You've probably noticed that my productivity this month has dropped off significantly. Writer's block? Not exactly. Life has gotten in the way and, in particular, the passing of a generation has stymied my creativity. My stepmom died last week, and as is so often the case with those battling a terminal disease, the speed of her decline was both a blessing and a shock. Emotionally, I was on a different timeline, one that would allow at least a few more conversations, maybe even one more visit. Instead, a generation in my family slipped away before my siblings and I really had time to ponder what this means. We are the sole survivors who will now need to take it upon ourselves to plan gatherings. It's up to us to pass down stories and traditions to keep our parents' memories alive. As with most new stages in life, I feel woefully unprepared, maybe because I'm the baby in the family. For every ten pictures taken of my brother as a baby, I got one. My brother and sister always joke about the little blue book that mom and dad gave them to teach about the bird and bees; I never saw that infamous book. By the time I rolled into the family, my mom wasn't being taught by her German housekeeper that children need firm limits from time to time. "Brooksie's hiney's not made from china" is folklore in our family. I am not disappointed about any of this. There are certain realities that are due to our birth order, something none of us has control over. There's no denying its influence on our personalities, just as there's no denying the importance of siblings. My brother, sister, and I are all different individuals, but we do share our heritage, and at the core this gives us a special bond. We also love and miss the generation that created and molded us. Those memories, thankfully, will never go away.
The solstice nears. I know this mostly due to my sleepless state, which is caused by our 16-hour long days. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but it would be nice to sleep in past 5:15 each morning. Unfortunately, our local flock of birds makes that extremely difficult, and so I persist through my mind's foggy state. Nevertheless, I love summer. As a teacher, my battery is drained and in need of recharging. As a Northwesterner, my body seeks to replenish its store of vitamin D. And as a working parent whose life is just a little too busy, I relish the slower pace of life that summer brings. It's difficult for me to welcome summer and not think about Aloha Hive, the camp in Vermont where I spent two summers as a young girl. This was a camp that my mom went to for eight summers and my sister for two. I knew I was destined to follow in their footsteps, but the timing came a little sooner than expected. When I was just 7 years old, my mom needed to have a triple b...
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