Where has summer gone? I mean, we’re a third of the way through August! I’m already dreading the arrival of hearty mums down to the A&P which should be in a week or so. Mums in September are a nice burst of color. In August, they make me feel the same way I do when I see Christmas decorations in October: it’s unnatural 
and unsettling.
Anyhoo, be here now, right? Enjoy summer to the fullest. Drink in the smell of summer sweet and fresh mown grass. Feast on the color all ‘round: rose mallow, black-eyed Susans, rose of Sharon. Enjoy time outside with friends. Grill meat, eat corn on the cob and watermelon, figure out what to do with way more zucchini than you need. Wish, once again, that they had punch cards at Dairy Queen. You know, buy ten Peanut Buster Parfaits and get one free. A girl can dream.
I mentioned a couple weeks ago how Charlie calls those perfect summer days in Maine a “bluebird of a day.” I remembered he wrote a poem about it (four years ago now). Since I can barely remember what I was doing last week (and I hope I’m not alone), I thought I’d share it with you once again. This one’s a keeper. Charlie, too!
A Bluebird of a Day
From the western hills last night
A rumblin’ did come
The rain we’ve needed finally fell
We closed the windows some
By morning, all that humid air
Had up and blown away
And left us with a perfect, little
Bluebird of a day
Cranky old Simone Roberge
Came out to fetch the mail
The woman’s ‘bout as cheerful
As a bunch of wilted kale
(But) as Scamp and I were walking by
I swear, I heard her say,
“Mornin,’ Charlie! Ain’t it just
A bluebird of a day?”
I drove to work, my window down
And when I reached the Square
The Busy Bee was hoppin’, there was
Bacon in the air!
For once, my station came in good
I love the stuff they play
The signal don’t crap out when it’s
A bluebird of a day
At lunch, the boys at work and I
Ate underneath a tree
And all of us could hardly wait
For it to get to three
I’d half a mind to mow the lawn
But hammocks have a way
Of sorta luring you astray
On such a bluebird of a day
Dinner done, we sat outside
And listened, kinda rapt
To owls call and all of them
Mosquitoes gettin’ zapped
Tonight, I’m bettin’ both of us
Will prob’ly sleep OK
No pollen dust, oh, weren’t that just
A bluebird of a day?
Huh! That was such a happy poem before, but now it makes me kind of wistful for those simpler times. Looking back, I realize I didn’t always appreciate ‘em the way I should have. There must be a lesson in there, right?
That’s it for now. Stay safe and catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: Bluebird of a Day: Part Two