Thoughts on Summer

With summer approaching, I look out my dirty windows and see my neighbors busy as bees, mowing their lawns, pulling weeds, and even power washing their driveways. As I walk along my street, I search out the other houses which don't have perfect yards. I see bright flowers arranged as though my neighbors have spent hours soaking up the wisdom of Martha Stewart.

I have a love-hate relationship with the sun. I love it because it makes me feel better, but then it streams through my dirty windows and I feel exhausted thinking about washing them. I open them to let in the cool air during the evenings, but since we have no screens, the bugs rush towards the lights. We could get screens, but then the four animals in this house would rip them to shreds.

I think of one of my friends, who always does spring cleaning, and wonder if she'd like the challenge of making sense out of the clutter and dust in my home. I could get a housekeeper, but then my piano lesson money would be gone.

Sometimes, during the summer, I escape my unkept yard and dusty house by walking along the beach or through a beautiful park. I look at the ocean and know that it is filled with garbage, yet it is still beautiful to me. In a park, flowers aren't arranged in perfect rows. They are scattered by nature and are exquisitely appealing to my eyes.

I return home and want to capture those same captivating scenes in my own yard. Yet, I look at all the dandelions that have sprung up during the spring months, and wonder if it is worth it to remove them. I try and view the weeds as plants, but my neighbors' perfect yards stop me. I could get a gardener, but then I wouldn't be able to afford a new book, a CD, or a piece of music to play.

When my children were small, they used to pick the dandelions and present them to me to display on the kitchen table. Now they give me gifts bought from a store. Although I appreciate their gifts, sometimes they buy me something that needs to be dusted. Maybe I could tell them to either pick me dandelions or promise to dust the beautiful object that they've given me. But somehow, that seems to take away from their spontaneous gifts. I'll just live with my dandelions and dust.

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