It feels almost miraculous that spring — or really, summer — has finally arrived. Last weekend it was still snowing, and now suddenly it’s May 24th weekend, the time I usually plant flowers and sow seeds and begin believing again that warm weather might actually stay.
I don’t usually drive in the dark anymore, but the evenings are finally stretching long enough that I can take my mom home after Sunday dinner myself instead of bribing someone else to do it for me.
And driving home tonight, beneath the breathtaking sunset of an early summer evening, I felt nostalgic and deeply grateful.
Grateful that another summer has come around and that I get to be here for it.
Grateful that going outside no longer requires ten layers of clothing. Grateful for dry roads and soft evenings and open windows instead of icy streets and survival mode. Grateful too that summer still lies ahead of me — not already slipping away. There are still five weeks left of school, and because I work in a school café, this particular season always feels sweet. Everything is winding down. There are teas and barbecues and farewell dinners and little celebrations before everyone disappears into the slower rhythm of summer.
I have lofty plans for these coming months, as I always do.This summer will mostly belong to wedding preparations. My daughter is getting married in September, and suddenly it all feels wonderfully, terrifyingly real. There are things to sew and baking to do and meals to plan. Decorations to gather. A mood to imagine. . And now the RSVPs are beginning to arrive — people coming from overseas and across the border — which means we truly do have to create something lovely for them to arrive to. It’s no longer just an idea floating somewhere in the future. It’s happening.
As I drove along the freeway in the soft twilight, the scent of Mayday trees and spring blossoms drifted through the open windows. And for some reason, the whole evening felt like a scene from Father of the Bride — one of those movies our family has watched over and over through the years because it never fails to put us in a good mood. That warm mixture of chaos and sentimentality and family life unfolding in ordinary moments. That’s exactly what tonight felt like.
When I pulled into the driveway after dropping Mom off, my husband and daughter were in the garage sorting and organizing flowers for her flower business. The dog was racing around the yard in the warm evening air, simply delighted to be included in whatever was happening.
And standing there in the fading light, with summer just beginning and all of us together in the middle of our ordinary, messy, beautiful life, I felt incredibly blessed.
The Red Plaid Apron 