Summer Magic
Headline:
Summer has always been a magical season for me. As a child it meant a long break from school, and was usually kicked off by a pre-dawn car load-out for family road trips. I’d fall asleep stretched out in the backseat (before legal car-seat and seat belt days, for sure!) and wake up, as if by magic, in brilliant sunshine somewhere new.
Summer has always been a magical season for me. As a child it meant a long break from school, and was usually kicked off by a pre-dawn car load-out for family road trips. I’d fall asleep stretched out in the backseat (before legal car-seat and seat belt days, for sure!) and wake up, as if by magic, in brilliant sunshine somewhere new. Summer at home had its own kind of magic too, with trips to the pool and a marathon reading of cheesy adolescent romance novels late into the night.
My young adult summers on the East Coast centered around a beach rental on the Jersey shore. Twilight seemed to last forever and it was still warm enough at midnight for a quick dip in the ocean and/or a party on the sand. A lot of magical thinking and dreaming took place at the beach house – about future careers, adventures, loves, families and homes. In mid-life I am struck by which dreams, and in what manner, they have been fulfilled, for they have mostly come true, but not in ways I could have imagined back then.
This summer has brought its own kind of grown-up magic. My husband and I have embarked on a lifelong journey into a new magical kingdom -- Lake County – the land that time forgot. We have bought a house on an acre of land with a barn(!), in the middle of miles of vineyard stretching as far as the eye can see. The nightly view of stars and the Milky Way from our back porch is a deep kind of magic indeed.
The house is also teaching me about the magic of modern technology. Living for a few days without running water or electricity has given me new perspective on our society’s luxurious lifestyle. Hauling buckets of water and cooking by fire every day is normal for much of the world. To my horror I’ve learned that the average American uses at least 75 gallons of water per day! While I’m thrilled that our well now pumps and the hot water heater works, I’m wondering if we’re not missing out, in some profound way, by not living more closely to the earth.
The magic of summer in San Francisco is that it often doesn’t really start until September, when the fog clears away and that brilliant warm sun blankets the Bay most days until Halloween. The Chorus School resumes on September 8, and as we re-enter the world of the day-to-day with rehearsals, schedules and work, I hope to make my summer magic last longer, by being more grateful for the simple elements of living, and for the extraordinary riches of my ordinary life.
