Well, summer is coming to a close. Callum heads back to school on Monday so our days are truly winding down. He finished off with a bang, heading to a Phillies game with Neel this week (Phillies! For the win! FINALLY.) and a canoe trip down the Brandywine on the way home. We'll sneak in a beach trip or two to finish things off, but really, for all of us, all eyes are on the coming weeks.
I can't lie and say that this summer has been spectacularly awesome for me. Don't get me wrong, our highs were really, really high (Hello, London and Paris), but I've been riding a melancholy train for most of the summer that I can't seem to shake. Discontent is a tricky thing. It seeps into the edges of things and is waiting to meet you around the corner. It is not your friend.
I've felt beat down and sad in sometimes astonishing ways, and then alternately mad at myself because truly? There's a lot to be happy for.
Still. This has been, for many reasons, a summer more of muted tans and grays than bold and vibrant pinks and oranges, and I think sometimes there are seasons that are just like that. Is it just horrible around here? No way. Could I say more about all of this? Probably. Is it possible to verbalize what I'm feeling? Not really. Some things are buried too deep.
If you've read this blog for any length of time or if you know me at all, you might remember that we're heading into my absolutely least favorite time of year. Late August through September is brutal on my heart and soul. This year, I've managed to (mostly) escape my usual spate of late-summer migraines, and there is much anticipated joy as Cal turns 14 in a few short weeks.
In think we're all looking forward to a new school year, and I'm trying to look within and figure out how to find my way out of the gloom. I need some more vibrant colors and less muted tans and grays.