22. Sunscreen

Am I the only one who loves the smell of sunscreen?

Anyone? Anyone?

 Bueller?

I think that sometimes smells create more poignant memories than your other senses. I can smell something and associate it with an event that happened 12, maybe 14 years ago. I remember the most random things; the sweaty stench of the gym where I did gymnastics when I was six, and the chemical smell of the cleaner used at the school I went to when I was ten. Now whenever catch a scent, it brings back memories, good and bad.

For me, the memories associated with sunscreen are almost exclusively positive. The pungent, coconutty aroma reminds me of sweltering road trips and sandy beaches; of building forts in the woods that surrounded our house; of our hands stained crimson from picking pound upon pound of dusty raspberries to make into jam; of the endless, pleasantly uneventful days.

In short, sunscreen reminds me of everything that makes summer so great.

21. Freshly cut grass

Or, more specifically, the smell of freshly cut grass.

Because of some exams going on at my school this morning, our classes started over two hours late. By the time I drove to school, the sun was shining, the sky was cloudless, and it was an idyllic start to the perfect day. As I glided up to school, the smell of freshly cut grass wafted in through my window.

It's mornings like those when everything in this world is perfect, when all the puzzle pieces finally come together and make sense.

17. Sunshine

Sorry I have been MIA for the past little while -- I had several weeks of grueling exams, and was completely drained afterwards. But I'm back, and will be posting more regularly again, now. School is almost done for the year, and I'm looking forward to the pleasantly long, uneventful days of summer.
In the month and a half that I have been gone, the weather has shifted schizophrenically between a gloomy overcast and a cloudless sunshine. It's impossible to dress for weather like that; you either wear shorts and freeze in the still-frigid mornings, or wear pants and boil in the pounding afternoon heat. But the sun seems to finally be here to stay. And there's nothing like nine months of dreary cloudiness to make you want to make the most of those three months of summer.

16. Rain

Over the past week or so, the weather has been beautiful, in a way that is not exactly typical for Washington; there has been lots of sunny skies and beautiful sunsets. But it was all too good to last, and the sky has reverted to the dark, dreary grey so typical of our state. It started last night with a blustering wind, accompanied by a light drizzle. But by the time the morning broke the drizzle had morphed in to a steady stream, coursing rivulets of water down my windshield and pooling in miniature oceans on the uneven parts of the sidewalk.
Just like any situation in life, you can look at the rain in a couple of ways. You can see it as a nuisance, with the chilling sky-tears ruining the sunshine, hiding any hope of summer for at least another week. Or, you can see the beauty in it all -- the  infinite, moody purples and greys and blues of the stormy sky, and the intricate patterns of water droplets as they splash onto the ground. You can notice the streetlamp-light being refracted and distorted by millions of atoms of water. You can admire the rays of sunlight breaking through the oppressive clouds, lightening the sky around them. Even if you don't enjoy the bone-chilling torrent itself (and I mean really, who can blame you?), you can still appreciate the rejuvenation and rebirth that the rain will bring; April showers bring May flowers, as the old adage goes.
In life, there has been, and always will be, challenges. And you can chose to complain and lament, recounting stories of the "good old days" when the sun shone brightly and the world was happy. Or, you can take a step back and find joy within sadness, beauty within pain. Even if, at the moment, it seems that all is lost, and that there is no benefit to all the endless struggles, you will come out on the other side a stronger, more compassionate person because of it.
So find the beauty in the dismal days; treasure the sunshine, but learn to enjoy the rain, too.

14. Summer

We've just had the first week of good weather of the year. Well, good weather is all relative; it was still a pretty frigid week, averaging around 60 Fahrenheit. But it's enough to incite a little restlessness in even the most dedicated students. And this weekend, the temperatures have risen to almost 70 degrees. So I figured that, in homage to the coming summer, I would post something a little different.

Below is an essay that I wrote for English class. It is based (albeit loosely) on Virginia Woolf's Talland House, wherein she recounts memories of summers spent at a vacation house on the English coast.

The objective of the prompt was to employ the descriptive language and lengthy sentences used so often by Woolf. I apologize if the essay seems a little bit stilted or choppy -- I never got around to editing it -- but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

There’s a little town a few hours east of here that lies just on the Canadian side of the border. It’s not much in the way of a town, really; just a random smattering of imposing lakeside hotels jumbled with ramshackle houses and convenience stores. Right next to the main hotel was the Starlight Marina (much less romantic than it sounds) with the typical Ski-Doo’s and speed boats and kayaks. Osoyoos is pretty much like every other small lakeside town.  But especially when I was younger, it seemed an almost mystical place. The thing that struck me most when I returned to a few years ago was that, even when it seemed that everything and everyone had changed, this island of normalcy remained unchanged. Five years after I visited it initially, there was the same hotel that we always went to, same delicious restaurant, even the same ice cream stand. It always seemed almost anticlimactic once we got there, but the drives to Osoyoos were practically unbearable. My sister, older cousin, and I would always go there after having spent two weeks visiting with our grandparents’ farm in the interior of British Columbia. Our parents would come for the last few days on the farm, which was a rather tense experience. Even back then, there was always a barely perceptible feeling of animosity, a buzz of cold electricity that injected itself into every sentence and movement. It wasn’t that there was one event that triggered this anxiety, so much as a series of small events that made those few days a little choppy. We would pile into the car under the stifling Okanogan sun, finally free from all the family drama. The car ride seemed endless (six hours can feel like an eternity, especially when you’re nine years old). But we amused ourselves for the arduous journey, knowing that once we made it through, Osoyoos would be waiting for us, patiently as always.

As soon as we made it to the hotel, we would leap out of the car, impatient to get to the beach as soon as possible. Taking our bags out of the car and into the lobby seemed a Sisyphean task with the wonderful sandy beach barely a hundred meters away. We waited impatiently, shuffling from one foot to the other, unable to stand still when our goal was within reachable distance.

And finally, freedom. The second our parents gave the most miniscule nod, we took it as the go-ahead and raced onto the beach- Through the dimly-lit lobby, down the slippery tiled stairs, along the hallway wafting with chlorine from the pool, and onto the gray paved balcony. We could finally see the beach in its full glory- everything from the chipped bright orange paint on the metal hand rails to the dusty sand that went on forever on either side of us. We leaped down the short set of stairs and onto the warm sand. You could feel the sun-soaked grains covering your feet, each individual granule seeming to soak the stress away. We would tentatively dip our feet in the water, slowly wading up to our ankles, then our calves. Maybe our knees if we were feeling brave. None of us really liked getting into the water, and we would dare the bravest to dunk their head under the bracing water first. Being the youngest by two years, I was almost never first. I would stand alone at the shallowest bit of water, the ground coated with that same fine sand that now glopped in between your toes like cafeteria pudding. I would get up the nerve to go a little deeper in tortuously slow increments, wincing as the cold water lapped at my ankles. My sister always believed that the best way to get in was to dive all at once, and she tried to convert me by splashing me with pails full of sandy water and slimy strings of kelp. But once everyone was finally in the water, we would stay as long as possible.  We would splash around until our bodies were numb with cold, our skin pocked with goose-bumps. We stayed out until the sun got hazy on the horizon, stretching out time until our parents finally called us in for dinner.

 

 

8. Sunny Days

Sometimes, sunny days are hard to come by here in Washington state. And sunny becomes a very relative term when the thermometer is barely creeping past 60° and the sky is still half clouds. But there is something so comforting about sunny weather. After months of dreary, storm-darkened skies, a solitary day of sunshine reminds you that there is more good weather to follow.

Comment down below what your favorite activity is to do in the sunshine!