Loose Leaf Notes

I drag my royal blue beach recliner around the yard like a cartoon caveman drags a woman.  It’s like a clock that circles the yard, follows the orbit of the sun and tells of my recent whereabouts. It’s a heavy chair, but I have to find just the right spot, open but protected and private, behind the trees or the garden fence, somewhere I can sunbathe without clothes and not be seen by my neighbor on his lawnmower, where I can soak up the sun like a voltaic cell, expose my eyes that are prone to tear duct infections, make some Vitamin D.

I don’t have to think about whether I will or won’t wear a bikini or about tan lines showing.  Sometimes I read or come into the house too quickly because it’s hotter than I thought, because I don’t wear sunscreen, because I don’t like the chemicals and know that about 70% of what you put on your skin you might as well be eating.  Sometimes I come in prematurely and run upstairs to the computer room to type something out.  I watch out not to step on the chicken egg that I just lay between the slats on the porch floor and I’m especially careful not to knock over the nail polish that I brought out to mark the claw of the hen I suspect is eating its eggs.

The recliner is usually found in the west side of the yard when I sit before noon and in the east in the afternoon.  If I drag it close to the chicken coop the hens come running out squawking and looking for treats.  Occasionally, it’s parked in the middle of the open yard, which means I was watching stars or a meteor shower the night before.

If the grand kids come over, the lounger could be anywhere, facing the trampoline where they play mortal combat or maybe turned over for a tent.  There is no nude sunbathing on those days or sunbathing at all, more like catching a few breathers during all the activity, whether on it or on the hammock, which is guaranteed to eventually become a rocky sailboat invaded by pirates.

Sometimes the chair is tucked behind the overgrown forsythia bush for days, which probably means I’ve been working on a story and haven’t had a chance or have forgotten to sit outside.  But maybe I’ve been sitting too long, typing on the computer.  Sometimes I crash on my bed like a beached whale watching life from the window and waiting for a second wind.  I stretch out on top of the comforter that is also royal blue, but when it gets cold I have to go under and pull it up around my neck.

About the time the screens come down, I pull the blue lounger up on the porch.  For the next few weeks I drag it from one end of the porch to another like a child dragging a blanket, following the sun from one end of the sky to the other like a child follows its mother.  At some point it ends up in the shed, folded and leaning like a sad reminder or grave marker.  Here lies summer.  The memory of the sunbather.  May they rest in peace.