Utopia Articles (I)

Top Five Summer Memories

Summer used to be a powerful word. Now when I hear "summer" I think to myself, "Will I survive even hotter and more humid weather for the next several months?" Living in a college town means that summer is the time when traffic slows and you can get a seat at your favorite restaurant at lunch without having to synchronize your watches and hit that perfect window of opportunity between the passing bells. But when I was a kid, summer seemed of interminable length, stretching out in endless weeks of no school and countless possibilities. All the good fruit was in season and all the summer movies were out which meant I might be able to catch a good one on my birthday or my sister's, which fell eight days apart in July. There are things that I associate with my summers as a kid and, though none are specific events, each seems to encapsulate the feel of summer as I cast back through my memory.

Daylight savings time. Forget the first day of summer...summer was a given by that point. The first thing that heralded the arrival of summer for me was daylight savings time. The nights began to grow longer allowing for more playing time after dinner. We lived in a house located in a court and for years all the neighborhood kids would congregate on our street to play baseball or kick-the-can. If I had to go in for dinner, I could hear everyone outside my front door and couldn't eat fast enough. Even as far south as we were, the nights seemed to be endless during the summer.

And speaking of daylight savings time...that meant baseball season had begun. My team was the Oakland A's and, when I was ten, they won the World Series. I kept a scrapbook that year and followed all the players and box scores and cut out every picture in the paper I could get my hands on. I still remember working in the yard or painting the back porch in the heat of the day with sweat pouring down my face, listening to the sounds of baseball. I still like to watch baseball on TV and go to games at the stadium, but nothing beats listening to a good play-by-play outside while you're working.

Another association I make with summer is the sound of frogs. In our backyard, we had a pond with a tiered waterfall. The waterfall was run off a pump that helped the water cascade from the upper levels to the lower pond which had a miniature bridge, exactly kid-sized. During the summer, the pond would fill with polliwogs. My sister and I would watch their progress until suddenly the nights would erupt with the sound of croaking. I was so used to the sound of the frogs that I didn't really "hear" them anymore. When friends would stay overnight, they would comment on the incredible din and wonder aloud how I could sleep with all that noise. It was just one of the sounds of summer and it's something I still listen for...and miss.

When I think of summer, many of my memories are set in my own backyard. I see myself climbing our biggest, strongest tree and sitting amongst the leaves reading. I see myself climbing into the fruit trees to collect the ripe fruit for pies and applesauce. One picture I hold in my mind is of me, sitting on the backporch in the pitch dark, stranded in a pool of light with the book "Watership Down", fighting off the mosquitoes who threatened to eat me alive. Another flash shows my sister and I in our bathing suits sitting in folding chairs on the back lawn with the sprinklers turned on full force. A final picture of my summer backyard is of the whole family, camped out overnight on tarps in our sleeping bags watching a meteor shower explode overhead.

The final and most important association I have with summer is the joy of swimming. From my earliest memories, I can picture my sister and I paddling in our old Doughboy swimming pool with our blue life jackets emblazoned with pictures of dolphins. Later, we joined the local pool club and enjoyed swimming in a much bigger pool, even joining the summer team. There were days when I would get up first thing in the morning for swim practice, dash home to do my chores, race back to the pool for the day, bike home in record time just making dinner, then beg my mom or dad to take me back to the pool until closing. If I could have lived in the water over the summer I would have done it gladly. Our vacations were similarly filled with swimming. We would drive all day then take the time to pick the best motel based on the size and condition of the pool viewed on a drive-by through the parking lot. We had our priorities.

Of all the things I associate with and miss the most from my summers as a kid, it's the swimming. As I sit here typing this, the nostalgia for those days is overwhelming. I've grown up (some) and moved on and my summers will never be the same. There aren't three months of freedom stretched out ahead of me or endless days of diving, splashing, and existing in the water to enjoy. But I'll always have those memories to conjure at odd moments and I can use them to capture that magic, no matter how fleeting.

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Smut, Be Not Proud

I am sitting here trying to think of the type of books I associate with summer. The strange thing is, I didn't pick up my penchant for reading and books until I got older. When I was a kid, I remember coming home from school and rushing over to my friend's house to play in her backyard (she had a treehouse) or in her bedroom (she had cooler board games). My sister was the one who inherited my parents' reading gene. But there are some books that stand out in my memory as summer fare. When I was young I used to like Nancy Drew Mysteries and spent some time in a second-hand store near my grandmother's house looking for a hidden volume to add to my collection. I remember summers in my mom's padded, outdoor lounge chair reading these mysteries or a few other gems I had discovered, like Watership Down and Shardik.

When I got a bit older, I discovered Stephen King and decided my favorite book was The Shining. My aunt belonged to a Book of the Month club and she would always pick the King selections since she knew they would be read and enjoyed by my parents as well as herself. I remember when it was my turn to read The Stand. My mother and father had read it and decided that a few passages were unsuitable for a girl my age to read; not simply for their sexual nature, but more for their violent and disturbing context. The passages were neatly held together with a paperclip and it was understood that I should skip these parts. I ended up reading them first thing then again when I reached them in the course of the story. I hope my parents aren't reading this.

