Summer

I have always idealised summer, and my memories of summer. Particularly, I've idealised my memories of travelling during the summertime, as every August my family would all load into the car and drive for days to some spot in the United States: at first we would alternate between St. Louis (to visit my aunt and uncle) and the West Coast (at first Oregon, and then Spokane, WA, for a church camp). Mississippi River, West Coast, Mississippi River, West Coast. Every year we'd alternate, and every year we would live in the car and in motels, switching our brains from metric to imperial, asking for "restrooms" instead of "washrooms." Those parts of America became tied up with my idealisation of summer. I loved those summer vacations: I developed a love for Dr. Pepper, because that's what I'd get (with crushed ice) at all the restaurants we'd visit. I still love the smell of most motel rooms, and the feel of their pillows and sheets. I can sit in a car for ridiculous stretches of time, entertaining myself by making up games and stories.

Lately I haven't been able to escape my childhood memories of those summer vacations. Part of it is jo(e)'s fault, as she just shared her family's West Coast travels with us bloggers. Part of it is the fact that I live on the West Coast now, meaning that the air feels and smells like the Spokane summer camp (which everyone else will be attending next week).

Today, as I sat outside waiting for the bus, I felt particularly summery. Feeling the sun's warmth on my skin and the bench, I noticed a pop machine on the side of the bus shelter. In the sun, and against the shelter, it reminded me of one of those Inter-State rest stops, where they'd have a line of vending machines behind cages, and we'd beg Mom and Dad for an American dollar to feed into the machine. On a whim, I went and bought a Dr. Pepper, dropping in my loonies. The machine gave me back an American quarter, and I turned it over to discover a picture of Crater Lake, Oregon on the back.

That's when my bus pulled up, a double-decker. I was the first one on, and the only one to climb to the top. I took a seat at the very front and watched my city with new eyes, with the eyes of a tourist.