Cocktails at Sunset, Thoughts on Growing Up

 

I can hardly believe it is really mid-July. I think that perhaps this has to do with how the weather this early morning was in the 50s. The 50s, in July. Yesterday, there was a heat index of 100 in DC. But here we are with windows open 2 1/2 weeks before Evan starts his teacher in-service, and my niece is sleeping against me, in her stretchy boba wrap carrier as I write this.

 

 

Over the 4th of July we drove five hours north to spend the long weekend with my parents. They are in the middle of remodeling their basement, which meant that an extensive collection of all my childhood school work needed to be “curated.” So I spent several hours reading such masterfully written pieces as “A Rainbow Named Princess,” unfortunately not illustrated. I went through stacks (of duplicated!) horrible pictures from those disposable cameras of friends from camp whose names I have long forgotten, and tried to decide how many I could possibly throw away. (Answer: most of them.)

 

 

We punctuated the sorting of boxes with walks in local state parks, Sunday morning services, long meals on the screened-in-porch, and a jaunt into Minnesota for cocktails.

 

 

The cocktails were Evan’s idea. My parents and I nodded at his suggestion, but I don’t think that we ever would have come up with it on our own. That’s why it’s great to bring new people into the family, because they come up with really great ideas, like cocktails. So in the spirit of doing a few special things, we all piled into the car for the 40 minute drive to Stillwater, Minnesota.

 

 

I think that Stillwater is a pretty charming brick and stone town any time of the year, but it was enchanting at 8 pm, with the sun setting and the warm breeze hovering in the upper 70s. If you are going to be exactly half way between the North Pole and the Equator, the long summer evenings of early July are the time to do it.

 

 

We wandered the streets, with most of the shops closed for the night. Stillwater is on the St Croix River, the northern river boundary between Wisconsin and Minnesota, and in a slight valley. On the edge of town there is a long set of concrete stairs, five, maybe six flights high, that lead to a great view of the river and the main streets, and let you capture the very last rays of the setting sun, and snap photos amid amorous couples sitting on benches and leaning on railings.

 

 

Then when the sun disappeared behind the trees, we left the hill top to enjoy roof top seating and a pear-ginger martini, a mojito, and a sazerac along side a mango creme brûlée.

 

 

Such contrasts, holding my first baby swimsuit and sipping a mojito, were often only hours apart. That transition from childhood to adulthood is so multifaceted and slippery. We are adults one minute ordering liquor in front of our parents, and the next we are in the back of the car running an afternoon of errands waiting on our parents to make whatever important adult purchase inside the hardware store they have to make. We hold our own babies and are someone else’s babies at the same time.

 

 

Growing up is not linear, it loops and slides, in a kaleidoscope of trying to have patience for whatever task is at hand and trying to appreciate the benefits of whatever the current moment brings. The last time I really went through my childhood things at my parents was two months after Evan and I started dating, the summer before my senior year of college, and I knew that I would likely not come back to live in that room again. I remember feeling like I was plunging head-long into adulthood, but it turns out that it doesn’t feel all that much different eight years later.

 

 

I am fully an adult one minute, and the next I still feel eight, all impatience and exuberance. I resonate with what Madeline L’Engle writes, “The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been.”

 

 

Wisconsin summers are good for remembering and looking ahead, the long days with the heat at noon and the cool bright mornings remind me of lakeside BBQs when I ran full out in my swimsuit to splash in the cold water, and they promise new BBQs with new friends, sipping on mint and lime mojitos as the sun goes down.