settled beside me. "Come on, Blackie! Let's go to Grandmum's." My grandmother lived down the street from us and always had a plate of muffins ready. Sometimes they had white icing and other times pink, but they were always good. It was my morning routine to visit her for a muffin, a talk, and wait for my Grandfather's boat to enter the harbor. When it did, I'd rush to the wharf and wait to see how many fish he'd caught that day. After a few weeks, a routine would set in. I would wake, go to my Grandmum's, eat a muffin or two, play on the shores around the harbor, look for things that floated in, and go home for lunch. In the afternoons, I would go to the brook. The brook was the place to be on hot days. My friends and I would spend every afternoon there. It was a mile from our house and the gathering place for kids of all ages. We would bike, walk, or hitch-hike to it every day - sometimes twice a day - with towels draped over our shoulders. The "Brook" was wide enough to be a river, but it was only a mile or so long. It flowed from a lake, cutting a rocky swath through the forest. In several spots, the rocks opened to form natural pools. The two swimming spots were called the "Little Hole" and the "Big Hole." The "Little Hole" was shallow and had only a small current. It was perfect for kids learning to swim. The "Big Hole" was further up the brook. It was deep and had a swift current. It was the place the big kids went and the little kids envied. Every small kid couldn't wait to graduate to the "Big Hole." On one side, the "Big Hole" was a pile of rocks, mostly or partly covered with water. On the other side was a rock cliff. The other side dropped six feet - perfect for diving. The entrance to the pool was narrow. Water squeezed quickly through the rocks and dispersed throughout the pool before running out the lower end. After a heavy rain, the current was strong, where the water rushed in. If you were a strong swimmer, you could swim in one spot, until you tired and the waters won the contest. My friends and I would play "tag" in the water. All afternoon, we'd chase each other, running over the rocks, and diving from our pursuers. We were as nimble as mountain goats on the rocks. In spite of the rocks, no one was seriously hurt. There were a few scrapes, but never serious injuries. Years of play made us sure-footed. We had a fish plant. It was an exciting place for a young boy. In the afternoon, the boats came in with their catch. We'd check to see who had a good day on the waters. I once saw a halibut weighing more than 180 pounds. The sword fishing boats would come in with fish close to 1000 pounds. If it was hot, I made extra money going to the store for the workers. On a good day I would make more than a dollar - a huge amount for a young boy in the 1960's. "Mike, go to the store and get me a lunch cake and a can of Coke." A man would say. Then another would say, "If you're going to the store, get me a pack of cigarettes, a bag of chips and a Pepsi." Soon I had an order too large to remember. One man would write it on a piece of paper or cardboard. The store keeper would make sure I had the order and the change correct.. Each pocket held a different man's money. When I delivered, the men would each give me a dime, a nickel, a quarter, or whatever change was left. I saved this money and bought a bicycle. It was the first new bike I ever owned. My other bikes were handed down from my older brothers. By the time I got them, they were third-hand and in bad shape, but they were mine, even if they were used. In the evenings, we would either go to the brook or fish from the wharves, catching blue fish, cod, perch, and mackerel. Mackerel were our favorite, a fish that has a greenish-blue body with dark blue bars and a forked tail. They fought like demons on the end of the line and tasted wonderful The days sped along, and soon August arrived. I hated August. I dreaded August. With its end came September, the end of summer, the end of freedom. I'd get depressed and not go to the brook. I'd still fish a little and still go to the fish plant, but not as often. The thought of school starting took the enjoyment out of my remaining summer vacation. I'd stay home and read or walk in the woods. I was withdrawn. September would come and so would school. I would go back to the routine I missed back in June. I'd leave my summer freedom behind. I wasted summer dreading its end. Sitting on the deck the other day, I realized I was doing it again. Like many people, I dread the end. We waste time worrying about it. We waste our August. As a kid, I knew August would end. It was on the calendar. There is no calendar of life. It could end tomorrow. Don't waste your August. Live life to its fullest. Michael T. Smith I love your comments and include a few every week. Send them to mtsmith@qwestonline.com You can read more of my stories by going to: http://subs.zinester.com/86758/ To sign up to my twice weekly post: http://subs.zinester.com/86758/ Comments on my last story: From a good friend: Nicely said, Mike. Every heart can lend a thread. If only we are willing to be open to the healing. How richly blessed you and Ginny are, and I pray that the blessing continues to grow. John **************** |
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| << August16, 2006 - Hearts and Humor - How Do You Mend A Broken Heart |
August20, 2006 - Hearts and Humor - Cruise Control >> |
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