Counter-programming for the winter doldrums is simple: bring the heat, lose the shirt, and go deep. Add a Speedo for extra incentive to work off that holiday padding (I’ve got enough extra to fill the stay-puffed marshmallow man’s costume). Who doesn’t love an 80’s reference? And who you gonna call? These pool pics of the past will have to suffice until such time that I adopt a less sedentary lifestyle.
The smorgasbord of my mind, rapid-firing across frayed synapses, is like the world’s messiest charcuterie board right now: there is some good shit there, but you have to wade through a bunch of garbage like rosemary sprigs and a jar of weird mustard that’s way beyond its expiration date. (And don’t even get me started on pitted olives.)
That strange charcuterie digression aside, (what is with all the charcuterie references on this blog?) let’s delve into some aforementioned counter-programming since the groundhog has predicted an early spring, and I always err on the side of the rodent when it comes to accurate meteorological predictions. Again, I digress, when all you want is to get to the Tom Daley and Michael Phelps Speedo posts. Hang on… I feel it… It’s coming…
Summer days by the pool have always been magical, in their majestic laziness, and the way they slink so sensually through the hours. That sun works myriad spells as it crosses the sky, when really we should be thanking the earth for just sitting there and rotating (advice that’s been given to me on more occasions than need to be recalled).
Summer discovers where the boys are then quickly works to catch us all up in its heady siren call. We listen, we hear, we fall into its gorgeous trance, lured willingly along for the heated ride. Sometimes summer is a soundtrack. Sometimes summer is a Speedo. Sometimes summer is a knife. Sometimes, summer simply breaks our hearts.
Inevitably, and often with some reluctant relief, every summer must give way to fall, which comes with its own enchantments and glories.
Some days are still haunted, while others are filled with healing.
Some days are quiet and contemplative, made of mindfulness and merrily mired in meditation.
We work our way through all the days, winding our way to another summer again. May it not keep us waiting for too long.
