it’s almost summer. today was the last day of school. the kids are gone, the halls are empty, my room is a mess, but it still isn’t summer.

i graded my last final. i got chewed on by mosquitos, and there are green plants on my deck, but it still isn’t summer.

i listened to “it was a good day” by ice cube (thanks jason) and it almost had me there in the head-bobbing trance of summer. but not quite.

it’s not summer until i see a country time lemonade commercial. i know it sounds pathetic and trite and all things evil corporate america, but i can’t help it. that commercial has become my gatepost into the headiness of summertime.

i don’t even particulary care too much for lemonade. it’s tart and bitter and looks like pee. and country time lemonade, it’s not even real lemonade. it’s a scientific concoction of acids and sucrose created in a lab not far from the jersey turnpike. check out the ingredient label . what the hell is glycerol ester of wood rosin? and why is it in my lemonade? can you tell i’ve been reading fast food nation? it’s been an eye-opening read and i strongly recommend it, but i digress.

back to the carefree days of summer. once i hear that folksy warble of lazy days beckoning me to the back porch, i’m done for. i spend my days in shameless adoration of the sun, the breeze, and the sweat. i roll my windows down, put the comforter in the closet, hose off my rag-tag assortment of deck furniture, and pick up a juicy novel or two for some light reading. last summer i was at my most decadent. i salvaged a worn-through hammock, but if you folded it over just right, and laid it just so, it was heaven on earth. i lived out on my postage stamp-sized deck all summer long. i laid in my hammock and read books by candle light, mosquitos be damned. just thinking about it makes me sigh.

and that’s summer. soon, so very soon. i’m just waiting for my sign, oh great lemon-flavored powder season-restorer.

it’s so close, i can almost taste it.

it was an overcast wednesday like any other in kansas city, missouri, but this day was different. it was eleven o’clock in the morning and i was strapped into a chair, nauseous, screaming and giggling like a little school girl, fifteen stories in the air.

as a senior sponsor, i am responsible for going on day trips with a small group of senior students. it was a small sacrifice, but i bravely led our kids and two parent chaperones through a stomach-busting day at worlds of fun in kansas city.

the kids were great and the two moms that i hung around with were fun, so a good time was had by all. mostly what i gained from the experience was the affirmation of the fact that i am getting older. maybe that isn’t specific enough. of course i’m getting older. that wasn’t it. it was that my body has changed and i’m begining to log entries into my “getting too old for this” journal of aging.

i noticed this idea a few weeks ago during the mother’s day weekend when sitting around my parent’s patio table. i bore witness to stories of aging that have scarred my psyche. i sat listening to my father, in complete detail, paint a touching word-picture of his recent doctor’s visit. “and then they shoved a six foot hose up my ass, and let me tell you, that’s no fun.” this after my mother sharing her home remedy for mole removal: sharp scissors. she’ll proudly display her handy-work, even if you don’t ask, “look! no scar or nothin’!” *sigh* the sad part is, i found myself dredging up my tailbone story (subject of the much-acclaimed “ooch, mah achin’ arse” blog) to try to one-up the competition. although, in the end (pun intended), we agreed that dad had us all beat.

how does this relate to worlds of fun, you ask? well, it was about two seconds into the detonator (aforementioned vertical-lift deathtrap) when i was trying to swallow back the contents of my breakfast, white-knuckling the safety bar, and noticing the kansas city skyline in the distance, when i realized that maybe my body had outgrown the thrill of rollercoasters and theme park rides in general. the log flume was a piece of cake. the rockin’ reeler was a joke. but all bets were off after an unassuming little ride called the boomerang. described as: “12-story tall steel roller coaster that rockets riders - forwards and backwards - through a disorienting trip of corkscrew turns and upside-down loops”, this ride had me and one other old lady chaperone sidelined for two hours. she tossed her cookies in the bathroom while i waited it out.

our break lasted for two hours. it was during this time that i found myself seated at yet another patio table trading war stories. the one lady had back surgery for a decompressed disc and was now the proud owner of a $30,000 titanium rod in her spinal column. the other lady couldn’t really compete with that, so we heard all about her daughter’s four day bout with strep throat. of course, i had to throw in my tailbone story to even the score. with our therapy session over, we wandered out from under the menacing shadow of the mamba, and headed for the impotent calm of one last log flume ride before heading back to the bus.

the good news is i got carded today buying wine. so at least i have that to hang on to.

but for now i got to get moseying. i need to pop some tums for this raging case of heartburn i’ve had since thursday, and my doughnut is starting to deflate again.