Boys of summer

I have a bunch of half-finished drafts about nothing in particular; whatever I happened to be thinking at the moment  ended up in writing, only to be abandoned in draft limbo.  Eventually, I'll finish and publish some of those half-finished posts, but the rest of them will languish, never to see the light of day.  Those that I actually publish will mystify my reading public, because by the time I get around to finishing them, they'll no longer be relevant.

Anyway, it's been several weeks since I've posted anything, and I just felt like writing something other than my novel, which I'm still working on.  Since I can only work on it for a few minutes a day, it's going very slowly, but I haven't lost interest yet, so I suppose that's a sign that I should continue.  I have another fiction idea, but it will have to wait, likely for a long time.  I can read two books at once, but I can only write one at a time.

This was one of the weirdest springs ever, with March-like weather right through the third week of May.  And then, just like that, it was summer.  Saturday of Memorial Day weekend showed up bright and sunny and hot, and the pool opened, and everyone emerged from hibernation all at once.  It's really summer now, and it feels like it's always been summer and it always will be.

*****
When I run out of things to write about, I can always write about these two boys:

What up, ladies? 

Some backtracking is necessary.  A few days ago, my husband impulsively bought the car that's partially pictured here.  It's a 1980 Mercedes 450 SL convertible.  Apparently, money does grow on trees, and the mid-life crisis-driven purchase of red convertibles is a common real-world occurrence, and not just  a sitcom plot.  It could be worse, I suppose.  And I have to admit that the car is beautiful, even though I'm afraid to drive it.

But back to the boys.  They are my 11-year-old son, in the driver's seat, and his best friend.  They have been friends since they were four, and they never tire of each other, even during the summer, when most days they meet at 8:30 AM for swim practice, and then spend the entire day together, until well into the evening, and then  pick up where they left off at the next morning's swim practice.  When they're not driving without a license, they're making a commercial for a product they invented ("But it's a scam, Mom.  Because our product is terrible.") or making goalie pads out of foam rubber and cardboard, or waterskiing on land (boy on rollerblades attached via bungee cord to boy driving motorized electric scooter) or debating the relative merits of the Beastie Boys' discography.  I have little to offer that is as entertaining as a conversation between these two.  And listening to them makes me feel like it's always been summer, and it always will be.