Friday, June 5, 2015

Flaming June

Ever since I saw it in a textbook or college poster shop ages ago, I have been a huge fan of the Pre-Raphaelite painting Flaming June.  In her gauzy sheath, this unkempt maiden ignores the sea, the flowers in bloom, and every luxury to curl up in a chair and nap away a perfect summer's day.

This rings so true.  It begs the question of whether there is any day so exquisite and rare that it cannot be improved by a long nap.  The day your child is born?  Unthinkable without a nap.  Your graduation?  Better to doze off when it starts and wake up when it's over. 

In mathematical terms, it may be that Good Day + Long-ish Period of Oblivion = Perfect Day (or as perfect as it's going to get until bedtime).  Is this just years of raising children talking?  Is this art criticism?  All I know is that I have a girl-crush on the Flaming June girl.  She is so cool!  Maybe when she wakes up, the two of us can go out for Mexican food -- and yes, we would like a refill on those chips, Señor!  I bet she'd like that.

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Over here, June is shaping up to be a busy month.  The kids are almost out of school (yay! sick of you, school, and your Liliputian chains of homework, permission slips, field trip logistics, lunch accounts, parking restrictions, and tardiness policies) (P.S. You are an excellent school and we are extremely grateful for your care and instruction) (P.P.S. Buh-bye!), and then we are going beach camping with Dave and his two teenagers, whom my kids revere.

We will be visiting tide pools, possibly my favorite part of the Pacific Ocean: Lucid and teeming with colorful creatures, they are an enchanting window into life's mystery and variety, and you cannot drown in them or be swept out to sea by a sudden riptide.  At most, your ankle will be splashed and you will laugh it off and then go on to take a glorious nap.  Perfect for a desert girl who was never cc'd on the memo "How Not to Accidentally Die in the Ocean."

Speaking of which, our next June trip will take us to New Mexico.  I am excited to show Dave my beautiful home state (motto: The Land of Enchantment) (alternative motto for disaffected local teens: The Land of Entrapment).  One of the unexpected pleasures of dating in your 40s is that it's like getting a do-over of your 20s -- meeting the family! seeing the hometown! -- except both you and other person are extremely, almost supernaturally, wise and sane for people in their 20s.  You are the freaking Zen Masters of being 25.  You own that age! 

Just went to pick up my daughter from a Friday night playdate.  At almost nine p.m., it was still light outside.

I love summer.

(Image: Frederic Leighton (Public domain) via Wikimedia Commons)

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