I’ve been thinking about J. Alfred Prufrock  (“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” T.S. Eliot, 1915) this morning.* Specifically, I was thinking of the line, “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.” Tom and I have had a generally good summer so far, but I do measure it out (at least partly) in coffee spoons. Summer around Washington, D.C. tends to enervate us, so we add a spoonful or so of instant coffee to our 11:00 a.m. iced coffee, made from our left-over morning brewed coffee. Every summer, I tell myself that I won’t amp up my coffee intake, but every year I do so. In the scheme of things, this is not too important. In fact, this summer coffee habit prepares us for the cold instant coffee regimen we adopt for our fall camping trips.

This Summer (so far)

Tom and I volunteer at Arlington County’s native plant nursery. We like to plant, transplant, and weed. Working with the native plants and like-minded staff and volunteers, we feel like we are, in a small and pleasant (to us) way, helping our community and the world. So far this summer, Tom and I have helped move native blue flag, pickerelweed, and spadderdock from Sparrow Pond to Lucky Run, both in Arlington. We also helped extract blue-eyed grass seeds from pods for winter planting, transplanted roundleaf thoroughwort and tick trefoil into larger pots, and weeded the nursery beds.

Susie (a beagle), Connor (a pug/peke), and Phoenix (an orange-winged Amazon) vacationed at our condo. Susie and Connor kept us hopping on our aging toes for the ten days they visited. However, by the time they left, Tom and I loved them to the depths of their little doggie souls. We’ve known and loved Phoenix for his entire 28 years of life. Our ten days with Phoenix settled into a familiar and comfortable–if messy–routine. We shared breakfasts of peanut butter toast and banana and Phoenix harmonized when Tom played Mozart. A good time, I believe, was had by animals and humans alike.

As usual, Tom and I watched the 4th of July Parade on Constitution Avenue in Washington, D.C. We stood near the National Archives as we do each year.  As usual, I cheered, clapped, and cried.  This year I stood in the midday sun a bit too long. I should have taken shade breaks under the big American elm like Tom did. When I finally took to the shade, I misplaced my phone. Instead of life as I knew it ending, a kind citizen found the phone and gave it to Sgt. Ibrahim of the Metropolitan Police Department, who saved it for me. I have a lifelong love of  parades and I intend to write a blog about them, but, for now, here are some photos from this year’s event.

Like much of the country and the world, the Washington, D.C. area has experienced excessive heat and bad air this summer.  Trying not to be old fools, Tom and I avoid staying outside much during Code Red or Code Orange days. We still make our rounds of local museums and gardens, though. We’ve had rain along with the heat, so beauty still abounds in this burning summer.

In a post late this winter, I vowed to make potato salad and have a picnic in the spring. Spring passed and I didn’t make the potato salad or go on a picnic. Things happen (or don’t happen). A few weeks ago, though, I took potato salad to a party with some old friends and colleagues, most of whom I hadn’t seen in many years.  My potato salad worked out well because I used good potatoes, lots of cumin, and sweet and spicy  jarred jalapenos. I had been somewhat anxious about seeing people who had once been close workmates at a job I left 23 years ago. Our work had been important. We taught English, civics, and workplace skills to adult immigrants and refugees. We had felt honored to serve these people. Those years at the Arlington Education & Employment Program (REEP) had been exhilarating and exhausting, but rewarding. There had been something elemental about working so hard alongside friends to assist our students, many whom had faced war, torture, famine, and economic calamity.  I needn’t to have been anxious about attending the party. I found myself again within a caring circle, just as in decades past.

Tom and I spent two days at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival this summer. We particularly enjoyed a variety of music including gospel, old-time Ozark, and Ukrainian choral. What mostly stays in my mind, though, is a sign and some ribbons.

Things happen beyond the planting and transplanting of flowers, the walking of dogs, the marchers marching in the parade, the making and sharing of potato salad, and the hearing of music. Friends die and friends of friends die, even in summer. I tied a white ribbon here and a few days later another loved one left us. I don’t think I am too sad. I do believe like the sign says, “grief and loss are parts of life we all share.”

One more month of summer. I plan on having a picnic, making pickles, and canning peaches–if I can find some good ones for a good price. I will watch the morning sun come up as it does every day, and I will remember.

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*It’s not just the coffee spoons that resonate with me. In graduate school, I wrote a paper analyzing “Prufrock.”  I have loved the words of this poem for 50 years, but I understand them more as I grow older (but still eat peaches).