September 11th, 2001
The Signs of the Times.
The summer officially ended on Saturday morning, when my brother caught a plane back to school, and I drove one kilometer to work to begin boiling hot dogs for a bunch of golfers. For the best tasting dogs, you boil them in a mixture of beer and water, with some chopped garlic and onion. Usually I score the ends first, just to make sure the tubesteaks absorb all that yummy flavor.That's a personal trick. Industry thing. You can use that if you want.
I know summer likes to think it's still hanging around, with these eighty-degree afternoons and humid, fan-buzzing nights. Yesterday morning I helped my father seed our backyard with ryegrass. I could stand to go for a swim right now, as a matter of fact. It's hot in here. Light bulbs sure aren't very fuel-efficient.
For my close friends and me, there's a basic pattern to wanderings in this town. Cruise down Summer Street. If you're under daylight, park on School Street just below the cemetery, and walk down the steps. Under night-guise, park by Dunkie's. Either way, you buy coffee somewhere, walk to the water, watch waves, and discuss whatever needs to be discussed despite the tussle of tourists or the heaviness of vacant streets.
On Thursday night, my brother reminded me of a very different place to walk and talk, not far from Dunkie's. We went there. It was close, but completely new. And as we walked across a long wooden bridge, I wondered if I visit the same old places because I love them, or because I'm used to them. Routine can be a wonderful menace.
If I were a wise tribal elder or a courtly advisor, I'd frequently volunteer vague little nuggets of seemingly-remarkable wisdom like that: <Routine can be a wonderful menace. " Or I might say, "A decision is best made by the confident chooser." When pressed to explain that one, I'd explain how "A sheep without fleece is not a sheep at all, but naked." You follow? Right right. I'd surely make a fine philosopher eunuch, somewhere or other.
When I think about, remember or imagine September, (as oft am I want to do) I recall that subtle sense of promise that comes with the month, that back-to-school, clean-clothed, traveling-on, winding down leafy feeling. Even when nothing is coming, it sort of feels that way. I've read a lot of books, burned a lot of CDs, and assembled a lot of club sandwiches since June. After college, though, you only know that summer's ending because, everywhere, young punks just aren't around in the mid-morning.
