Take Summer Seriously

Notice: We are halfway through July. Once we hit August, there are only 35 days until Labor Day. And, everyone knows, that means the unofficial end of summer.

Don’t waste time on things that can wait!

The floor of my car is covered with an inch of sand. It seems silly to have it cleaned now. It makes sense to wait until the end of beach days. Besides, I don’t want to have to remove the golf clubs, cooler, beach chairs and umbrella from the hatchback.

Speaking about my car, I noticed that the inspection is due soon, but a beach sticker is my priority.

I’ll make hair, dental and dermatology appointments for September.

My hair is out of control. I could use a good shaping and cut.

I remember pictures of my sisters and me standing in front of “Tree Top,” our rented summer cottage on the shores of Tiana Bay. We’re sunburned, freckled and two of us are missing teeth. It reminded me of one of Dorothea Lange’s photos.

I’m not toothless yet, but without a hat, sunglasses and lipstick, I could fit right into that picture.

My back molar on the upper right side is ground down to a few points. Fortunately, there’s no pain. It’s a good candidate for a crown. The loose tooth on the upper left is holding steady, probably because I only chew on the right side.

A former dermatologist used to gather his interns around me and lecture, “Here’s a classic example of sun damage.” Living at the beach for most of my life has taken its toll on my skin. Although spots are appearing here and there on my face and body, I have become somewhat skilled at self-diagnosis. I don’t notice anything that warrants seeing my dermatologist before the fall.

The same applies to a Groupon for a facial. In the summer, my face is coated with layers of zinc.

Shopping drains a colossal amount of time. I banish the thought of spending precious hours in clothing stores and take this newspaper’s columnist Jenny Noble’s advice: Shop in your closet.

That is, until the end of the summer, when Roberta Roller Rabbit has its sale. I don’t need another caftan, but it’s a tradition, followed by Bellinis at Sant Ambrose with my friend Ann.

For anyone who can’t resist a little fun summer shopping, I recommend The Quogue Shop and Homespun in the tiny village of Quogue. Stop at Schmidt’s Country Market, a few doors down, where they seem to be thriving in their new location.

Stroll Quogue Street to the charming renovated library. It’s a nostalgic block for me. In the late 1950s, when summers were lazy hazy, not hazy crazy, my father was one of the owners of the now demolished Weathervane Inn.

Food shopping can’t be avoided. The good news is, frequenting farm stands is a summer pleasure. I spend time selecting the ripest peaches, the sweetest corn and juiciest tomatoes. It’s too early to call the Best of Summer, although I am partial to Densieski’s corn in East Quogue.

We have been enjoying string beans and cucumbers from the community garden behind the Hampton Bays Middle School. Back in the days of COVID, I invited my daughter to help me. She loved the experience, and the following year we decided we wanted a second plot.

She had signs made for us. Mine was “Gray (my maiden name) Gardens,” and hers was “You Grow, Girl.” I have retired from the garden in an attempt to control my own property.

I like to weed. I hesitate to put that in writing, because some people will be shaking their heads, thinking, “Really?” Like writing, I find myself saying, “Just five more minutes” — and, a half hour later, repeating, “Just five more minutes.”

There’s a shaded area I’d like to fill with pachysandra, a massive hosta to be divided and some tired-looking perennials that need attention. But once August heat and humidity hang over us, the garden gives up, and so do I. Over 47 years, our landscaping has created a private oasis; the patio area rivals our living room. It’s time to enjoy it.

Summer equals company. Nothing motivates me more than entertaining. I start to notice that the living room floor, painted with large gray-and-white squares, is starting to look a little more shabby than chic. The guest bathroom sink is dated. I want to replace the heating vents with the new ones like we have in our family room. The doorknobs in the hallway don’t match.

My husband, Mr. Voice of Reason, assures me that no one will notice. It’s summer. Everyone will be outside.

He’s right. As usual.

We replaced the wooden pool deck with stone, had a new liner installed and added a railing for older friends. The refrigerator in the family room off the pool area is stocked with beer, wine, lemonade and watermelon. The freezer is filled with ice pops, ice cream and vodka. The bucket of pretzels, a fixture in our house, is on top of the fridge.

A willow basket is filled with beach towels; a blue bucket holds sunscreen and bug repellent. The red wagon is ready for rides down to the beach.

I am taking the rest of summer seriously.