So long July, you most beautiful of months, you. Thanks for a great birthday, for introducing me to amazing people, for unexpected adventures and for the reminder that I have an amazing community around me. It’s been fun.
Ah, but hello to you, August, you gorgeous finale to summer, with full warm days and long, sun-stretched nights. In you we celebrate the Carpenter’s birthday (and remind my favourite Leo of the three-year age difference between us, reflected in the inferno of candles on the cake). It will make the long weekend extra long around here. I’m okay with that.
I’ve decided August needs a theme song; something to represent how I want the month to feel. Something that, when it gets overwhelming with the work-life balance, I can listen to this song and get grounded, so I’ve chosen Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic.” Yeah, you get it.
A mystic is defined as: a person who seeks by contemplation and self-surrender to obtain unity with or absorption into the Deity or the absolute, or who believes in the spiritual apprehension of truths that are beyond the intellect. Me. Absolutely me.
August is a slow burn in a whirlwind of activity around here. Lots of visitors to the farm. Lots of added chores, but the kind that keeps the energy high and makes it all worthwhile. Plenty of side gigs to pay for all my goals. No matter what comes, August will rock my soul, sending my spirit flying into the mystic. Amen.
I look forward to the sound of bagpipes and drums of the Fergus Scottish Festival and Highland Games, because this event is truly an amazing experience whether you’re Scottish or not (I’m not). The Carpenter will be volunteering in the parking area. There is nothing my Leo spouse loves more than telling people where to go and exactly how to get there (parking joke, but maybe a metaphor – you decide).
Then, we have Riverfest Elora, which is my annual barefoot-in-the-grass dance, lost-in-the-moment immersion of all things music, community and a whole lot of strangers sharing a vibe that isn’t about substance so much as it is the joyfulness of being a part of a festival unlike any other. I may only get there for a few hours, but I have every intention of getting there. It matters to me.
And then, as if a reward for a summer of organized chaos, I will make my annual pilgrimage to Bobcaygeon, if only for a few days, to meet up with friends who are more like family, and the ease of being around people who don’t care what your job is, what your income is, what your issues are or what you’ve done all year. They just want you to pull up a beach chair and look out over Sturgeon Strait, watch the boats pass by, and talk about really important things like what books you’ve read, what shows you got into this year and what’s going on the grill tonight. The “Cottage Cousins” we call them, a reunion with the lowest maintenance people whose bond is as sacred as any other in my life.
Whatever this month brings, whenever I feel overwhelmed or even underwhelmed, I’ll throw on headphones and tune in to Van Morrison and slip effortlessly into the mystic. I hope you do too.
