In the Summer Time

Some time ago, I joined several internet writing groups. One of them has a daily contest that I have been meaning to enter for longer than I'm happy to admit. Today I actually wrote an entry for it. I also don't think it is good enough to submit. Ah, got to put it somewhere, so it's wound up here (and in my online journal too).

The topic of today's contest:

It's the middle of July. In the northern hemisphere, you should have had plenty of time at the beach, the pool, drinking iced drinks. How about a steamy report on the hot things going on in your underdressed life. If you're in the southern hemisphere, give us a freezy breezy report.

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My air conditioner is humming away in the background and there is a sheen of sweat on my forehead. The dog thinks ice cubes are just as good as her dog cookies. It's summer. My teas and coffees are iced more than hot these days, and with my waning hair I have been learning baseball caps are needed to prevent sunburn.

It's also home repair season. As often as not I'm in the hot sun working on my house. Some days taking pride in re-nailing together the stair railing that was falling apart, other days just slapping a new coat of paint on my window trim knowing it needs to be done and like everything in my life I'm the only one around to do it.

My one birthday present to myself is also for use in the hot sun, a chrome red lawn mower; my first self-propelled mower. I find it almost amusing now how much I was amazed the first time I squeeze the bar that activated the wheels and had to quicken my pace as the mower moved somewhat faster than I was walking behind it.

In the hot sun, I struggle with these outdoor tasks.

In the hot sun I also people watch. With the clothes becoming minimal the dirty old man in me ogles the shapes that women young and old show off at this time of the year. Wondering if, with my hair thinning and graying, I could still turn the head of an attractive woman. Chuckling as I know the woman who I have been with all these years probably suspects I have these thoughts. She is secure in knowing my eyes are about the only part of me that may occasionally stray from her.

In the warm nights, I watch my dog becoming more active than during the hot summer days. She runs by the street light over the dirt track she created in her yard enjoying the drop in temperature while sleeping and shedding her fur in the house during the day time.

In the summer time I dream of vacations to exotic places I've never been. Then come crashing back to reality as I think of how little I have in the bank and how much my monthly bills take from that pittance. The conflicting thoughts of how much I am needed here and my longing for the days I can actually travel with my charmed lady creeps into my head too.

In the summer time, I find it too nice outside to think of a good ending for essays.