Despite my attempts to choose wholesome, educational classics, I spent one entire summer reading smut. I'm not proud of this but it was a heck of a fun time. One of my aunts was a home technician who had inherited a box or two full of Harlequin romances from her mother. I think she read most or all of them and was considering donating the lot to Goodwill. But in a gracious gesture, that my mother probably regrets to this day, she offered them to me and my sister. I remember opening the containers and sorting the contents and wondering at this newfound genre of literature.

My sister is a really fast reader. Not only does she read fast but she can read anywhere. She made a valiant start on the pile of books and began to read them whenever and wherever she could. In the living room, in the car, in bed, in the bathroom, at the pool. No location was considered off limits. I began at a slower pace but soon caught the Harlequin fever. These books are the epitome of formulaic writing and can be read by a dedicated soul in a day's time. We would sprint off to swim practice, race home for breakfast and the list of chores, then settle in with a romance novel for the afternoon.

Would it be the spoiled, rich girl who needed to be tamed by the rugged youth who had pulled himself up by his bootstraps? Or would it be the beautifully tragic orphan waif who would win the heart of the rakishly handsome hunk who was slated for marriage to her snobbish cousin? On occasion, the authors would step outside the bounds of the traditional formulas and the main character would have a bit more personality...maybe even be a bit of a hussy! But these were few and far between and, when they existed, the sordid past was veiled in flowery words and ambiguity.

The best part of the wonderful gift of smutty prose that dropped into our laps was that we could enjoy the same books back-to-back and compare notes on our favorite characters and the most ridiculous lines. Oh, for a neon yellow highlighter to mark the number of times I read such staggering euphemisms as "...then she felt the hard muscles of his thigh press against her as she melted in his sinewy arms." That's probably not his thigh sweetheart but you keep telling yourself that. And of course, as the pure unmitigated excitement of being kissed by this rogue overwhelmed the poor girl, she would usually feel "the pagan drumbeat of her heart racing to match his own heart's pounding rhythm". In all my years, I don't think I've ever drawn a correlation between my heart and a pagan drum, especially during a key moment like being kissed. Maybe I was concentrating too much on the contour of his thigh?

As I mentioned, I'm not proud to list a paper sack of romance novels as my most memorable summer reading fare, but danged if it wasn't the first thing that sprang to mind. I don't think I've ever read a romance novel since that summer of discovery. In fact, I usually run like hell when I accidentally stumble down the romance aisle at my favorite used book store. You really don't see that much concentrated pink unless you've unintentionally turned down the Barbie aisle at the toy store. Despite their lack of real worth, my sister and I had a fun time sharing those books and to be honest, they were so tame that it was years before I picked up a grown-up romance novel and found out what true smut is all about. Those are probably too dangerous for summer. Save them for winter when you can use the heat they generate to warm you on a chilly night.

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Displays of Light and Wonder

The Fourth of July was always a fun holiday to celebrate. It fell between my sister's birthday and my own so, it seemed like a bit of a bash to herald the passage of another year for each of us. It was as if everyone was putting on this huge fireworks display just for our birthdays. Thanks everyone! You really shouldn't have...

There was always a picnic or barbecue to attend and you just had to have a watermelon as part of the spread. My father and I don't really appreciate watermelon, my sister likes it well enough, but my mother loves it. I can remember her chopping open the huge melon and I would see how red and juicy it appeared. It called out to me, saying "Look how beautiful, and refreshing I look. Wouldn't you just love a slice?" I'd always have to partake in the sticky mess and eat a slice only to discover it didn't quite live up to its promise. Too many seeds; too much work. Now with genetic engineering and hybrid crops, you can have your seedless melon and eat it too.

Another staple of the 4th, was a candy sampler in the shape of a firecracker from Sees' Candy Company. I'm not sure if this is a regional chain, but Mary Sees had stores in California where you could purchase chocolates year round and seasonal specialty items for certain holidays. Independence Day brought out the firecracker special which my sister and I would receive from our aunt or our own mother (sometimes both if we were lucky). There were assorted candies including cinnamon sticks along with chocolate and caramel suckers. But it was the cool firecracker container with the fuse springing from the lid that really made it a treasure.

After a day of sun and swimming, we'd eat our fill then wait for it to get dark enough for the fireworks display. When we were home for the holiday, we would often beg our father to drive the family to a closer vantage point to view the proceedings. There were usually fireworks at the nearby community college, which was a reasonable drive from the house. The problem was, if you got caught in traffic or stuck in a fight over parking, you might miss the display altogether. Who needs that kind of headache when you just want to enjoy yourself?

