American assimilation part #1,578: What I did for my summer vacation

I’m up to my ears in summertime these days.  It’s glorious.  Walking off a plane into summer is a pretty beautiful thing.  Something not to be missed.  Try it some time…I beg you…

Imagine all the cold baby-making days of winter that trudge on endlessly.  You look out the frosty bus window just dreading the sidewalk sludgefest awaiting your boots.  The chilly floors greeting your toes in the dark morning.  The cough syrup.  The undershirts.  In South Africa the winter is less ferocious but still less pleasant than the warm tank top days of summer in SA.  It is still possible to get a tan on the porch but you have to work much harder to soak up the sun.    

Imagine you can flip the script, winter to summer, in 24 hours.  We’ve all hoped for it from the frozen tundra.  I am sure of that. 

Well, I did it

Long version:  Joburg—Cairo—New York—Vermont—Chicago—Waukegan—Urbana—Waukegan

Short version:  Winter—Summer

So how have I spent my summer vacation?  I stand before you with sweaty palms and practiced cursive penned on paper…yarns to tell.  Grandma’s house?  Roadtrips?  Theme parks?  Just wait…

Today I went fishing.  Catfishin’ to be exact.  Saw some friends out last night and we made a lazy Sunday fishin’ pact.  Poles, chicken livers, smokes, Budweiser (yes, Taki, Budweiser), and a little spot of free time on a dusky Sunday coming down.  We didn’t catch shit, but it was good enough to be out there on the banks of “Dead Man Lake” (a few bodies are pulled out of there every year) just having a good time.  Slapping mosquitoes and swapping tales.  Overall it was an idyllic summer moment in a string of small joys that have welcomed me back to my home.    

My recent time in South Africa was short, comparatively.  But as my brother might recite…it was short and hard like a body building elf.  I was ready to come home this time.  More than ready. 

In these last weeks there’s been perfect moments of home that have wrapped me in a warm embrace.  Cliched feelings, maybe…insert warm milk and cookies or puppy dogs or rainbows.  But inside I still scream “I’M HOME! THIS IS MY F**KING HOME!”  The bread that raised the babe…

Cruising by instantly tall tassled corn

Demolition Derby and funnel cakes

Closing out the “basement” with my bro

Kilborn Alley on a Saturday night

PBR

Catfish perch on a darkened bank

Carnitas, root beer, orange tootsie roll pops

The dishes saga…continues

Dancing with Jacques

Metra meditation

Dirty looks from outside smoking corners

Porch livin’

Walking the streets at night without fear

Inappropriate old men and $1 snacks at the Rose Bowl

Moist humid dirt and forest smells

Cars that stop for you when you walk across the street

Organic tree huggin’ gluten free fare

Geeking out at the library

BBQ in the alley

Pharmaceutical scare tactics on prime time

Hulk Hogan debt commercials…CREDIT APPROVAL! (insert thunder sound effect)

Not being noticed on the street

Boycotting the ‘navigator’ position in mom’s car

Little Debbie

The Daily Show

Hugs…lots and lots of hugs

…plus many many more moments too tiny to record but powerful enough to register emotion…

Many of you folks I’ve met away from home have asked me about my home.  Sometimes I don’t know what to tell you.  It’s always the little things that escape grand description that give your home that unmistakable something.  I also don’t think my American experience describes what everyone here is doing.  I’m probably a bit of a weirdo in any environment.  But this is my essay.  This is my home.  This is my abridged summer so far. 

To the wonder and enchantment of summer...

Hugs

Lynsee