Summer

The Summer of Good

It’s summertime in the South. We are all intoxicated by the bluest of blue skies. We bathe in the brightest of suns. We eat the sweetest of watermelons. We hang out with the bullfrogs and cicadas on the back porch way past our bedtime, while the smell of magnolia blossoms perfumes our very souls.

There are pool parties and lake parties and beach parties and party parties. There are sno-cone stands on every corner. There are a million and one festivals, where we eat great food and dance into a dusky sunset. 

We Southerners move a little slower in summertime. Mainly because the heat of the afternoon sun will drench your shirt in 10 seconds flat. And if the heat doesn’t do it, the humidity will. But we also move slow because we know that summer is the very best of us – and we want to hang on to it as long as we can. 

Somewhere there’s a man getting ready to go fishing with his grandson. Somewhere there’s a neighbor drinking sweet tea on a front porch. Somewhere there’s a creek with kids splashing in it. 

And somewhere, either down the street or around the corner, in the next town over or at your mama’s house, there’s somebody doing something good. Helping a neighbor. Putting money in the offering plate. Adopting a shelter puppy. 

I’m sure of it. I’m convinced of it. I know it to be true. 

At least . . . I think it has to be true. I’m almost sure of it. Maybe? 

It’s been a long year. A really hard year. Along the way, I kind of lost my hope in people. I am having a hard time believing that people are out in the world doing good. Does goodness even exist anymore? Did Covid and politics and social media ruin us?

All I have seen on the news is hatred – acts of violence – yelling and anger. And around town? Well, people have forgotten how to smile at each other. And say hello when we pass each other in the grocery store aisle. We seem mad at something – or worse, scared of something. 

I have not seen goodness this year. 

So this summer, I am declaring it to be The Summer of Good. I have dragged out an old chalkboard. I have scrawled the words across the top. And I have instructed my family (as they look at me like I have two heads) that we are going to see GOOD in the world and then we will WRITE it down on the chalkboard when we see it. 

And I am declaring it to all of you – because I know there has to be GOOD out there. Right? 

Honestly, I’m a little worried we won’t have anything to write down on the chalkboard . . . 

Is this a little wacky? Yes. Is it a little cringey? Probably. Is it silly? Absolutely. 

But it’s also something I have to do – for myself and for my family. I must hang on to hope, cling desperately to its ankles. I can’t let it slip away from me. I have to see the goodness in our world before despair and desperation careen into all of us. 

And I want you to join me on this journey. I’ll be posting weekly updates and telling you what I am seeing. I’ll try to share photos of all the good that my family witnesses. I hope that you will do the same with me. Maybe we can find the good – together. 

What better time to do it than sweet summertime? 

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Popluation 1,778

There’s a small little beach town, barely visible on a United States map, tucked under Alabama’s southernmost coastline and located on a small island separated by the Mobile Bay. Population 1, 778.

Once on the island, one can drive from the east to the west in about 10 minutes. One can stand on the back porch of a beach house and see the calm waters of the Bay while simultaneously watching the choppy waves of the Gulf of Mexico wash up on the sandy shore. One might even consider quitting her job and moving to the town for early retirement if one could convince her husband it is a good idea.

Some people say that the entire island might be washed away one day by a major hurricane, but that doesn’t seem to worry the people of the town. They have been living there for hundreds of years and a little storm or two is not going to scare them off. Camille, Frederic, Georges, Ivan, Katrina, Ida – the locals can rattle them off like a list of outlaw cousins. They return every time, because, well, home is home. No matter what happens. 

So on this tropical day in June, the shopkeepers at Greer’s, the local grocery and hardware store, are stocking their shelves with the necessities. And by necessities, I mean any type of salad made with mayonnaise – Macaroni Salad, Egg Salad, Potato Salad, Pimento and Cheese Salad, Chicken Salad, Salad of the Sea. No one is worried about the upcoming Hurricane season, only that there might not be enough sweet tea at the annual flea market sale this weekend hosted by the Episcopalians. 

As the shopkeepers are busy lining cans on the shelves, an elderly woman stumbles and falls in the milk and creamer aisle. She seems disoriented and can’t quite make it to her feet. Several employees rush over to her and decide to call the local paramedics, just in case. Emergency personnel arrive quickly. One young man in a blue uniform bends over the lady and politely asks her what her name is. She politely asks him what his name is. Then she tells him that she is just fine and if he would give her a cigarette, she would be even better. “Ma’am” the young man responds slowly, “You don’t look fine. You’re on the floor at Greer’s.”

“This isn’t the first time this has happened to her,” a store clerk whispers to the customers as they squeeze around the stretcher to get their 2% milk. “Bless her heart,” he adds quickly. 

Meanwhile, the local Episcipalions are in a frenzy of preparation for the flea market sale to benefit the church mission. Two hundred chicken salad sandwiches need to be made, plus more chicken salad for their “to-go” customers. With tea and lemonade, plus home-made bread and butter pickles, it’s all hands on deck. Women and men of all ages pitch in to make the weekend a success. Cissy dons her “Have you hugged an Episcipalion today?” apron and everybody knows it’s time to get to work. She only wears that apron when it’s serious. 

