Wednesday, August 24, 2011

That Was Fast

We returned from our yearly trip to the Outer Banks late Saturday night. Before Anthony had  vacuumed the sand out of the Swagger Wagon, I was in my office trying to move my life from the paper calendar a realtor mailed me in January into Google Calendar. I considered this migration out of the Stone Age for several intelligent, organizationally sound reasons, but the tipping point in my decision-making process was a friend's Facebook post about the color coding. Surely, this is the answer to all my organizational woes!

And if not, well...it looks pretty.

In a matter of minutes, the pristine, white squares transform into the brilliant, multicolored patchwork of a thoroughly scrambled Rubik's Cube. As I plug in our weekly fall commitments--11 dance classes, 2 piano lessons, 1 French class, 2 youth group meetings, 1 Classical Conversations session, and library day--I am more excited than overwhelmed (for now). I add in the "grading" days for my TA job, deadlines for TV reviews, and the "crop" days for my new scrapbooking gig. Then a few extra activities for August and September: The once-a-year dinner date with my girlfriends, a writing workshop with Bronte and Chloe, a youth conference with my husband.

I glance over at my camera, perched expectantly on the corner of my desk, waiting for me to unburden it of its hundreds of beach pictures. The trip is fast becoming a distant memory. I need to get to those pictures, pick a few out to throw up on Facebook, pick a bunch out to put into our non-virtual family album. But, before I can get to that, I need to schedule the girls' fall portraits.

The phone rings. It's my mother.  I answer as I plug in a doctor's appointment and refesh the now kaleidoscopic calendar, just the tiniest smidgen worried I might have overdone things, but not quite willing to see the brightly colored bars and squares as warning signs.

Is it just me, or do the tiny colored squares spell out "TILT?"

"What are you doing?" Mom asks.

I stare at the calendar and answer with a sigh:  "I'm writing summer's obituary."

It's true we have a few days left to enjoy the pool, but I'm not sure we will.  Already the girls have started asking if they can start their schoolwork next week instead of Labor Day week (wait, what?) and if their cousins are coming up from Atlanta for Thanksgiving. I swear I even  saw a few yellow leaves swirl past the bay window of my office this morning.

Farewell, summer. We hardly knew ye.


Oh, sacrament of summer days,
Oh, last communion in the haze,
Permit a child to join,

Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine! 

--From Emily Dickinson's "Indian Summer" 

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