Summer is over. Oh, I know that according to the calendar those words are untrue. Summer doesn’t officially end until September 21. However, this is the first day of elementary school for our grandchildren. Our younger daughter, a middle school Art teacher and volleyball coach, welcomes her students back today. And, I return to campus tomorrow for our annual day-long orientation followed by a mixer for all the faculty in our department. Yesterday I finalized my syllabi for the two courses I’ll teach. Tuesday my students arrive – sixty-six of them in my two classes. They spent the summer back home with family and lifelong friends being children again. Now, they will begin shifting gears back toward adulthood. Most will do so with a mix of joy and trepidation, energy and reluctance. Some of them will excel academically. Others (not all, of course, but a few) will use their laptops not for taking notes but rather for playing video games, writing emails, answering texts, or surfing the web. They are the ones who will complain most loudly about making a D on their midterm. Anyway, summer is over.
Yesterday I took my wife’s car in for an oil change, new wiper blades, and brake pads. By the time the mechanic was through discovering problems we didn’t even know existed (her car has a computer that tells the driver if there’s a problem, which it was not telling us), I had to pay $2,300. Today I will take it elsewhere for new tires. The mechanic said, “We’ve got to make sure this car is safe in case you make a summer trip.” I decided not to explain to him that from my point of view, summer is over – especially after I paid the bill, which meant I could no longer afford a summer trip even if I wanted one. But, to quote the Zombies’ hit from years ago, I know The Time of the Season. “When school starts, summer ends.” One of my mottoes.
So, what did any of us do this summer that was “memorable”? Well, let’s see. I worked three jobs – which is fairly memorable, I suppose, since I am officially “retired.” I had surgery on my back and a “procedure” on an eye. The back is doing great, thanks. The eye, well, at the moment it’s kind of wait-and-see (which, as I type those words, I realize is a pun). I rewrote the syllabi for my upcoming courses. I fell off the wagon when it comes to both dieting and exercising (using the excuse of being hungry and tired from working too much). I conducted eight lectures by Zoom and (to this point) wrote and delivered eleven sermons. Oh yeah, I also had a perfectly good car “repaired” for a lot of money and no apparent reason. But, is any of that “memorable”? Put another way: Did I (did you) “make memories” this summer? My grandkids got a week at the beach and other trips to lakes and mountains with their parents (and sometimes with aunts and uncles and cousins, as well). That is “making memories.” Some of my friends have gone on cruises or other exotic trips. A guy I heard about yesterday knows someone who knows someone who knows someone else, all of which added up to his being on stage in San Diego to sing Good Vibrations with the Beach Boys. That certainly qualifies as “making a memory.” What did you do this summer – or, what will you do – to make memories?
One late afternoon last week, Page and I were sitting on the back deck of the condo in Blowing Rock (high in the Appalachian Mountains). The sun was going down over the blue-green hills. Our dogs were napping, one at my feet and the other on her lap. Soft music was playing on Pandora. Even in a world that often seems like it is intent on self-destruction, we were experiencing quiet and peace. She said, “So many people pay lots of money and travel incredible numbers of miles to find what we have right here at this moment.” I won’t forget that. We were making memories. We’ve been to several music concerts featuring wonderful artists, each time surrounded by really good friends. Next week we’ll be doing that again with other friends at an event where one of my favorite groups, The Tams, will perform. Twice we’ve sat and looked at magnificent frescoes by Ben Long, trying to find deep meaning in subtle nuances. We haven’t missed a week of meeting friends for meals at lovely restaurants (I told you, I fell off the dieting wagon). We’ve gone for long walks around lakes, up trails, and past equine centers where beautiful horses come to the fence so my wife can rub their noses (none of them, for whatever reason, come to the fence when it’s just the dogs and me). We’ve watched several series on Netflix and Prime. At one point in summer we read the same book at the same time (Theo of Golden) and compared notes on the meanings we took away. We’ve sat in our backyard garden (more correctly, “her” garden if you’re talking about who did all the work that produced all the beauty) at sunset and watched the sky turn colors. And even as the years advance, we’ve spent time discussing new projects and new dreams to chase.
As I look at my all-too-brief summer and pause long enough to see it as it was, I realize that I have been making a lot of memories – memories that will last in the years to come, memories that will enrich and enhance my life, memories that will inspire me to take note of each day, each moment, and each experience (because they, too, should be memories-in-the-making). What have you done with your summer so far? Sit leisurely and think about that. Jot down notes, if it helps. Remember the good, the quiet, the peaceful, the exciting, the joy-filled, the loving moments. I’ll bet you’ve been making memories, too. In fact, we all have the chance to make some new and really good ones today.