Summer

     During the lazy summers of the 1970's, my house was hot.  Unlike our many wealthy neighbors with central cooling systems, the Leshenskis had one air conditioner, and it was bolted into Rose and Steve's bedroom window.  We watched The Thorn Birds, ate Corn Flakes and blow-dried our hair taking comfort in that retreat when Rose and Steve weren't sleeping.  Those dog days of summer, though not dreaded, could sometimes be dreadful. 
     For me and my siblings, relief came in many ways, some more creative than others.  Lipton Iced Tea, the champion drink mix that came in a huge Costco-type container, was the mother load.  We didn't have Costco, so who knows where my mother found that load.  All I remember is that it quenched our thirst all summer long.  We always kept a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge.  Neighborhood children would knock on the backdoor and say, "Hi Mrs. L.  Can I have some iced tea?"  My brother Dave used to eat it by the spoonful, not bothering to make a glass or a pitcher of it.  He'd prefer sweating and sucking that heaping tablespoon of dry tea mix all sugary and sour.  (He also ate dry pasta and uncooked potatoes so he was an oddball foodie to begin with.  I digress.) 
     And then there was Jennings Beach.  Relief.  We piled into the car nearly every weekend and often during the week, toting peanut butter sandwiches, fresh peaches, Ritz crackers and of course, iced tea.  My mom brought the orange and white jug that would rattle from the ice cubes, and we would make our way to the perfect spot in the sand, close to the water, near the lifeguard, just down from the bathrooms.  She had a knife to cut the peaches, and she sliced them at our request popping them into our mouths so we never worried about sandy peach pulp.  There were always plenty of Dixie Cups, napkins, and even a transistor radio.  Billy Don't Be a Hero entertained us while we waited exactly one hour to go back into the water.
     But the best part of summer in the '70s was my dad's weekly unplanned but much awaited announcement:  "Well," he'd groan while getting up from his chair. "Let's go out for ice cream."  Oh, how I loved those seven words. For me, those words had so much meaning.  They meant Friendly's:  chocolate almond chip, maple walnut or butter pecan.  They meant that if you dropped your cone by the curb it would be okay.  You could get another one.  Or if you ordered butter crunch by accident and then cried in disappointment, you could still get another one, and mom would eat yours.  Those words meant family.  For me, they defined the true, simple happiness of a child... of this child.
     Today, gourmet ice cream, Caribbean vacations, and Snapple have taken the place of my fondest childhood memories.  Sometimes I yearn for the unadorned roots from which I came.  To get back to a time when long summer afternoons in the sprinkler were enough and when sitting under the massive oak tree in our back yard studying the heads on the acorns was enough. 
     Next summer I plan on just enjoying the simplicity of Italy.  And although there is nothing simple about getting there, once I do, you can be sure sitting under a tree with a good loaf of bread, a hunk of salami, and any random bottle of wine will do just fine for me.  I'll be perfectly content cooling off in the Mediterranean, or lapping up every drop of melted gelato from  my wrist. In Eat Pray Love, Elizabeth Gilbert teaches her readers the Italian translation for this simple way of passing the time.   I think the saying is something like "il bel far niente," which means the beauty of doing nothing.