what is the american summer?

Elizabeth, whose blog you can check out over at The Occidental Idiot, gave me a challenge a couple of days ago to write an entry answering the question “What is the American summer?”

In purely technical terms, the American summer is the summer season of the Northern hemisphere, which officially starts June 21^st this year, and ends September 22^nd.  But I assume that I’m supposed to give my own, subjective view of what makes an American summer special.  Or something like that.  So I offer that at its most basic level, ‘summer’ is no school, swimming outdoors, outdoor grilling and picnics, big movies, and…extra time spent with friends and family.  Let’s take it point by point, and make it American.

Summer is the 4^th of July, with parades, festivals and fireworks.  I grew up in a town that prohibited fireworks, but in exchange for citizens honoring that, the city put on a huge, 45 minute long fireworks show either at one of the high schools or at a park.  So whoever is in town for the 4^th drives over to the site as the sky darkens, parks the car, and either sits on the hood/roof or sets up a picnic blanket on a patch of grass.  Then you just lie back and wait for the show to start.  It’s never guaranteed to be sunny in early July in the Pacific Northwest, though, so I have many memories of running for cover or not going out at all too. 

Summer is when school lets out.  When instead of a classroom, you head to the pool or to camp or to a vacation Bible school.  When the family takes trips, either to visit family or on educational adventures.  When camping happens during the week, instead of only on weekends.  When bug bites and nettle stings and scratches from blackberry thorns are the price of warm, magical evenings spent running through meadows, supping on clover honey and salmonberry delights.  Summer is unlimited reading time, when it’s okay to check out as many titles as they let you from the public libraries, lie in a cool spot somewhere and enter new and fantastic worlds through books.

Summer is the local outdoor pool open every day of the week, and taking a picnic basket down so that you don’t have to go home between swim practice, tennis practice, playing pickle ball, and free swim.  It’s road-tripping to the seaside with friends and inadvertently getting sunburned and almost-ticketed for having an illegal beverage on a public beach.   It’s scouting for seashells at low tide and making movies or taking silly pictures about life’s simple adventures.  And sometimes it’s about having a miserable time that becomes an indelible memory and a story that will last a lifetime.

Summer is a cookout on a friend’s porch.  It’s eating too many hotdogs and burgers to count, and helping my mother make potato salad that I hate to eat.  It’s fixing iced tea in gargantuan containers so that my family doesn’t drain it all in one sitting.  It’s going to a baseball game and eating cotton candy and cheering for the home team.  It’s caramel apples, French fry bricks, elephant ears and other carnival food.  It’s listening to country music in the car with the windows down, drinking Coke and grinning from ear to ear.

Summer is going to the theater to see big-budget movies and action films.  Anticipating each and every Friday night for new releases, scrambling to buy tickets online lest the showing prove to be sold out.  It’s coming out of a show energized, giddy, excited and entranced by the magic of movie-making.  It’s make believe.  It’s leaving a dark theater with friends on a warm night, and looking up into the stars in the summer sky.

But best of all, summer is sitting out on the porch on a warm evening, talking to loved ones, having a conversation that in the winter months would require the intimacy of a car.  Somehow the night feels familiar, closed-in and yet infinite, with possibilities zipping around and knocking into each other like lightening bugs.  It’s catching fleeting glimpses of bats flying by on their insect-eating mission.  And when it’s at it’s best, summer is hearing the gentle lap of waves on the lakeshore while the moon reflects the depths, and sitting out on the dock, contemplating the enormity of the universe in night sky.

zee avi

My new favorite musician is a talented singer-songwriter from Malaysia named Zee Avi. I fell in love with her just before Christmas, when her song “No Christmas for Me” was put on the compilation album This Warm December: A Brushfire Holiday Vol. 1, put out by Jack Johnson’s label. I looked her up online (she had an empty webpage back then), and found her on YouTube and MySpace, where she had several videos of her songs posted…all featuring just her smooth, jazzy, mellow voice and backing guitar. Her self-titled album debuted on May 19^th, and I bought it on release day. I have not been disappointed. Everyone I’ve introduced her music to loves Zee, and I wanted to share that on in blog form. So here are two links: the first is video of her performing three of her songs in a studio, and the second is a SPINearth report. Enjoy!

UPDATES: CNN has posted an article on Zee. She's huge! And a thoughtful and thorough album review.

the problem with airports

I was reconsidering my blog sub-title yesterday, thinking that I hadn’t posted about an un-lucky event in quite a while.  This will end that streak, for sure.  Not that I want to keep experiencing the quirks and failures of life, per se, but they are often amusing to write and read about. Example: spilling something on yourself is much more interesting (and funny, if not fun) than eating a meal faultlessly.  Slapstick humor wins every time.  And works in all languages.  But I digress.

