Musings on the Rhythms of My Life

Eons ago the sun, moon, and stars dictated life. Folks looked at the sky for information about weather and seasonal changes. What should I wear? Will it rain? Should I stockpile firewood?

I check my cell phone for the temperature and decide what to wear. I stare at the weather channel when storms threaten. Should I leave my cozy, comfy home and venture out to buy provisions? My imminent disaster shopping list is short and sweet – ice cream, hot chocolate, and cookies. If confined indoors, I want to close my eyes and savor the flavors rather than tremble in fear.

Mid-year marks a major yearly transition, beginning with the ritual that occurs on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend with the opening of our town’s Farmers Market. I stroll a church parking lot transformed into a makeshift marketplace. I wander up and down aisles and shop for fresh local produce, observe people passing by, and enjoy the fleeting time of year. I talk to vendors about their products, greet neighbors laden with bags stuffed with fresh veggies and prepared fare, and smile at babies in strollers, kids chomping cookies and ice cream cones, and dogs tugging at their leashes, eager to greet other dogs lucky enough to enjoy a market adventure. The scene repeats until the Friday of Labor Day weekend, which marks another ritual in my 21st-century retired life – the end of the summer shore season.

Recurring 21st-century rituals shape the rhythm of my life. Rituals are the chorus that repeats after a song’s new stanza, providing a personal sense of order in a chaotic world. 

After Labor Day jeans replace shorts and sundresses, days darken earlier, nights are cooler, and flowers that barely survived summer heat thrive. Seasonal jobs wind down and businesses reduce staff as a new crowd, mostly locals not as numerous or prosperous, emerge. Townsfolk greet each other like long-lost friends, chat, gossip, and ponder another summer gone too soon. 

Suddenly Halloween and Thanksgiving displays proliferate, indicative of a new season. Fall is a lovely time, but winter lurks in the wings. December generates glazed-over looks as folks prepare for the holidays.

I used to relish the yearly ritual of New Year’s Eve dinners at an upscale restaurant with friends. But I aged, and my pocketbook shrunk. Nowadays I prefer dinner at home followed by falling asleep on the couch before midnight watching concerts streamed from around the world. I don’t have to rummage through closets for ‘casual evening attire’, my evening wear – pajama flannels – is an appropriate warm, snug outfit for the occasion. 

A new year and a human hibernation of sorts begins. The first weeks of the new year are eerie: stores and restaurants empty, traffic disperses, folks slide into couch potato mode, catch their breath, and examine bank accounts. The holidays sapped time, energy, and monetary resources. As cold, rainy, windy weather blows in, cooking and consuming comfort food become favorite pastimes…

For a lot of people. Me included, but not for the entire winter. 

As winter descends, I ascend into the skies and travel to a warmer, sunnier clime to escape, a ritual I hope to repeat for years. 

The slow genesis of spring and the reappearance of humans coincides with the Easter and Passover holidays, ancient rituals humans continue to acknowledge. Snowbirds return and part-time residents resurface to prepare their homes for summer. Locals spruce up their houses and businesses. Landscapers, builders, and repair contractors materialize and the hum of outdoor equipment rudely interrupts peaceful days.

The pace of life increases as summer plans are made…and that brings us to this Memorial Day holiday weekend.

The forecast for the next three months: sunny, mild weather, the beach beckons, lines form at the pizza and ice cream shops, and fresh fruit and whipped cream fill the fridge. My front porch tempts me to sit and relax with my summer read and iced tea. 

The rhythm of life continues.