Sum­mers come, go in a blink

Northwest Arkansas Democrat-Gazette - - STYLE - HE­LAINE WIL­LIAMS

So I thought I’d do my an­nual “end is near” rant a lit­tle ear­lier than usual.

My “end of sum­mer is near” rant, that is.

Might as well. The back-toschool ads have started, a re­flec­tion of the fact that the first day of school in these here parts gets sooner ev­ery year. As long­time fol­low­ers of this col­umn surely know, I’m about as un­ready for school to start as the chil­dren are.

Soon Face­book will be filled with im­ages of tear­ful par­ents drop­ping their now-grown teens off at col­lege, along with cute lit­tle mop­pets in their first-day-of-school gear. Wasn’t it only yes­ter­day that we were look­ing at im­ages of high school beauties in their Hol­ly­wood-glam­our prom gowns, their hand­some prom dates sport­ing slim-fit tuxes and crazy-fancy hip­ster shoes with no socks?

Speak­ing of clothes, didn’t I just rear­range my closet, shunt­ing all the win­ter stuff off on the back racks?

To make mat­ters worse, fall cloth­ing cat­a­logs are trick­ling in, bear­ing photos of smil­ing mod­els in darker, tran­si­tional-type tops and light sweaters paired with skinny jeans and leg­gings. Am I ready to start co­or­di­nat­ing my fall wardrobe? No. I haven’t got­ten my sum­mer wardrobe to­gether the way I want to. I’m not ready for Tax Free Week­end, de­signed to help make buy­ing school clothes more af­ford­able, but which ben­e­fits us all. I seem to be Money Free ev­ery time Tax Free Week­end comes around any­way.

This an­nual rant goes back to the fact that I look for­ward to sum­mer, but when sum­mer comes I never seem to be in a po­si­tion to do much of any­thing about it ex­cept, as I lamented on a so­cial-me­dia meme re­cently, go to work. Not only have I not been on a sum­mer va­ca­tion, I haven’t even been to a pic­nic or the water park. I’ve been to the farm­ers mar­ket ex­actly once. Three things need to line up: Time, money and weather, and they don’t line up nearly of­ten enough.

Long­time read­ers will also note that I of­ten urge the stop­ping and smelling of the roses. I al­ways in­tend to fol­low my own ad­vice, re­ally I do. Un­for­tu­nately, the roses seem to have to wait un­til I’m fin­ished wear­ing one of my mul­ti­ple hats. Or the ad­mis­sion price to go and smell them al­ways seems to amount to a chunk of the gro­cery bill.

So the next thing I know, sum­mer’s “over.” The pool closes, never mind it still be­ing a fafil­lion de­grees. The ice cream trucks and shaved ice booths dis­ap­pear. And ugh, straw­berry prices start to creep up again.

I need to get off my duff and

do some type of Sum­mer En­joy­ing. There’s grad­u­ally been more and more talk of foot­ball on the telly. Am I ready? No. Nor am I ready for pump­kins and chrysan­the­mums or the car­bo­hy­drate-laden com­fort food of

which I’m try­ing to re­strict my in­take.

Those who feel as I do are doubt­less brac­ing them­selves for the Death Knells of Sum­mer: the early ap­pear­ances of Hal­loween cos­tumes and Christ­mas dec­o­ra­tions in stores. While you’re get­ting your chil­dren’s school uni­form co­or­di­nates, be sure to get those lit­tle

Spider-Man and Won­der Woman out­fits! Mean­while, it’s less than two months un­til the dreaded Mother of All Sum­mer Death Knells: La­bor Day.

I’m not the only one who feels sum­mer is un­fairly be­com­ing the short­est sea­son.

“Hon­estly, it seems like there is maybe one week of sum­mer we can ac­tu­ally

en­joy,” Brie Dyas wrote in a Huff­in­g­ton Post piece in Au­gust 2014. “In June, ev­ery­one is think­ing ahead to the July Fourth week­end, or mut­ter­ing some­thing about how it ‘doesn’t feel like sum­mer yet.’ In July, the back-toschool com­mer­cials start. In Au­gust, stores are filled with back­packs, school sup­plies and fall clothes. Then there

is the ul­ti­mate in­di­ca­tor of not-sum­mer, which is the ap­pear­ance of the Pump­kin Spice Latte, which mil­len­nial women mark on their cal­en­dars as the sum­mer ver­sion of Ground­hog Day.”

Which brings me back to why I’m writ­ing this col­umn even ear­lier than usual. I might as well just bite the bul­let and bid sum­mer, or

that ideal pic­ture of it, farewell now.

Or maybe not. Just as the barflies have con­cluded that it’s five o’clock some­where, we warm-weather lovers can al­ways say it’s sum­mer/hot on the planet some­where.

If only we could get there. Sum­mer lovin’ — Email blast:

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from USA

© PressReader. All rights reserved.