July 19, 2003

Where the Wx Suits My Clothes

Favorite Things About Summer...

Image copyright Fred First
Getting out of bed wearing boxer shorts, period. Not two pair of socks, silk longjohns, sweatpants, T-shirt, sweatshirt and fleece sweater...the typical Winter straight-out-of-bed garb.

Getting out of bed and going straight to the coffee pot. I don't have to go out on the porch where it is obscenely dark and obscenely cold in all the garb mentioned above to get kindling to start the fire. No crumpling newspaper, wiping soot off the sleeve of my fleece sweater. In summer I don't bang my knuckles on the woodstove door pulling singed digits back from a smouldering fire that all of a sudden leaps into a conflagration, the July sun, up close and personal.

Sitting on the front porch in my boxers with a cup of coffee in the mornings. Maybe two cups.

Listening to the quiet sounds not made by man, while sitting in my boxer shorts, on my front porch, with a cup of coffee, straight out of bed.

The warmth of the morning sun on my bare legs, while sitting on the front porch, listening to the quiet sounds of nature, holding a good book in my hands which are not covered in soot.

The warmth of the morning sun on a vine-ripened tomato eaten whole in the garden, just after my first cup of morning coffee.

The smells that rise from the warm earth, wafting on the morning sun, the smell of pollen and petals, lilacs, yellow sweet clover, spearmint along the creek, damp loam...the smell of coffee and of ripe tomatos.

Seeing the orderly rows of stacked firewood seasoning behind the house, waiting for a time when the sun's scorching heat is only a uncomfortable memory, its pleasant warmth a fleeting rarity; in the heat, the sour smell of oak, the medicinal smell of walnut, and the sweet smell of cherry. Each piece in the stack from woodlot to face cord has been handled over and over by these hands that will in a few long months crumple newspaper and offer each piece into the stove like an sacrament, while my mind thinks back on how nice it was to be warm, to smell the earth, to live in my skin alone, to have experienced Summer.

This entry shamelessly borrowed from last year (July 9 Fragments), since the topic of boxers had materialized recently. And yes, these are the very pair that traumatized me!

Posted by fred1st at July 19, 2003 05:51 PM | TrackBack

Watch out for a boxer rebellion.

Posted by: Joel at July 19, 2003 10:21 PM

Good show, Fred! Takes a confident man to put a picture of his drawers on his blog. ;-)


Posted by: Rana at July 20, 2003 12:11 AM

You'll note, Rana, that the man wasn't confident enough to post a picture of his drawers taken while they were being worn by him! (Thanks for that, Fred. I'd hate to have to explain to my Hunky Husband just what it was that I was doing gazing upon the picture of a younger man in his--the younger man's--drawers.)

Posted by: Cop Car at July 20, 2003 12:08 PM

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