It’s the beginning of summer. Things just… change. Pig meets smoke, drinks go taller, fruitier and icier. And new hats seek high ground somewhere between Sunburn and Big Pimpin.
This is my favorite time of year. It always has been. It’s as if a window creaks open, and for that fleeting moment in and around Memorial Day, life is malleable. There is a thick, pent-up energy to daily life, as everyone scrambles to redo their routines and make endless promises before the torpor of July envelops us. We extend invitations, buy extra glasses, make lists. It’s the one time of year where you can see a magazine article about building a hovercraft and literally sprint to the hardware store for a leaf blower. There is almost a dream-like quality to those couple of weeks, where it’s tough to avoid feeling intoxicated by possibility.
This year, I find myself ready.