summer the complaint department

due to excessive pleasantness

and the sun shone and a breeze blew, although not so much it could be called a wind, and the temperature was neither baking nor bitter. The overnight weather was also uneventful, no storms, no rain, no train-track-bending cold. I wasn’t awake but I’d guess it was some combination of dark and warm.

“We apologize for the inconvenience, but due to weather-related issues the New Haven trains will be delayed,” began the Great but Unseen Apologizer, the voice MetroNorth pipes in to offer excuses, however lame and, today, unbelievable.

“So the weather today is …?” I ask the conductor who will commiserate with me, I am sure of it.

“Too pleasant?” He deadpans, squinting out the grimed windows at the beautiful morning sky. “Excessively pleasant?”


today's weather, pleasant with a chance of delays
today’s weather, pleasant with a chance of delays

a hot mess

I spent part* of the weekend at a folk festival.

By that I mean an hour or so, but it felt longer because the sky was buggy and blazing and the farm was overrun with festies — girls and boys who strongly identify with music festivals and wear dusty, bohemian clothing and smell of humid sleeping bags.

My favorite place was the dancing tent, presided over by a twangy-voiced caller, attempting to lead the throngs in the Louisiana Swing.

I grew up in Iowa. When it rained, PE class was brought into the indoor gym (also humid smelling) for square dancing. I actually know how to respond to calls like allemande left your partner, dosey-do your corner, promenade one and all, promenade round the hall, singing oh Johnny, oh Johnny oh.

These folks did not and it was fun watching stray dancers trying to square off while their intendeds mistakenly launched into a Grand Right and Left. Hands were extended, then retracted, bodies collided, faces showed profound puzzlement. But they danced, oh how they danced. the louisiana swing


midsummer’s night eve

This day before the solstice is lovely, bright and cool and I feel restless in my office, its windows blocked by scaffolding. Summer days at work make me restless. I want a last day of school, a leaving behind of dusty and dim corridors, a sense of summer stretching on and on, not a day yet wasted. I recall that first afternoon of freedom — for my children on their last days of school and for myself, so long ago.

I feel as if I should be doing something like this. 
I feel as if I should be doing something like this.