Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days . . .

. . . .of summer!

Maybe even when the torrential rains and thunderstorms come, as they did Tuesday evening, dramatically, maybe even then it’ll still be summer. It’s a dreadful weekend predicted, so much so that the Lions Golf Classic has been cancelled already. But for now, this Thursday afternoon, it’s definitely summer time, and as much as is feasible, the living is slow and easy.

Breaking through the 30ºC barrier according to the car’s external thermometer just past lunchtime on Thursday, and the whiffling of the hay meadows is proceeding in great earnest — we’d hoped the freshly mown hay would be dry enough to bring in before the rain came down, but it hit at 6:30 yesterday evening in straight stair rods.

Mr. Drake is hot, but he’s got a nice cool pond to soak in if he likes (a pond dug out by our daughter at the end of her ‘A’ levels, as I recall), and there’s ample shade in the tall weeds, willow herbs, dock and spart grass even, for a respite from the searing sun. Mrs. Duck is all black, so she’s staying out of the sun’s rays until the cooler, wetter evening.

This is a lazy diary entry, in keeping with the season, but I did check out the lyrics of the title song, which refer to pretzels and beer on the second line. We’re not so keen on pretzels here, are we, as they are in Philadelphia. Nice huge soft doughy ones, from Pennsylvania Dutch country, with a swirl of hot mustard. But I might could have a large cool beer! Meanwhile, the song was apparently popularised by Nat King Cole’s eponymous album in 1963, so its appeal must date from that time, although it was debuted in 1962 with German lyrics. But music, and the feelings of summer, are universal, of course, transcending national boundaries.

I did mow the lawn earlier when it was slightly cooler, and later this afternoon I’ll collect the washing blessings from the line, all sweet smelling and golden from the sun and country breezes, just before the rain hits us. I breathed deeply from over the dyke as I snapped a photograph looking towards St. Peter’s School, and caught the whiffled hay strong and intense.

In fact, as quiet and serene as this day has been, we’re just waiting around stoically for word on crucial visa applications, as our daughter prepares to embark on Sunday for a year-long stint in a Sydney children’s hospital. So while it seems pretty lazy, there’s a deal of crazy emotional turmoil rumbling away underneath the hazy surface. Much like the rumblings of those thunderstorms, come to think of it, as jagged lightning pierces through the night sky with accompanying, crescendoing claps that could be the mighty blacksmith Thor fashioning a sword to pierce our hearts.

But we’ll not think of it that way; instead we’ll enjoy the day, revel in the modern adventures our children bring to display, deal with the thunderstorms on the way, and carry on into summer.

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