Granted, this has been a beastly hot humid sticky summer, and part of me is amazing I have made it to September alive. Last friday Myrna and I had a cocktail party (look for the recipes at five!), and I was contemplating how the last time I held a cocktail party it was April, and so hot and sticky that I didn't put out the cheese because I was afraid it would spoil. (And, really, what is the point of a party without cheese?) Fast forward FIVE WHOLE HOT STICKY DISGUSTING MONTHS: we have a cocktail party with the windows open and a breeze blowing. The cheese didn't have a chance to
survive spoil; it was eaten in a flash.
Still, I'm not ready to give up on summer, yet. I haven't been to any of the rooftops I've wanted to explore, nor have I played Bocce ball all evening long, or air dried my sheets in the sunshine. (Ok. That's not going to happen. The best I can do is hang my blouses in the sunny bathroom--as shown above.) I've sat in the gardens behind the Smithsonian only once.
I am therefore declaring this the real summer-time. I shall still wear sandals. I shall eat as much fruit and tomatoes as I can stand. I shall sit outside every night. I shall walk to the metro. I shall pretend that the last five months of weather misery didn't happen, and let this sunny, joyful weather create a second summertime in my heart.