Memorial Day is the unofficial start of summer, which means my favorite season is drawing to a close. Luckily, summer is a close second. These times of the year are favored because of their pleasant familiarity. The weather's warm, sun dresses appear, being outside is a joy, I will cook meat and vegetables on my big charcoal grill, and I will be vexed and bouyed by baseball. These are familiar pleasures, but now I have new ones. These new pleasing activities stem from previously hated chores. Now that I have my own yard, I love being in it and working on it. A lifetime ago as an idiot teenager, I hated yardwork. I had better things to do, like listen to The Cure and Depeche Mode while brooding or simpering around in black clothing. What use was sunshine? Pulling weeds, caring for grass, or planting anything was enforced on my weekend agenda. Now, I look forward to what else I'm going to put into my piece of earth and the feel of grass between my fingers.
What the hell is wrong with me? It's warm, It's sunny, and I can't believe the things I love now.
As I get older and more verbose, I see constant reminders of time slipping away, so I'm learning that it's best not to overanalyze the contradictions with my past, especially with the happy stuff. Essentially, shut up and enjoy.
So screw it. When I'm crumbling away in my later years, I'll have a few affixed times in my head of happy yardwork as I still listen to the Cure and Depeche Mode, but now outside with soil blackening my skin instead of my corny outfit. My back yard now fills my goth needs. Getting older does have a few perks.
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