Most years I dread August. Beastly-bored children languish and lash out at me, at each other. No one willingly packs for the beach because they’ve just been to the beach. We lock ourselves in with the air conditioner blasting, with dark curtains over the windows in our third-floor southern-exposure condo. And even with the air conditioner on, we feel as though we are roasting. We avoid any chores that increase indoor heat, so the laundry waits. We avoid cooking. We melt. That is August for us, most Augusts.
But now I am writing in the middle of a three-day cool rain, a steady downpour again this morning, a rain we need. I traveled to the Glen Workshops for the first week of summer in Santa Fe. My excuse was to see the graduation of the last of my writing classmates, but I went to find respite, to be with friends. When I returned, my family was house-sitting in a spacious, gorgeous home with a pool. Dear friends visited. Then I attended a three-day yoga retreat in the Berkshires, which helped with my achey back. We are now home again and it feels like I’ve vacationed for the entire month of August.
I can’t recommend rest enough. I can’t remember the last time I felt so deeply rested. This is the nicest August I can remember since my college summers in Colorado.
Now I’m off for my first day of teaching, in this fall semester. It’s work I enjoy. I wish you good fall beginnings, too.