I Wish It Would Never End

Summer in Flagstaff is like homemade vanilla ice cream. You know, the kind you make in one of those old fashioned ice cream makers with the ice and the rock salt? And somebody has to crank and crank and crank while the cream mixture freezes? And when it is done you end up with a sweet, slightly salty, confection that is perfect in its creamy simplicity? That kind of homemade ice cream. The cranking part is winter. Over and over and over you shovel and pile on sweaters, and curse snow and although you know that, in theory, there is a season called summer that does not require wool socks, you are pretty sure it is never, ever going to happen. But eventually it does....and oh man, is it good. It is warm and sunny and everything smells like pine trees and you can wear your Chaco sandals everywhere to everything because in Flagstaff they pass for dress shoes (this is the sweet part). And then just when it starts to get a touch too hot, and fans are not quite enough to take the edge off the afternoon heat, the thunderstorms come and they are cool and dramatic and beautiful (this is that bit of salt that cuts the sweetness perfectly). And then there are just all the amazing things happening here in the summer. Like concerts in the park. The city books local bands to play in the park on Wednesday evenings. For free. And there are arts and crafts to keep kids entertained and everybody comes with their blankets, and dinners, and fallen brownies, and sits around with friends and family to shoot the breeze and listen to some live music. Last night it was reggae. My friend's dad remarked (with a dash of sarcasm) "wow, I wish the music was a little more political." And even though you'd think all that social justice would be a little for a heavy for Wednesday evening, it was okay. Because people were dancing, and kids were playing soccer, and the day's storm clouds were just starting to move along and there was an incredible rainbow over the whole thing. And that is just about as good as summer gets.