Putting Away the Boxing Gloves
Hubby with geese at Lake James
When summer arrives in theses mountains, so do the tourists and seasonal residents. It’s always wonderful to see people I haven’t seen in six months or so, and, somehow, those six months that they spend here fly by at warp speed. A friend once said that when July 4th was over, the summer nearly was, too, and I have found that to be true.
This summer has been even busier than usual. My cousins are here for their summer stay, but now my sister and newly retired brother-in-law are here for the better part of the summer, as well. It’s been wonderful seeing my loved ones more frequently, and, as we make new memories, I can’t help but think of all of the summers gone by, and the many wonderful memories that we made during my family’s annual two-week summer vacations in North Carolina as I was growing up. It’s like the beautiful lyrics say in Elvis Presley’s song, “Memories”;
“Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind.
Memories, sweetened through the ages just like wine.”
And they are, indeed, sweetened through time.
All of us went out on our pontoon boat last week, and as we rode around, admiring the beauty of Lake James, we got pretty toasty and decided to jump in the lake. While we were in the water, a gaggle of geese swam up to us, seemingly unafraid and obviously looking for a bread handout, which they probably get on a regular basis from the residents living in the cove we were swimming in. It was a special moment, although it may seem small to some people’s way of thinking, but to me, it was one of those little snap-shot memories that weave the fabric that binds people together in a way that makes you say every now and then, “Do you remember when…?” and only you and a select few can tap into that particular moment in time and smile or laugh or even cry recalling it. Those shared memories mean everything.
It doesn’t seem like it was over fifty years ago that I was sitting on a boulder on top of Grandfather Mountain, with my cousins and sister, having our picture taken by my father who was wearing maroon polyester pants and aiming an Instamatic camera at us. Fast forward over five decades later to our weekend boat ride, and, as we cruised along the shoreline, I looked across at one of the cousins who sat on that boulder with me so very long ago and marveled at the fact that he is now a great-grandfather who takes his own multi-generational children to Grandfather Mountain, to that same boulder to have their imagine captured for posterity sake.
It seems like only yesterday that my sister and I were building a fort with the neighborhood kids on the empty lot at the end of our street, or flopping down in front of the TV to watch the The Munsters, yet, my husband and I are heading to a restaurant in Asheville later this morning to help celebrate my sister’s 67th birthday. Somehow, the years have slipped by unnoticed, like thieves in the night, leaving us standing there dumbfounded and shaking our heads as we look at much older versions of ourselves and each other while trying to figure out exactly where those years could have gone.
Usually, I beat myself up pretty well when I haven’t been writing. However, I’ve decided to put the boxing gloves and guilt away this summer, and just allow myself the time to enjoy being with family and friends as we laugh over a gaggle of geese or enjoy eating carrot cake on someone’s birthday. Instead of spending countless hours staring at a computer screen while trying to come up with the right words to describe some situation or character or event, I have decided to take advantage of those fleeting moments to truly enjoy a summer filled with real life situations, characters and events. And with each new precious memory made, I will tuck it away in my heart, only to pull it out and dust if off, like a favorite old 45 record, to be lovingly replayed over and over again in my mind’s eye in the years to come.
My sister at the helm.