This post was inspired by Erin Loechner’s “Currently” series on her blog, Design For Mankind.
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I bite into a burger as my feet dangle from the table-top booth. We’re at one of our favorite restaurants, Krueger’s Tavern. Zach and I cheers to a new deal he’s closed. It’s summer and we like white wine now. Everything feels okay, I think to myself as I watch the drops of condensation run down the glass. I’m reminded to drop my shoulders as well and take a deep breath.
I fumble my way through iced coffee mornings. I water my plants. I try to sell my couch. Zach and I are moving in together. New beginnings. Change. Four years of packing bags and sleepovers and can you bring over the chicken for tonight? I wait. I plan. I pack. I make more iced coffee.
I take pottery classes and realize just how hard it is (the appreciation I now have for my handmade mugs, cups, and pots!) I try not to compare myself to the girl sitting next to me who, apparently, is already a pro. She comes on Tuesdays for office hours. I don’t. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, hunched over the spinning wheel. I remind myself to scrub that spot with extra soap next time.
It’s 90 degrees most days now. Heavy. Humid. Summer. We pack our bags and head south. I complain about the 11 hour car ride. My sister rolls her eyes out the window. My dad tells me to buy a plane ticket next time. I never do. We sink into rusty beach chairs. Eat way too much seafood. I finish one book, my sister finishes three, my mom finishes none. We joke. She gets mad. Buying a plane ticket would mean missing out on moments like these.
The vacation haze leaves us groggy come Monday and suddenly I realize that July has snuck up on us too fast. We try to make the most of it, slow things down before summer slips away, but we know what’s coming. And that’s what makes it even more bittersweet. The 6pm tee-time. The morning walks (dodging bikes, sprinklers, but always stopping to pet the neighborhood dogs). The late night ice cream runs. The freckled shoulders and drying bathing suits and the new riesling I found at Kroger.
Boxes begin to pile up in my apartment, one by one. Soon, the seasons will change. Zach and I will be moved in. I’ll pick up my finished pottery pieces. We’ll plan for our next family vacation. White will be swapped with red. I feel myself grasping for that completion, for the transition to finally pass. But I pause.
And take another bite of my burger.
I see Zach. I feel my legs dangle from the booth. The waitress asks if we want another drink. We politely decline. I breathe. Everything feels okay, I remind myself.
Wishing you less time on your screen,
-Emily