Into The Mystic

"We were born before the wind

Also younger than the sun

Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic

Hark, now hear the sailors cry

Smell the sea and feel the sky

Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic."

----Van Morrison

Here we are, deep into another seaside summer. The Arts Festival has wrapped, Race Week has come and gone, and while it's still light out after supper, the days are getting shorter. I have a friend who says it's the "Summer of J" because he's spending it boating, fishing and annoying his children. He might think it's his, but the best part about summer is that we all make it our own.

Summer changes every year too; it's not always the same. The summer my daughter is having is, quite simply, epic. Paddling around the harbor, zipping through the streets on a bright yellow moped, and sucking down iced coffee with friends is how she spends her days. I'm spending too much time in my much appreciated but artificial feeling air conditioning, working, but at her age, I also had an epic summer. Summer evolves each year, or does it just seem that way to me?

When I was five years old, my mother decided I could be at the beach by myself. I know, right? It was 1969; if Neil Armstrong could go to the moon, she figured I was safe at the beach. She'd pack me a lunch and send me down the street. It's not like I was alone, the whole neighborhood was there, that's how it was. The moms showed up later in the day. Looking back, I think they were all in cahoots to get us out of the house. When we weren't at the beach we were riding bikes, or at the park or playing in someone's driveway, with a hose and buckets. It was what some marketing genius now calls a "free range" childhood. It was just another summer though.

As I got older, summer definitely changed. In high school it was all about my babysitting job, which fortunately was only mornings, going to the beach, and joy rides in my boyfriend's truck. There were ice cream runs to Treadwell's, a pool day now and then at the JCC (full disclosure, none of us were members, we would hop the back part of the fence and blend in) and trips to Salem Willows for Skeeball and lousy pizza. It was everything a teenage summer should be, including the inevitable heartbreak and boyfriend drama.

Once I was college, summers became about internships and resume building. I spent every college summer working in Boston, sweating through broken down subways and lunch breaks on the Common. When you're nineteen years old, and you get to sit in on meetings about what will happen in case of national disaster (FEMA has an excellent internship program), and then you spend your weekends going on road trips with friends, zipping around North Conway and swimming in creeks, you start to feel like the world really is your oyster.

What I wouldn't recommend doing in the summer is being 14 months pregnant. OK, it wasn't quite that long, but having a baby in mid-July immediately cancels out any swimwear or, for that matter, sleep. My oldest didn't like air conditioning; only one bedroom had it, and he wouldn't sleep there, so I put his crib in the living room while I slept on the couch. In this context "Slept" refers to the few hours between midnight and dawn that I spent with one eye open while Andy was alternately hangry, wet or generally unpleasant. I took him to the beach that year once, as I drove by it at midnight, with the car windows open, hoping the night air would help with the croup he had.

Summers have come a long way in our house. No more babies unless you count the whiny pug (who is feeling much better, thank you to those who have asked.) There are still beach days with friends, but mostly at sunset, after work, and with a tiny glass of wine, because hydration is essential. No more water balloons and super soaker battles in the yard. No more rushing to catch the boat to Children's Island. One thing hasn't changed though. Each summer, I treat myself to a giant plate of fried clams. Because nothing says summer like a mouth full of sand and clam bellies. There are still a few precious weeks of lazy days and ocean waves. Enjoy them. Let your soul and spirit fly.