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| "Vacation is what you take when you can't take what you've been taking any longer." ~Unknown~ |
Just so you know, smut is modular. You can pack it up and take it anywhere. Some of the smut I purchased this weekend includes; magazines - Woman's World (oh yah baby!!! In honor of great-granny who used to clip the Ziggy cartoons and pin them to her cork board as motivation), The Rolling Stone (because a girl has to keep up with what's going on), Self ('cause it motivates me to move myself in this state of Yo), Books - Driftwood Cottage (the essence of the quintessential summer chick-novel), The Lincoln Lawyer (because I'm too happy here on my patio to get to the discount theatre showing), News - The Globe and Mail (just 'cause that's what I do). I'm fully loaded with smut for a summer of Yo.
My fridge is stocked with my favourite beer, and a tiny variety of other bottled alcoholic beverages. I even have a vintage 2009 Bacardi Breezer floating around in there. Wine suits me fine, but once in a while I like a cold summery drink - if only to remind myself to stick to wine and beer, and the odd cocktail produced in the dead of winter by gracious hosts conjuring Caribbean shores. We have frozen fruit pops, frozen yogurt, and yes, we have ice cubes (something I'm told chicks are famous for not having)! Ahhh, summer time!
The past two summers have passed with a pathetic shortage of outdoor-enjoy-every-bit-of-sunshine-that-you-possibly-can due to an acquiescence of leadership in relationship on my part. In other words, I bowed to the social preferences of, shall I say, at least one acquaintance who desperately needs to become familiar with the colloquial, "shit or get off the pot"-ism.
I am astounded that adults of my generation think you are either a responsible parent/adult/housekeeper OR you get outside and have fun. Sometimes it's just about letting the outside in. Feeling the breeze blow through the windows, hearing the neighbour kids giggle and play. Enjoying an after dinner walk, taking in the waterbirds and flora that populate our little lake. There is a balance to this being responsible and enjoying life, and I think, at least when it comes to summertime, that I've perfected it. I am determined his will be a grand summer in the land of Yo (dammit!).
This year I plan to make up for my two summers of hibernating. My legs, if you were unlucky enough to glimpse them are still long and shapely, but an ungodly shade of white that I've only seen in the morgue and at very special June-church-strawberry socials between the hem of walking shorts and the tops of knee socks. Not sexy. Although one gentleman caller that I knew in a previous life liked to refer to that shade as "China Doll" white. Hey, whatever works.
This is the summer of McDishy and Monkey Lips in land the Yo. My neighbours have been subjected to the awe inspiring sight of me in tunics and stretchy capris, beer and wasabi peas at hand as I write you these blogs, or pen my not-so-tongue-in-cheek poetry. I think I have gained a reputation in the neighbourhood as the very intelligent crazy lady who loves kids and trots off some evenings in tottery heels, not to be seen for days. I'm a bit of an enigma, but I'm fun.
You might be wondering about summer romance. Well, I've never given up on my dream of a great man, a loving home, and kids driving us clinically mad on a daily basis. As you do know, I have given up men who have briefly starred in the dream. In other words, I'm just going to hang out and see what happens. There is an article in my new Elle magazine that argues the benefits of summer flings. I'm pretty sure a fling is not on the map of Yo this year. I think I'm pretty content with my stretchy pants, tunics, wasabi-peas, beer and smut. I'm pretty sure Mr. Romance-Renaissance-Hot-Pants is not going to hunt me down in the backyard, campground or writing class. Yep, like I said, I'm just going to hang out and see what happens.
Even though summer just officially started, I feel like I've actually had a summer. I've enjoyed my new-used BBQ, my little planters, my new muskoka chairs and patio lanterns. I've already had one weekend packed full of outdoor baseball games (courtesy of my kiddo), and dragon boat racing. Friday night we took our blankets and met friends for the Aretha Franklin concert downtown. Boy can that girl sing!!! It was packed, and somewhere in the crowd we lost our friend Karen, sacrificed to the I'm-going-in-search-of-something-to-drink-gods.
I'm looking forward to our planned visit up north with Carrie, Sandy, Evan, little Mr. X, and Andrea's brood, followed by two days of mom-son-white-water-rafting bonding time. I'm wondering how my son will feel bonding with my A5-35'ed bones in a tent? I have time booked off I'm hoping to use for spur of the moment camping trips and gourmet smore and banana boat making expeditions. Every parent owes it to their children to teach them how to make smores, pitch a tent, and pee in the woods. You know, just in case you get lost with a bag of marshmallows.
Jimmy Buffett is coming to town which means Toronto Parrotheads will host pre-concert and tailgate parties. Jimmy is summer. Of course, it wouldn't be summer in the city if you weren't booked into something Mirvish-ish, and we are.
August will come and I'll be happy to get to the farm to buy tomatoes and beets and veggies so I can make preserves. This year I may even make my red pepper jelly, which is yummy during the winter time, snugged up with a bottle or two of wine. Glass, I meant glass or two of wine.
Just this afternoon I made kinda-sorta plans with a friend to get-up-and-out-early-walking before work. He's a good sport, lives close enough to motivate me to move, and isn't afraid to see me un-make-uped or un-hair-did. Besides if we start this little routine together, I can tell everyone I'm "seeing a younger man"! I'm hoping he forgets our conversation and I can lay my aching bones in bed with the snooze alarm until 6:30am tomorrow morning.
My evening walking routine has been salvaged and is in full swing. I'm registered for yogalates and writing classes. I write this eating marshmallow bananas and sighing that there is actually no latte involved in the yogalates. Besides that, summer looks pretty darn good from this angle. But what about rainy Sundays? Well, I still have a date with the summer fling at the AGO, and need to absolutely find myself in the audience at Stratford for Camelot.
Even now, I have chicken on the BBQ, and homemade potato salad cooling in the fridge. My summery-island-tunes are playing and Leonard the cat is stretched out by the screen door listening to the birds. Kitty Wells is perched in her cage on the grass having a bird bath. I have my ever-ready bottle of bubbly chilling ready to add some yummy blueberry bliss. Come on over, sit down, relax. Do a little summer time dreaming with me.
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