Something I miss.

Before kids, (and I'm not in any way saying that before kids was better, OK? Just 'before') we used to have time to do stuff that we wanted. Stuff that we had no reason to do, other than we just wanted to. Unheard of now. One of the things I miss the most was being at the lake on the weekends. I miss taking a long, sunset, cocktail cruise with Matty around Lake Groton, Patsy Cline playing on the ski boat stereo. Miss it a lot. What a way to wrap up a perfect summer's day of grilling sausage, laughing, with our feet propped up on the porch railing, and floating lazily in tubes, my fingers trailing in the water. Every weekend, before kids, if there wasn't a wedding or something else taking up our time, that's where we were. I miss life being slow. I miss decorating a boat for the 4th of July parade. I miss the rocking chairs and the loons. I miss being the spotter when somebody skied, getting my hair whipped all over the place. I miss watching people fishing from the dock, and playing croquet on the lawn. I miss the rattle of ice in Matt's Jack & Coke. I miss Alan, the jovial neighbor from the camp next door, always ready to lend a kayak, sometimes he mowed his own lawn, and then he'd come over and keep right on mowing. He's gone now. Took his own life. Don't understand it. I miss a million things. The battered tin coffee pot in the front garden with geraniums planted in it, the outhouse with the rubber rat perched next to the toilet seat, the smell of campfires, the way sound travels over water. It's silly, February right now and I've got a list as long as your arm to get done today, but this blue, blue sky is taking me somewhere else.