A sweet summer day anytime I want one, by Deb Kristina

There are “sweetest days” that loom large on the marquee of a life. Wedding days, days children are born, days of heady professional success.

For me, there’s one sweetest day I can still summon up to slow down my heart rate and quiet my mind when the world cranks up the volume on my anxiety tape. It wasn’t a big day, nor was it amazing. But it sure was sweet.

I don’t remember how old I was — as young as twelve, as old as my late teens. I do know I was an adolescent and it was summer and as fall approached I knew I’d be thrust into the rush of school activities and teen angst with barely time to catch my breath.

I was in Charlevoix, Michigan, with my family. We were at a secluded beach at Mt. McSauba, which is not so much a mountain as a large-ish sand dune. It’s not a place tourists will easily find, so even on the most postcard-gorgeous days, it’s peaceful. First, you have to have the fortitude to slog uphill through the sand on the forested side of the dune, then as you reach the crest, a dazzling vista opens up at your feet – sun dancing on deep blue water reaching out to kiss the soft sandy beach. Then, if you’re a kid or even a giddy, nimble adult, you can skip down the beach side of the dune, your momentum throwing you into the horizon.

That’s what this one particular sweet day was like. A running-down-the-dune kind of day. Lake Michigan was bracingly cold, but the day was so hot that the cold felt decadent. Our time at the beach was running short, so I waded in for “one last dip.” As regular readers will know, I’m not much of a swimmer. But I do like splashing around, swimming underwater for short stretches, floating around and bobbing in the waves. After a satisfying splash, I came out of the lake and walked back to my towel. The day was hot enough that I was instantly warm again. I didn’t bother toweling off. I just stretched out in the sun and let myself bake dry.

I wiggled into the sand, making a Kris-shaped divot more comfortable than any Sealy Posturepedic. I closed my eyes and listened to the rhythmic waves, almost like the lake’s own breath, while the sun rained down warmth.

And I knew right then I’d have to memorize that moment. Because soon it would be fall and busy and stressful, but if I stored up that moment’s peace, maybe I could call it up in times of need.

And for fifteen or twenty years, it’s worked. When I’m feeling overwhelmed, I can page through my memories until I find my sweetest day, like a worn page in a scrapbook, and stretch out in the sand again.

Is it any wonder I set Real Life and Liars in Charlevoix? If one plans to spend untold hours mentally elsewhere, why not pick someplace sweet?

Deb Kristina

Edited to add this important reminder!
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