Tourists and locals mingle through the arts and crafts booths, vintage wares, and garage sale treasures. Kids ride their bikes up and down the street that not only holds the Episcipal church, but the Baptist and Catholic churches as well. Brown pelicans soar over the crowd and seagulls wait impatiently for crumbs from the sandwiches. Necks are hugged. All two hundred chicken salad sandwiches are consumed. Priceless items are found and sold. Stories are exchanged. Smiles abound. 

It seems like the perfect summer day on the little island snuggled under Alabama’s coast. As the waves lap gently on the sandy shore, as the sun beams down from a blue sky, as the church bells toll and as sailboats glide on the glassy ocean, one might be tempted to think she has found paradise. But the locals know better. There’s no such thing as a perfect day and the only paradise to be found is when we cross those pearly gates. 

What they do know is this – that there’s two choices they can make in this little town. To wake up and thank the Good Lord for another day on this earth, to hug necks at the Episcopal flea market, to help an old lady who stumbled and fell at Greer’s, and to savor every last bite of those magical chicken salad sandwiches. 

The other choice is, well, to not do any of those things and one day slowly cease to live. 

And I guess one doesn’t have to live on a tiny island to figure out that we all have those two choices in life. It’s not that complicated, really. There’s no perfect life or perfect job or perfect town. There’s just people and life and happy days and sad days. We can either love it or hate it. But whatever you decide, remember it’s your choice and no one else’s. 

Life has to be lived, one way or another. Maybe how you do it is the lesson that the locals in this town have figured out. 

And for me? Well I think I’ll go hug an Episcopalian and find a chicken salad sandwich. 

I’d love for you to join me. 

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The Summer of Elvis

Dear Friends,

With summer coming to a close, many of you have asked me about our Summer of Elvis. (For those of you who are new, I am a little strange in the fact that I like to name my summers. If you haven’t read about The Summer of No, you can read it here.) I’ve had a few weeks to think about our Summer of Elvis and to really contemplate what I gained from it. I’ve thought about why Elvis became so important to my little family, how sometimes we can glean meaning from the oddest things, and what specifically the Summer of Elvis has taught me.

Listen carefully, because I’m going to share with you the important things I learned from our summer.

Are you ready?

You might want to grab a pencil and notepad to write this down.

This summer, The Summer of Elvis, I learned this . . .

Nothing.

Nada.

Not one darn thing.

I haven’t got anything important to tell you about what I took away from The Summer of Elvis because frankly, I didn’t take away anything from it.

It was just really fun. And that’s it.

Scott, I, and the kids visited Graceland at the end of May and we were all touched and surprised at the life of Elvis. We learned little things about his life and growing up in the South, something we could all relate to. We visited his gravesite which was quiet and beautiful. Then we rolled our windows down and blasted Elvis music all the way home. We were hooked.

This summer we listened to all the Elvis songs we could find. We helped Hugh search music shops for old Elvis records. We listened to podcasts about Elvis (my favorite is Malcom Gladwell’s podcast called Analysis, Parapraxis, Elvis). Hugh learned to play “Suspicious Minds” on the piano and we would all sing along as he played – Hugh taking the lead with Amelia on back-up vocals. We got Elvis books from the library. We researched how Elvis died, where Priscilla is now, and who is in charge of his vast fortune.

There were late night discussions with friends around our dining room table about whether Elvis was the real deal or if he had stolen his style from less famous R&B singers from the South. The kids learned that their grandparents had once been crazy teenage Elvis fans who had actually gotten to attend some of his concerts. We learned about young Elvis, movie star Elvis, and not-so-healthy chubby Elvis (but like Amelia says, “We don’t talk about fat Elvis”). We soon realized that Elvis is something you can discuss with almost anyone. Elvis was connecting us to all sorts of people in a lot of different ways.

So maybe there is a lesson in The Summer of Elvis after all. Maybe the lesson is that there are times when we just need to have some fun. Maybe we need to step off the ladder, put on an Elvis record, and sing as loud as we can. Maybe it’s ok to do something just for the joy of it all – with no other reason than that.

I’m sure there have been times in your life, as there has been in mine, when there isn’t much fun happening. When Hugh was first diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes and we were in the hospital with him, I couldn’t imagine ever having fun again. I thought our life was going to be a nightmare of shots and constant worry and numbers that I didn’t even understand. There wasn’t any laughter and there was definitely no fun.

But you know what? That was over 5 years ago and we have had so much fun since then. I guess I could have said no to all the fun – I could have used Diabetes as an excuse to never laugh, never play, never indulge in the joy of life. But, literally, where is the fun in that?????

Life is a lot of hard things, but it’s also a lot of fun. There are times to work hard, there are times that are painful, there are times when we just can’t laugh, but there are also times when the fun returns. I promise it will. You just have to open yourself up to it.

And if you’re kind of stuck right now, maybe in a place where there’s not a lot of joy and not a lot of fun, may I suggest putting on an Elvis record or downloading his greatest hits? Close the door and practice your best Elvis dance moves, sing until you are out of breath, and whenever you leave the room, announce that Elvis has left the building. It’s not magic, but it is a start.

After all, Elvis would want you to have a little fun.                   

Thank you, thank you very much.

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