Hello. I am out on the patio making smooth movements. It’s almost 9 at night. It’s August the sixth. Earlier today, I was in this spot, waiting for my neighbour to finish cutting his lawn for silence, only to be filled by the flow of filtrated water in my heated, lightly chlorinated pool. I’ve been slowly reading a guide as to how to simplify one’s life throughout this summer. I’ve learned from this to enjoy and to bathe in the silence whenever, and wherever, essentially, possible. The guide also recommends having a family meal in silence, something I haven’t come to yet. The adults eat at different times than the kids, and my brother’s in Wasaga right now. Yes, I’m on the patio, slowly reading Janet Fitch’s White Oleander, being reminded by myself constantly that this is only the second book you’ve read this summer. But this is okay, because the wind is windy and the sky is indigo tonight. My puppy dog is lying next to the cushioned chair that I am in on the hose that was filling the pool to its recommended water level an hour or so ago, I believe. My goal was to calm him down, to get him to stop running, predictably, to and from the back door. Goal met.
“That’s full enough,” my father said, while walking to turn the hose off in his old, puffy running shoes and old, ripped blue jeans, faded over summers. “Are you guarding the hose there, Darc’?”
A few minutes ago I felt compelled to turn on my lap top to bring him outside to type on, so I did, and here I am. I wanted to type about the sounds I have been hearing. The three predominant sounds I hear frequently, all animals. My dog, the neighbour’s angry dog with angry owners, and my backdoor neighbour’s cat, Minxie. This may be a typo. Check back on: never. Minxie was meowing every 3 seconds, for 2 second intervals. I’m not kidding. This is approximately 12 yawning sessions per minute, each at 2 seconds, with a conclusion of 24 seconds of yawning per minute. This is about 1440 seconds of yawning per hour, and I don’t even care how many seconds per day this cat of ours yawns. Take a nap.
Out of nowhere, although somewhere, I decided I’d like to take one last (presumably) trip up to the Byrne’s cottage in Sauble Beach before I go away to school. Sarah and Kiera. I hardly speak to either of them anymore. My parents have tried contacting theirs, but contact was never made. I decided I’m going to try to go up one weekend this summer with either Sarah, or Kiera, or both, to reflect, and to remember, and to get a sense of closure. This is something I’ve been feeling a great deal of this summer, Closure. For example, yesterday I went to Mr. Greek for lunch with Jenny, an ex coworker of mine, my friend’s sister, also my friend. I worked there from the end of November of 2007 until the beginning of September of 2008. This is 9 months of my life dedicated to this occupation. Some say it’s like carrying a child. For me, despite the “late” nights (9:00pm tops) that used to prevent me from going out some nights, the smell of the vinegar that helped shine plates and cutlery, the sense of being constantly watched by the ultimate Greek, the weight gained due to pita bread and tzatziki in excess, the Greek is a place I’ll forever remember, and I’m glad I went to visit. A sort of good bye, a fogged up see you later.
There have been other placed I’ve been to, people I’ve seen, smells I’ve smelled, things I’ve done that I can call closure, but I’d feel guilty typing these experiences into words. With this, I plan to allow them to “run through me like rain” as opposed to typing them out to look back on one day.
I’m really happy with the way this summer has been turning out. Although I’m not making enough money for tuition, working out as much as I’d like, reading enough books that I can, or experimenting with dives (yet), I’m learning to appreciate a hell of a lot more than I used to. I’m sitting alone, here, as though I’ve taken a step out of life. I know that I need to listen to my parents, care for my brother, talk with my friends even when I’m too full (some of you will get this!), but here, solo, a unit, is a place that I can teach myself the things I know I need to do, and want to do. I want to, but when placed in these situations, it’s hard, and I sometimes forget to follow through. You may know how I feel. It’s sort of like learning to think before you speak, or riding a bike without training wheels.