lazy days of summer

We’re deep into summer now.

The 4th of July has come and gone, without much fanfare this time around. I’m ok with that. The dry year led to a ban of all fireworks for much of Oregon and I’m quite shocked, it remained quiet last weekend. Somewhere in a faraway neighborhood, someone decided to not follow the rules and the quiet booms echoed across the buttes that make up our part of this state. Still, it was quiet as my neighbors were either rule abiding citizens this year or gone… hard to say which but either is fine with me.

We stayed home all weekend.

Like boring adults do.

It was three days of sleeping in, working in my studio, sitting on the porch, making it through a pile of records waiting to be listened to for the first time and eating all of the amazing things Rocky pulled from the smoker and grill. One of those things was a smoked brisket… which is one of my love languages… so I’m set for a while. And our freezer is set for a while… full of leftover brisket, smoked ribs, and containers full of cowboy beans. We’ll be thankful for those in the fall when the lust to cook outdoors fades and the days shorten. The weekend felt long, but that was short lived.

Now that things are open, concert tickets are purchased and trips are planned, time is flying by.

STOP.

Slow down. I want to savor our return to seeing strangers smile but instead it’s all happening in such a blur. We went to one of our favorite neighborhood haunts last week. It was the 2nd day of no COVID restrictions in Oregon. The restaurant employees were joking with each other, teasing customers and we were all giddy quickly falling back into old habits and communicating with facial expressions that have long sat dormant… it wasn’t hard to bring those back to the surface.

I thought it would have been harder.

I didn’t cry tears of joy when we left, but my cup was certainly filled to the brim. That 1.5 hours spent in a booth is 1.5 hours I’ll remember for a long time. I didn’t even mind the butt sitting just a few feet from my face at the bar like I used to. In fact, it being there helped make the experience what it was. A butt… at a bar… in our town… for the first time since March 2020. I can’t think of a better thing to mark the occasion.

Tonight we’re heading to our favorite restaurant. It’s one that closed down last October because navigating the “open/closed/open/closed… open……….closed again” restaurant regulations thrown at them from the state’s capital wasn’t something they wanted to do. I don’t blame them. I’m not sure we would have made it there during the pandemic anyways. Who wants to get dressed up if you can’t be seen and 25% capacity isn’t being seen.

Please tell me I’m not the only one who thinks like that.

PLEASE.

Anyways, so we’re going out tonight. The kind of going out that requires nice clothes… nice shoes… and a tolerance for tiny tables, a busy restaurant, and an appetite fit to make up for 16 months without a meal like this cooked by someone who doesn’t sleep in your bed. It’s the kind of going out that required a fight to find a reservation that would bring even the strongest person to their knees.

This place has a fancy cocktail menu and a damn fine wine list and I’ll be darned if I don’t order from both.