KAREN WIGHT -- No Place Like Home

o7 Summer afternoon, summer afternoon; to me those have always been the

two most beautiful words in the English language.f7

-- Henry James

I’m not sure if my older children know who Henry James is (and we’re

working on that), but I’m sure they would agree with him on his thoughts

about summer. For even though the list of summer activities (times three)

leaves me breathless and penniless, the mood that accompanies summer is

priceless.

Maybe it’s the nostalgic air we create as we leave a school year behind.

We enter summer in a reflective spirit, looking back on an academic year

of peaks and valleys, teachers who have been both sadists and angels,

friendships formed and older friendships deepened. Athletic seasons

begun, enjoyed, endured and ended.

Each school year, at least for me, creates a mood all of its own. Doors

opened, others closed. The tapestry of the children’s lives becomes more

fascinating and complex as the years accumulate, and soon they appear to

be very compelling people in their own right -- not just out of familial

association but out of their individual preferences. I find my children

are more interested and interesting by the day.

I have enjoyed their teachers on a multitude of levels. They share a part

of my children’s lives that I only hear about (sometimes). I suspect they

see the best and worst that my children have to offer.

I thank them for tolerating, teaching and giving my children breadth and

depth that they didn’t possess nine months ago: for deepening their

understanding of the world around them, for giving them a fresh

perspective, for exposing them to a bigger world and helping them to

navigate through the uncertainties and growing pains that childhood

brings.

Each summer itself takes on a personality all its own. Summer memories

just flood back with the smell of sunscreen, the aroma of citronella

candles lit on a summer evening, barbecues smoldering and earthy, fresh

tomatoes plucked from the garden.

I can see the peeling noses and toothless grins of summers past and hope

the summer ahead will also bring special memories we can cherish as the

years go by.

I remember younger summers at the Coast Guard beach, catching crabs.

Years pass and we watch the big kids at the “wave” beach, and then all of

a sudden, the big kids are mine and the younger kids are watching them.

Worrying about the bike ride to Junior Lifeguards and then, suddenly,

worrying about the car rides to work.

I enjoy the passage of time, but cling to simpler times as well.

Glancing at my calendar of events with a sinking feeling, I know that at

the end of August, we will (hopefully) proclaim another summer

successfully completed, new memories intact and a few more colorful

threads woven into our tapestries that are becoming so handsome with

time.

So, with fresh beach towels purchased and labeled, garage fridge stocked

with various beverages, uniforms stationed in an obvious location, swim

team suits and backups placed neatly in their drawers, we prepare to take

on the summer of 2000.

Their skin will get a little darker, their hair will get a little lighter

and hopefully the rest of the body parts will remain intact.

We hope to survive two family weddings -- one in July in Helsinki (which

is a long story), another in August in St. Louis. We will end the summer

with more people in the family than we started, which is as it should be.

Our circle of life will get a little bigger and a little more

multidimensional.

I will try to write columns, though the thought of sitting at my desk for

any amount of time seems impossible.

I will continue with my “Bahama Mama meets the French Empire on a Zen

retreat to the flea market” style of decorating for our new outdoor

“room.”

The good-natured husband will alternately “hang 10,” hang pictures and

hang around as much as possible so he, too, can get the feel and flavor

of our summer.

So when all is said and done, I think the summer memories, like ripe

cherries, are the sweetest.

And I’m sure Henry James would be pleased at our inspired reflections of

lovely summer afternoons.

* KAREN WIGHT is a Newport Beach resident. Her column is published

Saturdays.