Summer Accounting

Half Swimming

Day 1

I’m sitting on my bed with the cat who is deeply engaged in licking her body parts. Back of thigh. Front paw. Tail. When she’s done she curls herself around so her paws are covering her eyes. To block out…me? My intense staring? Memories of her cat friend who died? (We can only assume she’s perpetually traumatized which is why she is so territorial.) Out of nowhere a memory pierces through—my ex-friend who couldn’t remember anybody’s name. It always felt narcissistic, or at the very least, careless. I shift my body to make the thought wasp ricochet somewhere else.

Day 2

The water leaked out of the pool. Every summer something happens with the above ground pool. A tube goes flying in the middle of the night and we emerge to a half pool. Half water for a half swim. Then I’m in a bad mood because we have to bring the water truck back. I tell everyone how much money each truck costs. Then I order an outdoor patio table and chairs. I lose $150. I spend my tax return. Because I believe the joy will be tenfold when we have these items. The din of the birds will mean fewer glares between my daughter and her 10-year-old cousin when he chews vigorously. Like a normal child. But harsh judgments are easily stirred up for 16-year-olds. We’re often more unkind than kind I think—at least in our hearts.

Day 3

I want to bother my cat. I go looking for her so I can turn her body over like a loaf of bread. I can hear the children in the pool. I did all the things to facilitate their play. I ordered three trucks of water. I blew up the floaties. So many tasks and supplies to enable their joy. Is it possible they don’t need any of those things? That enjoyment requires nothing at all. Everything would have to be returned. All the furniture. The water. Send it all back for a different kind of joy.

Day 4

I wish I could find satisfaction in licking my whole body. While we are outside having a fire that lasts ten minute because of the ferocious mosquitoes, we spot a cluster of what look like bees floating around the tops of two maple trees. We ask the 16-year-old, who’s already on her phone, to look up the phenomenon: bugs on the top of maple trees close to West Lake in Prince Edward County. Ah-ha! June bugs!

Day 5

Everywhere I go someone is stretching or talking about stretching. My husband spreads out on a yoga mat for long periods while watching car videos. His yoga teacher once told him he was more flexible than the average man. The men always get the praise, even for stretching. I wish I had my own frivolous obsession that doubled as self-improvement. Then my daughter sends me pictures of cute animals and I forget I ever had any other needs.