summer, storm

Somehow, we’re nearing the middle of August. Is it true anymore that anyone thinks of summer as days meant for lazing, reading books, naps, cloud-gazing? It that a thing of the past? (Or, was it a construct in the first place?) In any case, I have had little in the way of lazy days this summer.

I did spend my fair share of entire days with my nose in a book or naming the shapes that form as the clouds move across the sky, but those were days in my youth. Before I had to work, or pay a mortgage, or make meals for people, or replace broken appliances, or fret about maintaining old houses. Now we read about the health benefits of doing nothing (but rarely do we do just that); then, you got called a dreamer or a book-nerd. No wonder we’re confused and busy ourselves with gadgets and devices (and yes, I realize that statement makes me sound old—I am old).

A cousin and his family, kids and grandkids, love it here on Lake Michigan as much as I do and so they rented a large house just down the beach and spent two weeks doing the things they like to do, away from their normal lives in Pittsburgh. A friend and her family rented the house nextdoor for the past week, navigating life with two college girls and allowing me to be part of the fray in the evenings, where I weighed in on college and relationships and offered life experience where I could, and when asked.

A storm came across the lake last night, taking its time, just after the sunset. The lightning appeared first just lighting up the clouds, and then as the storm got closer the bolts sent short, electric ribbons from cloud to cloud. No big bolts, nothing shooting across the sky or down to lake or land, no loud thunder claps—just a near constant flashing, with ribbony shoots of light between the clouds, and a low growl that was easily drown out by the sound of the lake. It took its time coming across and then over our houses, before it dumped a hard but short rain at the back end, moving south and inland. Frightening, and magical. This morning I spent a few minutes capturing stills of the lightning from the video I took last night.

This morning the lake is storm-wild. The seagulls are alternately fishing and soaring on the wind gusts. A family of eagles is gliding among the gulls, too. Giant white and gray clouds dot the sky. This is a town day, or at least a day where you have a sweatshirt handy to walk the beach, if you venture down.

My cousin and my neighbor are both going through the rituals of packing up this morning, their vacations over. I am the recipient, so far, of a small basil plant (will use it in the lasagna I’m making later today), some heavy whipping cream, a handful of potatoes and onions from a home garden. I know the pain of leaving, but I’m lucky enough to not have to do it very often. I really do know how lucky I am, and I’m going to try to do a little nothing today, watch the gulls soar and just listen to the shouty lake. Or disappear into a book, find jackrabbits chasing dinosaurs in the clouds, ignore all the grown-up things at least for a bit.