Back then, no matter what else had been happening, summer always at least approached wonderful. Why had it been divine? Warm weather, so staying warm enough was easy as a cool fruity drink on the lanai. Long days. Summer school, summer programming. Fun food that included picnics and barbecues. Beaches, of course! Like peaches and nectarines, summer itself had a sense of ripeness and fulfillment, an aura of "I've made it! I've arrived!" Summer was driving up the North Shore of Boston. A trip up California's Central Coast.
Early in this century that ended. Not being able to wait for fall was a cataclysmic shift. Summer quit being wonderful when I started counting unproductive weeks and months and years. When my attempts to participate no longer worked. What now?