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Am I the only one to wonder how it can be August?

In between the grieving and many trips to my sister’s house and writing near cornfields and closer to home, I look up to find it’s August.

All the signs are here.  Back-to-school sales gearing up.  My Japanese Maple sporting sun-burnt finger tips.  Grassy weeds having a field day in my garden and me, Jimmy-crack-corn not caring whether they go to seed.

Summer use to last longer.   Summertime once kept the same schedule as the local municipal pool:  Opened Memorial Day.  Closed Labor Day.  In between hot punctuation points breathed three months of slower living; ninety-something summer nights to stay up late knowing one could sleep to noon the next day if they wished.

Somehow that’s all changed.  Now summer break last two months.  My grands are getting shortchanged and haven’t a clue.  Teachers too —  though I imagine summer days of spent yester-youth are recalled by some.

Fresh squeezed lemonade once kept August days bearable until summer itself was all squeezed out.  Now we squeeze out summer with air conditioners that allow us to bear down on business-as-usual in August.  My daughter reports back to school this week to prepare her room for a new crop of not-ready-for-prime-time kindergarteners.

But it’s me not ready for prime-time — me pressing on the brakes to slow down summer.  Me saying, “Not so fast Mr. August  — let me lap up a dish of summer once more before we crack open the books of everyday business.”

Today Kara and I are going to squeeze one more day out of summer break.  We’re going to lunch, then go splurge on a pair of summer sale sandals.  And like all the best of lost summertime days, one good explore will surely lead to another.  And we’ll get good and hot and inevitably end up with something cool to drink — maybe lemonade from Chick-Fil-A — before coming to our senses and seeking shelter in our separate air-conditioned corners of Oklahoma City.

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