I've always been a fan of June. I remember what June meant as a kid on a lonely and flat Air Force base in North Dakota - the end of school, daily trips to the swimming pool (where I was once rescued by a lifeguard as I was apparently drowning in the deep of a 6' abyss), and trees. We had a crabapple tree in our front yard. It broke my tree climbing hymen and provided for crabapple jellies in fall.
Not far from our house there was a long stretch of evergreens and deciduous trees that we kids lovingly referred to as "the woods". These were neither woods and certainly not a forest but rather a long but skinny barrier of trees that separated the base's housing community from the rest of the military-industrial complex (an oblivious and impressionable time). June started out with a good fort building or tree climbing escapade in said "woods". With friends from my immediate neighborhood (or street block, as it were) we would battle it out with the neighboring block, staking out territory and setting booby-traps with string and young saplings.
As a blossoming adolescent in northern Italy, June meant lazing about at home (the "villa"), long walks and bike trips, and anticipating that summer's adventure in Europe. Many a roadtrip was planned under the auspices of June and as such I saw a lot of what Italy had to offer (a lot for a teenager, at least). I had some neighborhood friends, both American and Italian. Often we'd get together, pass the gelato around, and teach each other profanities in our respective languages.
Floridian Junes are obviously hot affairs. I recall most of them being spent in an air-conditioned space or the beach. I sold shoes in June. Waited tables and bar-hopped in June. Inspected and cleaned construction sites in June. There were midnight drives to the beach in June. Also sunrise visits to the beach in June. June was a sort of freedom then and I would drive for hours along the coast visiting quirky artist villages and finding just the right beach and parking space so as to avoid the crowds.
There were missionary Junes. The irony of these were that I spent them on the Adriatic and Mediterranean Seas and couldn't partake of their bounties (ie, beaches and bodies). I do however recall getting up extra early one month for "exercise" which involved playing "football" or "jogging" on the beach at Montesilvano (perhaps this was more of an August affair, I recall it getting desperate then). Sardinian Junes are fantastic, I must say. Every day I'd stop by the market across the street and pick up the freshest produce and cook exquisitely while waiting for the northern winds to cool the island. Later in the evening, I remember walking to the top of the city through the neoclassical bastions and medieval towers to watch the sunset across the harbor. In between bouts of idealism, I tried getting a drug addict clean and a few desperate women off the streets ... and a few door knockings for good measure.
Junes with ACW are grand international affairs - we've never actually spent one together. I planned a European rendezvous in June to visit the ACW. He planned a Korean rendezvous in June to visit me. Now ACW is spending a June in Botswana and I'm planning an escape from Korea. ACW and NARM will just have to wait till August for yet another rendezvous - this time, something more permanent.
June 2009...expect updates...
