This is your Cruise Director Speaking
The making of a summer, and a poem about peonies and people
Some of my close friends have graduating seniors this year and I’ve been watching with a nervous anticipation. What an emotional roller coaster that will be! And to all of you parents going through graduation - “the change” I think they call it, I salute you. All the parties and the dresses or color-matching suits, the college choices, the caps and gowns, the events and ceremonies - Shwew, is all I have to say.
“How did we get there from here, Mr. Shepherd” -Sondheim (Merrily We Roll Along)
I am everywhere all at once as always. I have one student approaching junior year, one the end of middle school and one in the middle of Kindergarten. It’s hard to know where to focus. The spring unfolds in time-lapsed cinematic bursts of kindergarten parties, family outbursts, last minute projects and car trips around the school.
One of Gus’s favorite books is called Summer. Oh the things that summer brings. It talks of fireflies and fireworks and campfires and swings. For me, the approach of summer brings on the worry that I will have to assume the role of Cruise Director. The pressure mounts. Which is ridiculous because it’s summer -summer brings it’s own wonders. But still, there’s a responsibility there.
I have long lamented the modern child’s expectations that there be a little magic every day. I especially remember a PTO member’s suggestion that on student orientation day of grade school (meet your teachers, get your books), there be an outdoor festival. “You know! Pony rides and snow cones!”
“Sweet Lord Above!” I cried. “Everything can’t be magical can it?” Magic is in nature, in interactions, and in natural interactions. Sure, you can buy happiness. You can go to Disney or buy a picturesque hot fudge sundae, but that’s a heightened state, right? That can’t be every day.
Here’s a dream sequence for you: I’m just a simple mom trying to take a hike with my kids but I’m being stalked by a Kona Ice Truck, (we’re not lucky enough to have Mr. Softees anymore). We keep trying to escape through the woods but at every fork in the path we’re met by the magic truck that just wants to add some fun and calories to our poor little hum-drum lives. We must be entertained!
This is the thought that grips me as I set out to plan a mindful, adventurous, fun and magical summer itinerary. Sesame Street tells me that fun must be planned. So I attempt a balancing act of some structure, some learning, and some plain old boredom. Remember boredom? Oh yes, that was another time.
Today, there is no downtime because the downtime can be filled with a highly “satisfying” series of Tiktoks or reels. Nevermind there just being plenty to do, there are screens everywhere and podcasts if your eyes are tired.
Truly there is nothing to fear but the fear of boredom itself. For it is there that the whining begins. And whilst I could and will periodically say, “clean the house or go outside!” like a proper Midwestern housewife, I will also lean into my haphazardly made plans. Day camps, lessons, pool passes, part time jobs, vacation itineraries, party dates and then oh how we will complain that we haven’t had time enough to be bored.
And we’ll relax into fall, with the sunscreen put away and we’ll wonder what we were worried about. When they ask, where has the time gone, I hope we’ll say we were busy living it in the moment, even though I know most of it will have been planning for the next magical day.
I wrote a poem inspired by
my peonies because I love waiting for them to bloom. And blooms are so complete and temporary. And maybe I’m rushing other things from time to time. Kids these days, for instance. And “rough winds do shake the darling buds of May” and all that. So that’s where this came from.
Peonies in May How like a child To show one’s self from stem to bud And then to wait and make us wonder To bait us with peeks of color To grip like a fist so tightly around itself Self like an oyster, Potential like a Ginger Rodgers dress The old wives say leave it to the ants But never did a secondary busy body Prod in the right places to spring the bloom Instead we find all in patience, we tend To wish to rush where we should just attend And whisper, “I know you’re in there!” In a voice so soft they do not hear it as a command, but as an invitation Or a song that you let them think they found You cannot say “I heard it first - saw life before you did.” The ball of the bud opens by a higher coercion The sun that we circle and survey - still a miracle - That gives us days and weeks and years when it is loving We will watch you slowly becoming And all the more quickly will we ourselves stoop Under the burden of the lightest dew And then it will be you, sweet youth and grown Who props us up and situates our last open days Who feeds us our last sunlight Who forgets to remember how long we waited to bloom
That was some stinking magic. I believe I read it 3-4 times and got more each time. Probably could go at it once a year from now on. It's really got the magic.
I love peonies as much as you! Your poem captures that love beautifully.
Your comments about summer are so true. Try to schedule that down time for yourself, if not for your not-so-little munchkins! God bless!