Category Archives: summer

Thank Goodness I Never Said I Was Perfect

In case you missed it, I’m not known for my technological prowess. But I have figured out to how schedule my blog posts, which comes in handy since I’m wi-fi-less for the summer. I write just about every day, and then every few days I hit the library for some lovely wi-fi access and to schedule upcoming posts.

Except sometimes I goof.

This week, for example, I scheduled Simple Rules for Summer Visitors to post on Tuesday. It did. For yesterday, I scheduled You Are My Sunshine. But, well, it turns out that I accidentally scheduled it to post on Tuesday also. So not many people got a chance to see Simple Rules for Summer Visitors before it got sent to 2nd page down blog neverland. Oops.

I’m trying, friends. I’m trying.

The biggest tech problem I’m having right now is that if you subscribe to my blog through Google Reader, Blogger is sending the wrong feed. Now, how on earth I fix that, I don’t know. I need someone to help me, I’m just not sure who. I’m working on it. If you have any recommendations, please pass them along.

But for now, I’m off to the beach with my boys. I have absolutely no problems with that.

Simple Rules for Summer Visitors

During the summer at the lake, we have lots and lots of visitors.  We’re lucky and we have fun friends with excellent manners.  But apparently, everyone isn’t so lucky.  In talking to some other friends with lake houses, I’ve discovered just how fortunate we are.  I was shocked to find out how, umm, impolite some of their guests are.  So here, courtesy of my thoughtful friends and houseguests, are some Simple Rules for Summer Visitors:

  1. Mi casa es su casa.  This old saying, which, if somehow you don’t know, means My house is your house, is more than an offer of hospitality.  It’s an offer to fully participate.  My friend Sharee’ is great at this:  she jumps right in and helps, without ever having to be asked.  She helps make meals, she helps with kids, she helps pour drinks…whatever we’re doing, she chips right in.  I love her for it.  Take a tip from Sharee’ and stop waiting to be waited on.  Get your own darn drink.  And pour one for me, too, please.  I’m thirsty.
  2. Bring something.  Think about the time of day/days you’ll be visiting.  My other friend, Janet, wouldn’t dream of showing up without something in hand.  Usually, a lovely bottle of wine, but often something else, too.  When I have a bunch of friends over for dinner, for example, they all bring something.  It’s summer.  I don’t work here.  Thank goodness they know that!  If your friends don’t, give them this lesson from Janet:  don’t show up empty handed.
  3. Clean up after yourself.  Surely, your mother taught you this lesson when you were barely entering kindergarten.  But perhaps you’ve forgotten.  Or perhaps you’re lazy.  Whatever the case, strive to be more like my friend Sheri, who has the kitchen cleaned up before I can clear all the plates.  It’s so easy to have her visit because she isn’t sitting in the living room with her gin & tonic while I’m rinsing dishes and stuffing them into the dishwasher.  She’s standing right next to me in the kitchen, both filling that dishwasher as fast as we can, while we enjoy our G&Ts with our other hand.
  4. Beach fare.  If you’ll be visiting and heading to the beach with kids, it’s always nice to bring snacks and drinks to share.  Or, at the very least, bring a few treats for your own kids.  Either way works.  But if you bring nothing, everyone else is sharing their snacks with your kids, who are standing there looking sad and hungry when the popcorn and Pringles come out, but who have nothing to offer in return.  It’s sort of pathetic. 
  5. Take some time.  If you are a multi-day and multi-night visitor, please feel free to enjoy some time on your own.  Most hostesses, although I will admit, not all, love it when week-long guests go off to explore on their own for awhile.  My aunt and uncle were here for a long weekend, and they thought nothing of walking into town for breakfast on their own or taking a drive through the country.  Although I wasn’t hoping they’d leave, it did give me the chance to get a few things done while they were gone.  I’m sure they enjoyed a little time on their own, and I appreciated having a little space, too.  Our friends the Joneses are also good at this.  When they came to visit for a week, they took two different day trips to nearby sights.  Perfect.  They get to see some of what they want.  We get to keep some sort of routine.  All of us enjoy drinks together in the evening, and still enjoy several days in one another’s company.  Now that’s what I call a lovely visit. 

Strawberry Fields Forever (or U-Pick Strawberries with Kids)

“Mom, that was so much fun,” wasn’t the reaction I expected. I expected something more along the lines of “It was so hot,” or “That made my back hurt,” or “Why can’t we just buy our strawberries at the grocery store like everyone else?” But, “That was so much fun!” wasn’t on my list of expected responses.

My memories of picking strawberries as a child are fond memories, but only because it was something my mom and brother and I did together. I’d be absolutely lying if I said it was fun. Hot? Yes. It was sweat dripping through my hair, sunshine burning my shoulders, hot. (It was the South, remember?) Back-breaking? Yes. Picking those berries in the Carolina sun seemed to take hours. For the record, we picked 8 quarts in 40 minutes today, so how long could it have been, really?

Nonetheless, I recall that from many years ago day fondly. (Did we go more than once? I couldn’t say for sure.) I remember that my little brother ate more than he picked and that he was covered with dirt and strawberry juice. I remember my mom, patient with us that day, encouraging us to choose the ripe ones. I remember how much better they tasted, because we picked them ourselves—my first inkling of the rewards of hard labor.

And so it happened that I decided my boys should try it, too. No matter that it might not be fun, or that today was our hottest day of the summer, or that only two of my three boys really like the sweet taste of strawberries. We would go. Picking berries would be part of their family tapestry, too.

It was a pleasant surprise that they were industrious. That they got right down and started picking with enthusiasm. That not one complained of the heat. I expected a few quarts and too many complaints to continue. Instead, they each asked if they could fill another basket. At $1.50 a quart, who am I to say no? Fill ‘em up boys. We’ll be gorging for days.

And we’ll be back again next year.