Published September 2, 2007 in the Hibbing Daily Tribune
With September’s arrival, this weekend marks the day when Iron Rangers realize that summer is practically over and fall is upon us. The once green leaves around my home now glow red, yellow and orange. Fall seemed to arrive early this year. Drought, the experts say. That may be true but I know the cold truth. Most of the golden plans I set last spring lie unfulfilled in the back of my day planner; summer is over and I can’t blame the rain or the lack thereof.
September brings a comfortable coolness, the excitement of a new school year and the chance to wear my favorite clothes – layered, but not yet puffy. But the month also brings a dose of reality to those of us still living in a summer fantasy.
Have you ever landed on a great song while tuning the radio, begun to enjoy that song only to realize that you’ve been jamming to the last verse right before it fades out? That’s what this summer has been to me. Summer over? But it was just getting good! No, Bruce Springsteen, don’t gratuitously repeat the gibberish at the end of “Dancing in the Dark.” Go back to the insightful ruminations about the frustrations of life set to a powerful drum beat and saxophone solo! Aaarrrgh! And then, a commercial.
But that’s how it goes. You can waste time but you can’t stop time. For me, this summer has existed in some other undocumented dimension. We had twin boys in early July, following a long pregnancy that put my wife on bed rest for months while our first son learned the mischievous possibilities of turning 2. The experience is comparable to traditional parenthood challenges stoked to the gills on powerful, easy-to-detect steroids – the kind midlevel athletes take when they just don’t care any more. For the summer months, if we weren’t changing a baby we were feeding a baby. If we weren’t scolding a boy for poking his brother in the belly, we were comforting his brother who was just poked in the belly. And there wasn’t much sleep. And there wasn’t much money. And though the days and nights seemed long, the whole thing passed like a dream – profound, but hazy.
Now I look at the to-do list that was not done. I was supposed to write this summer. I did, but most of it could fit in the margins of a daily newspaper. All of it was carved out in paragraphs scrawled on the back of junk mail or a tiny notebook I carry with me. I was going to rework my class materials for my job at the college. That was scaled back. I only mowed the lawn when Ewoks built villages on the taller weeds. The clutter in my garage has unionized.
This was the first summer where our longest road trip was to Eveleth; the second in a row where we didn’t get to see a Twins game. The pounds gained during the twins’ pregnancy remain firmly in place. Efforts to improve my 5K run time were sporadic at best and ultimately unsuccessful. There will be other summers; The first of September is a time to mourn this one.
In the end I know this summer was full and important in my life, but fall always brings the realization of lost time – especially for those of us who work at schools and colleges. You only hope for a good year and another spring. Time marches on. Even the best songs fade out eventually.
Aaron J. Brown is a columnist for the Hibbing Daily Tribune.