August Angst

The summer has been a bit cool for swimming if you are my age.  The grandkids had no problem going into the pool, but I didn’t submerge my whole body until the last weekend of July. The flowers in our flower boxes seem out of balance for this time of year.  They are starting to grow a bit wild, like the end of something is coming.  

The month of August is upon us and maybe this is only because I was a teacher and am the mother of teachers that August fills me with angst.  It was always the month to tie up loose ends and try to get everything finished before it was time to head back to the classroom.

There is a sense of unforgiveness, that what is not finished, may never be finished.  August is the month to try to get one last summer visit in with friends, get the canning done, make sure the wood is cut and stacked for the winter (my husband’s job), and get clothes ready  for the autumn season.

Since this summer has often felt a little like fall, August is the month to hope for a few warm days yet, remembering last winter and its brutality. There is an unsettling feeling to the month and a bit of anxiety creeping around the corner.  

In this month I often think of time and what eludes me as life streams by. There is a need to slow down the days so the future can stretch into a longer phase.  I don’t obsess about what the future might bring, but try to enjoy the days as they come.

But having said all of that, there is something about the month of August that troubles me. Unlike the seasons of our lives, for me August is neither summer nor fall.  It is a limbo of too much to do and not enough time.  I consider myself at this point of my life, an autumn traveler, but I know that winter is coming and I can not stop it.  August may seem like a move to Florida, but in reality even Florida can not stop the inevitable.  

The flowers will be pulled out of the flower boxes after the first freeze even though they don’t look all that good right now.  The pool will be shut down when school starts.  The afternoons will become quiet as the grandchildren spend their days in the classroom.  There will be quiet walks and traveling to England in September and when the winds of November start to howl, I will wish for the days of August that give me so much angst now.  It is becoming part of who I am, looking backward and remembering rather than looking forward and anticipating.  I may never admit when I am actually in the winter season of my life.  However I can probably reach out and touch it.