Solo Living, Travel, Mom Blogs!

Written by: Lea Lane 8/6/2008 10:21:34 AM

August, even with the Olympics and the presidential ballyhoo, is giving me problems. If I may kvetch just a bit, here’s a short list of my least favorite late-summer things:

Wearing a bathing suit. My timing is off. When I was young and sleek the style was a modest one-piece suit that hid a multitude of sins. No thongs, no legs up to there. Bikinis came of age as I did, and they started out polka-dotted and barely provocative (see Annette Funicello, Beach Blanket Bingo). Now you need five times a week at the gym, implants, lipo, youth and good genes. And even then, there’s cellulite.

Grooming. Parts of my body that never see the light of day three-quarters of the year are suddenly exposed in all their humble, flawed states. The time, focus and cost needed to keep things exfoliated, trimmed, non-chipped, waxed, moisturized, and sun-screened are daunting. I never seem to catch up, and long for the time I can hide once again in a natural state.

Heat, Haze, Humidity. I don’t mind a bit of glistening, but not at 3am. On the east coast, in this global warming era, August starts out like a steam bath and ends like … a steam bath. Definitely not “dry heat.” More like a constant low-grade fever. I’m a natural redhead, so I burn and freckle. My favorite color is black and my favorite style is cover up, and I like wearing sweaters and jeans, not sundresses.

Hurricanes/Thunderstorms. I grew up in Miami Beach and many of my August birthdays were spent in hurricane candlelight with the power out. I live up north in the summer, but still worry about Bob or Lester barreling up the coast. And as for thunderstorms, they’re fine when I’m cozy in bed –especially if someone is holding me. But they scare me when I’m walking in a preserve, or flying. Lightning once came through my window in Florida and sizzled on the carpet by my bed. It also once hit my car, and I just kept driving with my hair looking like Clay Aiken’s.

Reruns. If I see one more glimpse of Heidi Klum or Kathy Griffin or Bobby Flay or House Hunters, I may throw my remote into the recyclables. Cheap, cheesy outdoorsy Wipe Out type contests are appalling, and lousy sitcoms were bad enough the first time around. I sorely miss Bill Maher, who takes unusually long vacations probably doing naughty things. My two August TV havens have been the second season of Mad Men, set in an era I can remember. And So You Think You Can Dance, a competition of incredibly talented young dancers and choreographers, and judges with heart. But it’s ended.

Gardening. I do not appreciate having to water flowers, let alone feeding or pruning them. Things slow down in August and I forget easily, as flowers don’t meow as my cat does when she isn’t fed, and I can’t be blamed if I don’t remember until the leaves brown and the flowers dry up. It’s a downer.

Lousy Movies. Why does every summer movie seem to include robots destroying cities or slackers with flatulence? I like small movies with dialogue that includes three-syllable words. August doesn’t know from that.

BBQs. Raw, charred meat, incinerated S’mores. S’over. And clean up is rough. I prefer a warm oven, the smell of cookies baking and chicken roasting.

Insects. When I was a kid in Florida I once sat down and squashed a palmetto bug, which is a roach on steroids. It sounded like an explosion of plastic wrap. I also once put on a shoe and a scary-looking scorpion with a raised pincer was in the toe. I also do not like flies, mosquitoes, gnats and wasps. I hate killing them but what’s the choice when they attack?

Yet, despite my complaints, when I hear those familiar evening insect chirps I’m reminded that days are shortening, and I feel the same expectation and anxiety I used to have when I knew vacation was over and school was starting, and the real world, with all its gravity, was returning.

For me, August is more melancholy than October. Fading too soon, I realize: farm stands displaying fragrant peaches and fresh corn, concerts under the stars, top-down drives, warm bay breezes, twilight walks for Italian ices, the cool shade of deep green leaves.

The Olympics games, a miniature world of hopes and talents, will capture us and then be over, with the loss of a bonded world moment. Political hoopla will morph into meaner, harder news. Reality bites. And I guess what I like least, now that I think about it, is that despite the sometimes annoying languor, frivolity and openness of August, I start missing summer before it’s gone.

Lea Lane is founder/editor of sololady.com

Return to Top

Please credit sololady.com when sending out info from this site.


HOME PAGE ABOUT US BLOGS MESSAGES E-MAIL OTHERS ABOUT OUR SITE

Solo Lady Blog Topics

August Things I Can Do Without

Return to Top

HOME | PRIVACY POLICY | ABOUT US | CONTACT US ©2008 www.sololady.com

HOME | PRIVACY POLICY | ABOUT US | CONTACT US

©2008 www.sololady.com