I may have mentioned previously that I don’t have a car.  I do have a scooter (broken, and it’s been sitting on campus for about 6 months now…), and I’m a member of a car-sharing program.  My day-to-day transport consists of a mix of my own two feet and Atlanta’s MARTA public transit system.  So it’s been strange and wonderful to have Lincoln and his car visiting for the last while.  I was able to offer friends rides to the airport as opposed to begging for one.  Refreshing!

I took one friend to the airport on Monday without mishap, and was asked if I could drive a second friend (let’s call her Canadia for the purposes of this story) to the airport this morning.  I was duly warned by friend #1 that Canadia had problems with airports.  Or not with airports exactly, but with arriving at them in a punctual manner.  So knowing this, friend #1 advised me to get to Canadia’s apartment early, and make sure that packing and getting ready were going smoothly.  Canadia and I agreed that I’d pick her up at 10:15am (for a 12:05pm flight), and so accordingly I arrived at her apartment and 9:40am this morning.  Called her cell phone.  She didn’t pick up.  I tried again 5 minutes later.  Still no answer (I started wondering if something was wrong).  I left a message.  Waited 10 minutes, thinking that maybe she was in the shower and/or not expecting me quite that early.  Still no Canadia.  I sent a text.  10am rolled around.  I started texting and calling Canadia’s friends to try and find out her unit number, thinking that perhaps her phone had died, the alarm clock didn’t go off, and she was still in bed?!  (And thus banging on her door would be helpful and not nervous/crazy).  I was imagining going to all of the doors in her building at this point, and asking if they knew where she lived…and meanwhile I kept calling every 3 or 4 minutes. 

The first few texts back from her friends weren’t helpful.  Cue full-blown panic.  I got out of my car and alternately paced and called Canadia’s cell.  10:15am passed.  10:20.  10:23…my heart stopped.  The phone RANG!  It was Canadia, and she sounded groggy.  Ah ha!  I thought to myself, She’s woken up and we can still make the flight.  Here’s a lesson, kids: don’t EVER count your chickens before they hatch, even for half a second.  Canadia’s end of the conversation was as follows: “Cecelia, I’m SO sorry!  Where are you?  S*%&.  I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.  I’m leaving now.  I’m so sorry!  I’m going to cry, Cecelia! (end call)”  What the eff, I thought to myself, is happening?  10:44am, a cab pulled up outside Canadia’s apartment and disgorged the passenger in question.  She was apologetic, frantic, and somewhat incoherent (ya think?).  I took things in hand.  She had boxes that needed to be transferred to a friend's for safekeeping, bags to finish packing, and a sub-let to finalize.  I’ll have you know that I had her packed up, changed and into my car by 11:01am.  We raced to the airport, more apologies and explanations were given along the way (I’m not going to tell THAT story…but suffice it to say that there might have been consumption of a fermented liquid depressant involved, with a dash of dropped phone for good measure?), and I promised that I’d stay in the area in case she didn’t make her flight and needed a ride back in to Atlanta.

Well, not to spoil the ending or anything, but she didn’t make her originally scheduled flight.  She may or may not have gotten on as a stand-by passenger on the flight a couple of hours later.  And I’m still waiting for confirmation that Canadia arrived at her final destination.  But my part in the story is over.  I’m not gonna lie, while it was happening it was equal parts annoying and silly.  But everyone messes up, right?  I certainly have.  Nice to know other people are human.  And the annoying bit just fizzles into humor as soon as the apologies are offered and accepted, so it’s really just a good story for posterity.  Or blackmail.  Hee!

touristing

Lincoln’s visit is giving me the excuse and opportunity to play the tourist here in Atlanta.  Over the last couple of days, we’ve visited the World of Coca-Cola, The Varsity, Emory’s campus, and the Decatur Arts Festival, as well as checking out several restaurants (Savage Pizza, La Fonda, The Porter...yum!) and going to the movies.

Above is a photo from the lobby of the World of Coke, where we tasted 60+ varieties of Coca-Cola and other Coke products from all over the world.  I definitely enjoyed the ginger sodas from Africa.  Stoney Tangawizi rocks!  We also shot film both today and on Sunday at the Arts festival to make a short movie, and the results of that will be posted eventually.  Come back and check it out!