Under Summer Dresses

Summer is that time of the year in the South -- where flirtation reigns, and all things happen that can happen, even though they probably shouldn't.

In my history there are plenty of moments of exploration and enlightenment about one or the other member of another gender that have gone on in the guise of summer romance. It's not the heat, or the slight tang of musk in the air, nor is it the humidity which collects and flows along every body that moves. It is more than physical elements -- it is also mental and emotional ones: longing, loneliness, too much time to recall and remember, and the desire to be ... happy again.

Human beings all flow towards happiness -- that desire to be fulfilled and smiling, giving and taking freely from someone who wants me and does the same. Under Summer Dresses lies the body -- the body is always there, clothed or not, warm or hot, cool or chilling quietly in a welcome breeze. Ovid knows the truth. Emily knows the truth but will not name it. Heat happens.

More Summer Dresses

She looked back now-- I saw it. Her eyes were thankful, as usual. 

Another she pressed her lips too long and too warmly -- I felt it.I would have missed my cue onstage -- that would not have been "Good!"   She wanted a connection then but I deferred for silly reasons of righteousness.

Another she came to my house on my birthday -- and took me out for ice cream. And I responded with a quick "good bye" even knowing she wanted something else.

A long-remembered she visited my house on the last day of her trip to Savannah; she stared at my house until I came out to greet her; then she ran away to her husband.

Another she leaped up and put her legs around my waist -- but it was intermission, and there was no time -- and there was also "too much time" between us.
So many "she's" but only one I called directly by that name -- She was mine.

In Time

Many names; many faces; many dreams -- lost or won; many angry moments; a few quiet loving moments; some excitement; lots of sameness; finding the spirit or energy of a moment is impossible without insight, introspection, and careful observation.

There is no "beating the clock." Eventually we will all wither, however slowly, and die. For some of us it will be today; for others an unexpected tomorrow. For a very few of us -- there will be a conscious choice -- life of death, heaven or hell, good or bad.  Choose wisely and well -- because once time runs out, there is no reprieve. 

Summer Dresses

Getting older probably increases the amount of vivid remembering that goes on during one's current days. So here I am -- getting older -- and remembering lots more clearly about a lot of things. I remember the temptations; I remember the sins! But most of all -- I remember all of the details, all of the details of all the decisions, all of the details of all of the big decisions, all of the details of all of the decisions that became big decisions -- that have affected my life to this day. 

There was a time when I asked a serious question -- that became a marriage proposal.  There was a time where I put my hand high on a smooth bare upper back, so that the hand didn't go too far South, and a very fervent embrace didn't become an immediate liaison. There was a time I resisted an insouciant doll face carelessly aimed sidelong with eyes still tracing mine -- so that I didn't fall into those grappling pools. There was a time I kept from instinctively touching those cute blue cotton running shorts -- forever pulling down the shield that only barely kept two humans apart. There was a time when dipping into the icy fall waters of the closer of the Interlochen lakes could not have cooled someone so young. There was a time that staring into the partially clothed  middle of a woman  desired would have been a betrayal -- of this desire, and another as well. There was a time when a teenager rushed into my arms and became my instant unrequited dream in a second. There were many such times -- real and partially imagined, realistic and yet unimaginable in their importance to me.

Often  I did not respond well to an unannounced kiss -- pleading moistly for another,  when I was so tunnelled into something else that I couldn't think. I regret those unfulfilled moments as well. The youngish sister, the playwright, the wouldbe lover.
So many moments; so many decisions; so many wins and losses.       

Sheila Lives

Sitting in my office and looking at Sheila's iconic "dancing" picture posted next to my clock -- always makes me skip a breath, silently think her name, wonder what might have been -- if she had lived. It is more than unlucky to get a terminal disease when you are young -- and especially if you have lived the kind of measured careful thoughtful life that should have earned you extra decades, instead of lost ones.

I loved Sheila then -- and still do now. I can't really explain why. The magic that we had was trust, and giving, and trying to understand. I don't know that we were perfect together -- mostly because we were such amateurs at what love really is. Too many times selfishness on both our parts, or reticence, or unsureness, or even fear --interfered with our surface communications. But inside -- we loved. In our hearts -- we loved. In our souls -- we understood what love means. We loved each other. 

The End of a Long Hard Day, Monday August 5, 2013

Today there was a good-bye luncheon for a beloved math teacher and leader at STC, Heather. Grades were also due today so (as an administriviator)I am dealing with the three people who do not have their grades in on time. There will be "hell to pay" if they don't catch up and get their responsibilities in order. 

Tomorrow Sarah (English Chair) heads off on her cruise to Northern Europe; wish and hope that she stays safe during a time of al-queda sabre rattling in the Middle East and Africa. Sarah seems to be handling her new administrative job about the same as I am --reluctantly and better than expected. She is too young and lively to be an administrator -- especially for no extra pay.

Besides all that I finished my SLOGS for this term and will send all that information to my Dean as soon as humanly possible.  "Humanly possible" -- somehow that phrase gets overlooked and made into a trite rejoinder in the midst of bureaucratic kerfuffle.      

On a Day Too Quickly Forgotten

Some days have more import than others. Some days cling in one's memory -- a day of lust perhaps, or a day of mourning, will haunt and sometimes totally reactivate your thinking. Other days are like this one -- no sense of deja vu here. No clinging memories or bright moments of incandescent strength here. Just ordinary -- heaps and heaps of ordinary. 

Don't know why that is. Don't understand the mechanics of changelessness -- the real shape of ordinary. But there it is. No romances will ever blossom on such a day. No spectacular decisions will be hammered home into a prescient outlook. Just the same. Today is just the same. The same as what, you ask?  The same as same -- ordinary.