Bask in summer glow of friends, family

The Boston Herald

BEVERLY BECKHAM

The grass needs to be cut. It always needs to be cut. The evergreens need to be trimmed. The roses need to be pruned. And there are more weeds than flowers in my front yard.

I see all that needs to be done. But none of this is bothering me this summer. I'm looking beyond all the ``should do's.'' I'm looking at how thick and healthy the grass is, how the bare spots aren't bare anymore. I'm looking at how the impatiens have filled in, how lush the evergreens are, how red the roses, and how close to perfect my tiny, weedy, overgrown world is right now.

I'm looking at blue sky and rich earth, loving the sun when it shines and the clouds when it doesn't. Loving the mist and the rain, the cool nights. And the sticky ones. Loving what I get and loving what is. Loving every second of this longed-for and long-awaited summer.

Last summer was a washout. When someone is sick, when you spend your days and nights at a hospital, summer is an affront. How can the sun be shining? Who are all these people smiling and having a good time? Fear wore us out. Then winter came and it wasn't much better, endless and cold, icy and gray, fertile ground for worry.

And then May arrived followed by June and though this happens every year, this year it felt new.

The ground softened. The air grew warm. Everything that looked dead was suddenly in bloom. Now we're in the thick of it, smack in the middle of summertime. And the livin' is, if not exactly easy (it's only easy when you're a kid), not nearly as hard as it has been. And will, inevitably, be again, because summer is only a season. And because life turns on a dime.

But this is the season I wished for. This is the summer of my content, what I ached for all last summer and winter when dark came too soon and the cold chilled body and soul.

This is the summer of my content because, for the moment at least, for right now, no child I love is sick, no child I love is injured, no family member is in the hospital, the world hasn't blown up, the Earth is still spinning, the sun is in the sky and the air is soft and sweet.

My children visit with their children. They come for dinner. (We have pizza a lot.) And we sit together, weeknights and weekends, talking and laughing and watching the babies do something new. Or something old. It doesn't matter. We smile anyway. We poke each other and say, ``Isn't she amazing?'' and ``Isn't he great?''

And they are. And this is - amazing and great.

Yes, we all have lists of things that have gone undone. Chores we never get to. Books we haven't read. Places we think we should go, but why? Why go anywhere when we can sit on a deck and enjoy what's right in front of us - a cool breeze, two babies, clam dip and Cape Cod potato chips, the Red Sox and each other.

The world beyond our doors remains full of rage and injustice. This never changes. There is always despair and tragedy and people getting hurt and hurting each other and not getting along.

But here and now, we're getting along and we're going along, not in a rush to do, but content to just be.

This will end. This summer of our content will pass. We'll put away the potato chips and go back to the gym and catch up on our chores and take out our lists again.

But for now the lists are stuffed away and the potato chips are in a bowl. And it's another summer day to savor together.