Summer is my season of sludge, my own wrestle in quicksand. It’s silly that summer ennui still surprises me. Childhood summers were very different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was a child who memorized the quality of every square of cement on our block through the wheels of roller skates. I could eat a whole 3-foot licorice rope while riding home on my bike after a day at the swimming pool with no regrets. I felt accomplished after reading several Nancy Drew mysteries in a day, curled up in my playhouse. I took time to taste nectar from honeysuckle blossoms in the evenings, and spent hours on the backyard swing. I danced on the front lawn. I recall the cool feel of mud pies, molded to satisfaction, and the buzzing of insects in a jar that I collected from the tall grass. I remember the slip of the slime on the river rocks beneath my feet as I waded beneath the bridge. I named my favorite trees in the neighborhood. I had a love for the shiny petals of buttercups and penny candy from the pharmacy. Strawberries grew outside my window, as did grape vines, and I know their scents and the feel of their leaves. I studied the faces in the rock of Y mountain so often that 40 years later, the memory of their features is clear. I sat in the park under ancient sycamores on Sunday evenings to hear a band play.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I think of these times with some longing, especially during the lonely week of scout camp while everyone is away. My “lonely week” is almost over, and my summer memories have kept me company.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Summer is my season of sludge, my own wrestle in quicksand. It’s silly that summer ennui still surprises me. Childhood summers were very different. I was a child who memorized the quality of every square of cement on our block through the wheels of roller skates. I could eat a whole 3-foot licorice rope while … Continue reading Angie in July<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-16987","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-life-according-to-angela"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16987","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=16987"}],"version-history":[{"count":18,"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16987\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17005,"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16987\/revisions\/17005"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=16987"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=16987"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.angelaross.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=16987"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}