The warmth of summer is beginning to seem like a distant stranger... ah yes, I see a show of gloved hands in agreement.
What is it that makes summer seem so magical? Even musical.

The night symphony of crickets competing with baritone bullfrogs, the comfortable creak of a hammock swing, and the cascade of freshly squeezed lemonade over stacked cubes of ice...
Not to mention the memories of freedom from school, from studying, from lack of sleep (attributed to projects and papers). The pleasure of 'summer' sleep deprivation is found in the matter of choice over obligation. Spur of the moment coffee runs followed by late night novels or movies are more than valid reasons to lose some shut eye and are still the greatest forms of unwinding from a busy, harried week at work, in my mind at least.

While carefully carrying a steaming cup of chai tea from the downstairs lobby up to our apartment on the third floor, my steps as small as stirring straws, I was reminded forcibly of the movie 'Summer Magic'. For those of you who have not had the good fortune to see this classic film, let me recommend you do. Hayley Mills has the voice of an angel, or cherub at the very least, and speaks every line like that of an impassioned poet. (Warning for all male counterparts, this angelic creature often bursts into the hallelujah chorus mid-sentence...yes, 'Summer Magic' is a musical)
Dancing about the room in one particular scene, she teaches a friend (by song) how to 'walk feminine', while balancing a book on her head. The underlying theme of feminism hints that women are often forced to hide their 'true selves' in order to obtain a husband. But what sort of husband at such a cost?
Speaking now as a woman who has acquired the affections of a life-long partner, I can honestly say the greatest gift you can give is yourself. Your true frazzled, flawed self.

Our society tends to equate femininity with pearls and high heels, which both emanate a form of elegance certainly, and are fine for Breakfast at Tiffany's while wearing a black dress. But what of real life? Many women find their wardrobe consisting more of sweat, scrubs, and sneakers than stilettos.

I find at the end of a long day, my thoughts are directed more toward "running away" than making runway, and it relieves my mind to know that I can "run to" my husband, who loves me regardless of makeup. This past week, I arrived home late one evening from work, and my husband insisted on meeting me just outside my car. (He has been so consistent in escorting me to and from our building, which has helped to reinstate a feeling of safety since the 'shivering sparrow' incident)
As I shut the car door, he asked, "Can I carry anything in for you?"
Turning to face him wearily, I suggested with a small smile, "Me?"
Without another word, he picked me up, carried me across the street, and down the block to our building. Cars stopped and couples pointed at the bundled bodies emanating a raucous laughter with every step. Making dinner that night in the kitchen, I was bundled into my husband's embrace once more as he sang "What a Wonderful World" into my ear. Never mind that he was trying to sound exactly like Louis Armstrong. (=

The point is, I was dancing with my husband while wearing sweat pants and a ponytail, and I couldn't have felt more feminine if you'd placed a red carpet beneath my feet.