Leave it to a Minnesota Transplant to savor even the prickly bits of summer. It’s a precious resource, this season, so one has to relish in every part.
Like swatting a mosquito. I did that for the first time Thursday morning when I was yoga-ing on the patio in the thick morning air. Missed him. And didn’t get a picture. (From my 108 Precious Days of Summer list, July 9: Slap a mosquito.)
Summer is the season for insects, though. You won’t find anything but spiders in the dark corners of unused rooms in wintertime, but in summer, whoo-boy, the bugs are in paradise, and so are entomologists. Me? I’m not much of an insect lover. I’d prefer they leave me alone. The flyswatter and I get real familiar in summertime. But I spent a few moments while in a down-dog pose on the patio watching the ants work. We’ve got big black ones (like I pictured above) and little brown ones doing their ant thing out there. We get along fine as long as they steer clear of me in corpse pose.
This is what one who favors summer but has lived through long winters must do: find joy in even the less appealing parts. Like rain. Sure, gardeners love rain. But vain 50-somethings with limp hair like it less. Rainstorms have been passing by on the regular lately (which is why the mosquitoes have finally made an appearance).
After my Beloved retired the other night, I skulked around the dark house with a flashlight checking on the operation of the new gutter system and listening to the rain on the roof of the garage (we have so much insulation in our roof of our house, you can hardly hear the rain drops, but out in the garage, it’s pandemonium). I tiptoed down to the basement to check for leaks and found none (whew!), and as I passed by the front door, I peered out into the darkness and counted the seconds between the lightning and the thunder. The lightning was ten miles away. My camera setting might trick you into believing this photo was taken during the day, but it was black out there, and water was falling in gallons from the sky. I didn’t venture into the wet, but the scene was quite lovely.
That’s how one endures life’s storms: find beauty in them. There’s a word for that: ceraunophilia, loving thunder and lighning and find them intensely beautiful.
When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.