Summer, for me, is luxury. The idealized summer includes lazy days, warm nights, rose, sleeping with only a sheet next to some one I can't touch because it's too hot. It's laughing and being warm at the beach, watching the waves; it's the 4th of July, hot dogs, flags waving, and love. Summer will always be giving birth, nursing a child, being hot, and sharks (lots of them, all at once). Summer tastes like cherries bought on 101 heading south, like cilantro and jalapeno, like lemonade, and ice cream. Summer feels like love.
The Friday before Memorial Day and I live in a city where none of the idealized summer exists. It smacks of wind, foggy nights, rip tides, sweaters and scarves, sleeping wrapped around some one because it's too cold not to. Summer in San Francisco is like winter in the suburbs - the rain, the crankiness, the fog - did I mention the fog? And yet, I wouldn't trade my city for the idealized anything. I just wouldn't. Sitting inside Zuni, eating oysters, and laughing with friends; grabbing a cocktail at Nopa and knowing that the wind will mess up my hair upon exit and not caring; knowing I can book a hotel somewhere warm or cozy up in my house to bake all makes this life worth it.
Summer still feels like love after all the years past that one idealized summer. Eight years ago in another life, one without all this chaos, one that was not better just different. Now I am delicate, older, and just as warm. Summer is carefree, bare feet, and dessert; no plans, ordering in, watching movies, going to the museum, cuddling late into the night. Summer, in the Haight, is hats with ear flaps, denim jackets (cuz they go with everything), red wine, and late nights. Laughing, laughing, and more laughing.
Summer is coming.
PS - photo to allposters.com