Assortment

September Summer

 

 

About this time last year, I realized something.

Summer doesn't end on August 31.

What??   

Does this mean that all this time, I've been loosing the last slice of the season, somehow? 

Uh-huh. 

There was more, and I had no idea.  

Turn the first of September, my head would be wound up so tight with wool tweed and argyle socks, knitted scarves and cashmere sweaters, that I couldn't see that, clearly, the better choice was yet the gauzy sundress and strappy summer sandals.

It's sad to say, but I'd be looking so far ahead to leaves turning orange, that I'd tromp right over the weeks of September summer like they were a pile of dirty laundry, properly ignored.

How rude.

I've decided to change all that. I'm gonna see this season through. 

Wool has its place, but so do those summer September days.

 

 

Rockin' the Business

 

 

A nearby town's centennial celebration, temperatures in the 90s, and a patch of grass in front of the library, right on the parade and craft show route, all helped make that often-talked-about and long-hoped-for lemonade stand a reality for four excited kids!

In just two days they helped brain-storm a stand design, gather materials, and make signs. They were ready and waiting to sell ice-cold lemonade, lime-onade and homemade cookies (thanks, other Mom!) to parched celebrants everywhere.

 

 

Old-fashioned ingenuity became our best friend during the planning phase: use what you have and spend as little as possible on the rest.

A high-speed troll through three thrift shops produced an armload of shirts in various prints of green and yellow - just right for re-purposing into a string of penant flags!

 

The cookie trays were made from thrifted picture frames, painted white, with some of the extra flag fabric 'framed' under the glass.    

 

 

Remember these crates? They were stacked, and with a piece of plywood (found in the garage) across the top, they became the order counter, made pretty with a thrifted sheet and vintage table cloth. The money was kept in an old tackle box. Two tall poles, with their ends jammed into hay bales, held the hand-painted (on a thrifted sheet), kid-designed sign.

 

 

People?

For six hours, these kids rocked the business!

 

Six Weeks Thick

 

What you've suspected is true.

I've been swept away by football.

The rough-and-tumble, back-and-forth-to-town, jersey-washing/jersey-wearing, where-did-you-leave-your-mouth-guard-last, you're-hungry-again?? kind of football.

The this-boy-that-day, that-boy-this-day, he's-riding-with-them-and-I'm-taking-him-and-him, sock-drawer's-empty-hamper's-full, popcorn-for-breakfast-lunch-and-dinner (I have considered it) kind of football.

The tackle kind; the flag kind. The anticipated-all-year kind of football.

 

 

If you don't hear much from me, save for excited-mama-on-the-sidelines-cheering, you'll know why. It's the season.

The season that's high and wide and about six weeks thick!

Grin.

 

 

Have a lovely weekend, friends!