Slow down

Slow down, August. Pump the brakes. Throw it in neutral, will ya?  I’m not done with you yet. 

I’m not ready to drop the “F” word. I’m not ready for socks and thick, overstretched sweaters. And no, I do not want a pumpkin spice flavoured anything. Stop rushing my summer away. 

Stop it, right now. Ask me in four weeks. Five weeks, actually. Then, I’ll be all about the Blundstones, the work socks, the frumpy sweaters and the pumpkin muffins and scones (I know the best place in town to get those, because you know I’m not making them, right?).

Heck, I’ll even look forward to soup as a full-blown meal.

But not yet, August. Not now. I want at least three more weeks of complaining about the corn on the cob stuck in my teeth. It’s less about the corn and more about the butter for me. What? Butter is my favourite condiment; butter is my ketchup. Dental floss is my saving grace. Totally worth it.

I feel like you snuck up on me, August. I was just getting into the groove of July and then you swooped in and did that thing you do where the morning sun feels more urgent, like it knows I have to get going to pack everything into my shorter day.

The sky may still be blue, but it’s a different shade and you know it, and you know I know it. It’s like you’re gaslighting me. The nights are getting cooler too. Sure, it’s great for sleeping and all, but it means change is coming. August, you know how I feel about change. Ugh. Just slow down.

You should know the panic you’re causing at my house. Every night, without fail, I repeat the same ridiculously obvious facts: “The sun is setting earlier now and I don’t approve,” and “it’s dark now at 9pm. I’m against that.” 

The Carpenter really appreciates these updates. Of course, he loves August. His birthday. Start of pre-season football. Cooler weather makes outdoor work better. He’s a Leo. It’s all about him, if you know what I mean. Freak.

After all the rain on Sunday and then the cool wind that blew the rain clouds away, I had to wear layers to stay warm. Layers. At least two. I don’t even know how to feel about this. Shouldn’t there be rules around this?

I  walked out to the backyard to see what the Carpenter was destroying with his power tools (you read that right; he’s in destruction mode again) and actually felt the shiver of the wind.

Long shadows from the trees now covered the same spot that just a week ago would have had full-on warm sun at this same time of day. I heard myself say it aloud, “I’m cold.”  

“Isn’t it great?” the Carpenter replied, all smiles in his well-worn, well-loved Riverfest hoodie. 

Then it hit me: that’s why August feels like something’s amiss. Our first summer without Riverfest Elora. A tradition that was about so much more than live music for our family. So much more. Grateful for all those memories. Sigh.

Promise me, August that you’ll melt slowly into September so I can enjoy my only week of vacation lakeside, with a good book and enough time to accept that change coming again. But just not yet. 

Give me a little pause before we gear up again. Deal?