at some point the new apparel – once itchy and stiff, now worn-in and finally comfortable – inevitably catches upon something and unravels back into thread and fabric. distressed, you have to dig into the antique steamer trunk and pull back out your former wardrobe. as you shake the dust out of them you have to wonder if they will still fit the same, and perhaps you can’t even remember why you ever put them away in the first place. awkwardness never really goes out of fashion, after all.

backwards circles are a fine place to apply the old rocking chair adage: it gives you something to do but it doesn’t get you anywhere. the geometry of the bicycle is designed for forward motion, and when you ride backwards it will tend to turn you around in circles. if you can maintain your balance – substantial practice waits patiently before that “if” – the best you can hope for is to end up right back where you started. around you go and the skill of it is revealed in the execution, in the delicate balance of approaching something from the wrong end and riding it out successfully. but is that worth it?

it’s been a strange summer thus far.

of course, to declare something strange i have to provide some sort of a normalized baseline, and fortunately thinking of summer conjures up a few iconic images in my mind.

the first is long-locked in hazy memory in the days of my youth. it features our protagonist as a young boy, perhaps nine years old. school has been out long enough for the thoughts of elmers glue and #2 pencils have been fully placed on hold – pushed away into trunks and stored out of sight until september returns to impose itself. the back yard is full and green and full of adventure – the bmx bike is ready to ride, the g.i. joes are mounting an impressive defense along the road culvert, and all i can be excited to do is roll down the grassy hill. inside, the basement smells of cool damp air and the rumbling old top-load freezer in the pantry is full of fudgesicles. the library has an endless supply of books to read and there’s no pressure to get anything done other than wake up in the morning for swimming lessons and dread the return of fall.

the second is more recent and can be more precisely dated: the year was 1999, and it was my first summer in seattle, away from home. that summer was dominated by learning about the city, by the smell of an alley behind a fraternity and the simple living of grilled burgers, cheap vodka, and nothing to do but sit on the back stoop and bullshit.

the difference now is evidenced in an underlying sense of urgency, a feeling of time pressing in from all sides. under this pressure the summer has all but run off, fled with haste to some far-off destination. who can blame her?