loooong days

All winter, I dream about summer. Now it's here. Boy is it ever. Hardly a day not in the 90's.

The best part of summer is the long, long days. Even at 5pm this evening, the sun was high in the sky. I took Dylan on a bike ride (he was in the kiddie seat of my bike, not riding his own). This was after a full day of hanging out with relatives and then hanging out in the basement playing board games after they left. We rode through a random street party with a punk band and some bizarre kind of bubble maker. Toothless women were eating pasta salad (???) and smiled at us as we swung by. Anarchist kids that looked like West Philly imports in their cut off black denim vests and dirty dreads (and the sweat - sweat is so West Philly for some reason) waved to us with bubbly hands. This made me glad to be done with my 20's. But it made me miss going to shows.

We got to the river and sailed by the boats, the tourists, the clean brick of Center City. But in the back of my mind, I couldn't help hearing miss Joey Rose cry, and worried that she would be waking up from her late nap and that Larry might not hear her in the basement, where he was surely ensconced, watching a Sopranos episode.

We got home and Joey was still not up, which made the day seem to stretch even longer. I felt tropical, wished we had our hammock up, wished for a fruity drink and a swirly straw. Wished for time and space to stretch out, be accountable to no one. For the pleasure of doing nothing. But I made myself rally, cooked some fish and salsa, mopped the floor, vacuumed, unpacked more boxes.

As soon as the day seemed to finally wear itself out and I got Dylan down, who should wake up but miss Joey. And so the day kept going. Larry put in the medicine cabinet and took a jog (a jog? whose husband is this?) while Joey and I played. Finally, her little eyes turned red and she began to whimper towards sleep. It was 11 o'clock. I was ready to fall into bed, ready to get up and do it all over again tomorrow.