I'm a bit more circumspect surrounding the start of this school year than I might ordinarily be because I can't help wondering if this might have been my last summer of keeping the girls as my primary vocation. I have tried to treat each of the last three summers since I started in this role as if they might be my last in said role so as to maximize my enjoyment and awareness of the present moment, but I really feel as if this one was it. Though I fully realize how blessed I have been- hey! I just realized that "blessed" rhymes with "test"...Coincidence? I think not- to have had this time with the girls (and truthfully, it began before I got let go from my last job in leasing. For two years before that I had a job that allowed me to work from home, though we still had our beloved nanny Elizabeth for the first of those years) but I wonder if I haven't reached my own Peter Principle with regard to this most demanding of jobs. And the fact is, we've been lucky to get by on only what Leslie makes for the last couple of years. In these uncertain times I'm just not sure how much longer we can count on that.
At any rate, I've tried to take advantage of as many opportunities as we are able to just pick up and do stuff that we might not be able to do again in subsequent summers, like packing up the minivan for a ride up the eastern seaboard to see Mimi, or family field trips to go hiking at Amicalola Falls, or to the World of Coke. This past week we decided we hadn't been to the lake or seen Nanny and Grandpa near enough this summer, so we pointed the van north, set the coordinates for Lake Lanier, and off we went.
Trips like these are especially important to me because I really want my kids to know 
pleasures of the simpler times that I was so fortunate to enjoy in my youth, and to get away from and know a life apart from the megalopolis that we call home. I took the title of this post from a Robert Frost poem, simply because I liked the title and find it applicable. The poem itself is kind of depressing, really, but that's neither here nor there. Some of the best memories of my childhood center around our family's place on Lake Lanier. It's nothing fancy by a long shot, as the photo to the right will attest, but that is part and parcel of its charm. Weekends at the lake when I was young just were. There was never a question of, "Hey Dad- are we going to the lake this weekend?" We just did. As soon as my dad would get home from work on a summer Friday afternoon, we piled in the car and braved the traffic- though not nearly what it is today- on 400 North, and off we went. I remember how the peace of the place came over us as soon as we piled out of the car on arrival. We might as well have been on another planet, the air thick with the sounds and smells you'd expect to find on a summer's night in the deep south. Looking back, it's easy to see why those weekends were so important to my dad and Judy. We were literally a world away from Atlanta, for the longest time without even a phone connection (And yet now they have satellite TV and wireless internet, but I digress,) and certainly without a care in the world. Sitting on the back porch as darkness descends, with only the conversation between cricket and tree frog for background noise is as sure a remedy as I know for whatever stresses the world may visit upon you at any point in time.
pleasures of the simpler times that I was so fortunate to enjoy in my youth, and to get away from and know a life apart from the megalopolis that we call home. I took the title of this post from a Robert Frost poem, simply because I liked the title and find it applicable. The poem itself is kind of depressing, really, but that's neither here nor there. Some of the best memories of my childhood center around our family's place on Lake Lanier. It's nothing fancy by a long shot, as the photo to the right will attest, but that is part and parcel of its charm. Weekends at the lake when I was young just were. There was never a question of, "Hey Dad- are we going to the lake this weekend?" We just did. As soon as my dad would get home from work on a summer Friday afternoon, we piled in the car and braved the traffic- though not nearly what it is today- on 400 North, and off we went. I remember how the peace of the place came over us as soon as we piled out of the car on arrival. We might as well have been on another planet, the air thick with the sounds and smells you'd expect to find on a summer's night in the deep south. Looking back, it's easy to see why those weekends were so important to my dad and Judy. We were literally a world away from Atlanta, for the longest time without even a phone connection (And yet now they have satellite TV and wireless internet, but I digress,) and certainly without a care in the world. Sitting on the back porch as darkness descends, with only the conversation between cricket and tree frog for background noise is as sure a remedy as I know for whatever stresses the world may visit upon you at any point in time.
So I try to get my kids as much exposure to this place and these kinds of experiences that I knew to try to broaden their horizons as much as possible, and to introduce them to the simple but sheer joys of jumping off the dock into the bathwater-warm lake, throwing rocks with Grandpa until your arm hurts, and squishing red mud between your toes (though hopefully not tracking it on Grandpa's boat,) riding in the back of Grandpa's pick-up truck, eating Nanny's fresh tomato sandwiches, and riding home dead tired, with a nose chock full of lake water. One day when my Uncle Gary gets back to town I hope to introduce them to his homemade peach ice cream, churned on the front porch of Laura and Grandaddy's place, and know they'll love it as much as the rest of us. Because as much fun as we have with just Nanny and Grandpa, times at the lake are never better than when we've got the full complement of aunts, uncles, and cousins running around. I just hope that my kids will remember this place as fondly as I do, and will make their own sets of memories here to tell their own grandchildren about.
Thanks for indulging me that stroll down Amnesia Lane. I will try to post periodic updates on my efforts at country socialization for my daughters. In the meantime, if there's something I missed, or a lake memory that is particularly fun, funny, or meaningful to you, please feel free to share it in the comments. Until next time...
