It’s hot and humid in Toronto today — probably double the temperature in Wick — yet I’m really enjoying it here. The part of my brain that thrives on input is being well-fed, not to mention all the loving, appreciative, sharp people I’m getting to spend time with around my client’s office.
My editor and I spent the weekend together, going hither and yon, having “deep-and-meaningfuls” the whole while.
Most fun is that summertime feeling. Summer is supposed to feel different, special, set apart, a reward for enduring the other seasons. I keep flashing back to fond memories of springy screen doors at summer camp, family trips in the trailer (that would be “caravan” in the UK), and the endless suburban days of school break, playing on the scorched grass around our bungalow, padding barefoot across the melty black asphalt of our street, or collecting jars of fetid water with bug larvae in it from behind the Mac’s Milk convenience store.
Much as I love my life in Wick, it’s fun to get my own grown-up kind of summer break.
I kind of like missing my husband. I hate that we’re apart till he gets here at the end of the month, but missing him is a strange way of enjoying the fact that I have him in my life at all.