Something about summer is rebellious and barefoot and staying up way past our bedtime. Something in our brains goes native, some Bain de Soleil brews in our blood. As the earth completes its transition from chilly monochrome to tropical profusion, we go with it. From beef stew to gazpacho, from layers to linen, from bundled to bare.
Summer's Santa: a lifeguard in a Speedo. Summer's angora: the down on your forearm. Summer's black: white. Shoulders appear, followed by midriffs and thighs. Toes that have spent months inside socks inside boots under wraps and galoshes make their social debut painted coral or cantaloupe or iced cappuccino. Hairdos are cropped, pulled back, piled up. Even with everything we know, the urge to turn a little golden is hard to resist.
We do our best to civilize the summer. We air-condition our cars and offices to suit-and-pantyhose temperatures. We schedule meetings, make appointments, drink coffee, try to act like Monday is Monday and business is business and school's not really out forever. But no matter how we try to keep things running per usual, our souls won't cooperate. Beneath that power suite beats the heart of the girl from Ipanema. Tall and tan and young and lovely and on her way to the beach.
Summer is the season of lounging, the latitude of lassitude. Important exercises to know: Extend arm. Reach for tall glass. Repeat as necessary. Or: Jump in pool. Stretch out on inflatable mat. Hold for the count of 60. Roll over. Bend to fasten sandals; later, remove. To raise your heart rate, have sex. Very slowly.
At their best, the workouts of summer of nothing but fun and games: swimming, biking, rowing at dawn, long walks in the limpid twilight. Beach volleyball, sandlot baseball, golf and tennis and badminton and croquet on the lawn. It's the season of sneakers, baby; won't you come out and play?
No matter how hard they try to air-condition you, steal a little summer everyday. A cool dip, a frozen drink, a home-grown tomato, a lazy hour with a magazine. Nibble earlobes and melon balls. Put sunblock on your nose, put blond streaks in your hair, put sprigs of mint in your lemonade. This is the year you will learn to tie a sarong. Wear tangerine and fuschia, broad-brimmed straw hats, sandals of many straps. Behind sunglasses, we are all movie stars. In halter tops, we are all teenagers. At the water's edge, we are all children.
Summer is here. Welcome to de island.
-Marion Winik
Summer's Santa: a lifeguard in a Speedo. Summer's angora: the down on your forearm. Summer's black: white. Shoulders appear, followed by midriffs and thighs. Toes that have spent months inside socks inside boots under wraps and galoshes make their social debut painted coral or cantaloupe or iced cappuccino. Hairdos are cropped, pulled back, piled up. Even with everything we know, the urge to turn a little golden is hard to resist.
We do our best to civilize the summer. We air-condition our cars and offices to suit-and-pantyhose temperatures. We schedule meetings, make appointments, drink coffee, try to act like Monday is Monday and business is business and school's not really out forever. But no matter how we try to keep things running per usual, our souls won't cooperate. Beneath that power suite beats the heart of the girl from Ipanema. Tall and tan and young and lovely and on her way to the beach.
Summer is the season of lounging, the latitude of lassitude. Important exercises to know: Extend arm. Reach for tall glass. Repeat as necessary. Or: Jump in pool. Stretch out on inflatable mat. Hold for the count of 60. Roll over. Bend to fasten sandals; later, remove. To raise your heart rate, have sex. Very slowly.
At their best, the workouts of summer of nothing but fun and games: swimming, biking, rowing at dawn, long walks in the limpid twilight. Beach volleyball, sandlot baseball, golf and tennis and badminton and croquet on the lawn. It's the season of sneakers, baby; won't you come out and play?
No matter how hard they try to air-condition you, steal a little summer everyday. A cool dip, a frozen drink, a home-grown tomato, a lazy hour with a magazine. Nibble earlobes and melon balls. Put sunblock on your nose, put blond streaks in your hair, put sprigs of mint in your lemonade. This is the year you will learn to tie a sarong. Wear tangerine and fuschia, broad-brimmed straw hats, sandals of many straps. Behind sunglasses, we are all movie stars. In halter tops, we are all teenagers. At the water's edge, we are all children.
Summer is here. Welcome to de island.
-Marion Winik