My favorite spot for viewing was a short walk from our house at a place called Dinosaur Hill. On this hill, families from the surrounding neighborhoods would spread out blankets and all gather to watch the display. From this location, we could see the nearest display as well as several others at more distant sites. When strategically seated, you could turn your head and catch multiple displays simultaneously. There's something about sitting with a vigilant group that makes the experience more exciting. Everyone "oooh's" and "aaah's" together and, combined with the distant booming of the explosions and the beautifully colored light display, it made for a fulfilling end to the day's activities.

In the town I currently live in, there are multiple displays at the university, the nearby park, and at least one other field. The advantage to living in a fairly flat terrain is that the view of the night sky is hard to obscure. Last year, I found that by pulling out a lawn chair and positioning myself in my own driveway, I could turn my head and catch all the fireworks displays without leaving my property. Sounds lazy, but when you consider that national holidays often involve rest and relaxation, it seems like the perfect solution. That's where I will be found when the fireworks start this Fourth of July; sitting in my driveway, gaping at the best displays, and imagining that I'm on Dinosaur Hill with my family in California.

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Roswell Revisited

As I sit here writing this, Independence Day celebrations are in full swing around the nation. By nightfall, all eyes will be turned upward as people wait for the fireworks displays to begin. When the bright lights fade and the smoky haze clears from the night sky, we might ask ourselves what's really out there beyond the limits of our sight? The television and print media are tripping over themselves to catch the public interest regarding the 50th anniversary of the Roswell Incident, making it hard not to consider the issue of extraterrestrial life.

Something happened 50 years ago in New Mexico. Something fell to earth. First the military confirmed the incident, then they denied it. Their final word was that it had been a weather balloon. There is a reason why people suspect the government and military and this incident is a prime example. Why make a huge deal out of an incident when nothing really happened? Why cover-up and bury evidence and information when there is nothing to the circulating stories? If a weather balloon had fallen to earth in Roswell, why was it necessary to suppress the flow of information?

I understand the government's reasons for suppressing information in certain situations and I can allow that there are additional circumstances of which I am unaware that require just as much protection. Certainly, it would seem necessary to keep new technology under wraps, so if the "weather balloon" had actually been a cutting edge prototype plane, I'd be the first person to cry "no foul". But when a nation is panicking over the idea of aliens and UFOs, it would seem prudent to simply come clean and say "top secret prototype" with the hope that people would support the government's efforts and the panic and curiosity would subside. This might be hard to get away with in 1997's climate of curiosity and paranoia, but this was America in 1947.

One of the problems with the prototype theory is the fact that multiple witnesses reported seeing alien lifeforms. I have trouble believing that all of the people would mistake a human pilot of such a craft for an alien. Even harder to swallow is the current story being floated that these "aliens" were crash test dummies. Without knowing any of the witnesses personally, I'd like to give them a bit more credit rather than assume they were unable to discern a mannequin-like, crash test dummy from a human or alien victim. I've seen footage of the witnesses who were interviewed then and now and they don't seem like crackpots, which lends some validity to their impressions and statements.

1947 was quite a year for sightings of UFOs. The first flying saucer was spotted not long after nuclear weapons were tested in Alamogordo, which is just a hop, skip, and a weather balloon flight from Roswell. It's not surprising that people might be concerned about radiation and that their fears about mutations might expand to encompass aliens. Maybe America's scientists had sent up a huge signal to outer space with the detonation of their weapons of mass destruction? Sightings of UFOs escalated and soon their alien pilots were accused of abducting our citizens for testing purposes. This is where my ability to believe is really challenged.

The idea of extraterrestrial life is easy to believe. It seems highly likely when one considers the number of galaxies and planets in the universe. To believe that our planet is being visited by other lifeforms is a bit more difficult, but not impossible. It would mean that their planets are relatively near our own or that their technology far outstrips our own. Considering the great strides we've made in the last century alone, this isn't hard to believe. Where my ability to believe falters is when these "aliens" are purported to be abducting people and playing chicken with our military and civilian aircraft. Who are these aliens? Did we somehow become the main drag for alien weekend cruising? Does our blue planet for some reason attract the dregs of alien society?

If these visitors are so advanced, I can't understand why they would be wreaking havoc with our collective psyches. Back in the early 40's, we may have exploded a beacon for other worlds and, if they did come to visit, they might have decided to "abduct" some of our citizens for study. But why would they need to take them more than once and why would they still be here 50 years later, continuing their research? How long does it take to catalogue and study the human body? The idea that aliens find us so incredibly interesting that they would not only abduct us, but continue the practice for years, is hard for me to fathom. It's much easier to believe the studies showing sleep paralysis as a possible alternative to abduction and, with so many "sightings" and "abductions" filling the collective conscious, people have no trouble filling in the blanks when pressed for details.

It's difficult for me to believe that there is no extraterrestrial life. Anyone who has seen the Hubble Deep Field images can begin to understand just how small our little corner of the universe really is. I even go so far as to buy into the stories of aviators who have seen UFOs during their hours logged in the skies over our blue planet. It's a bit harder for me to believe every picture, video, or reported sighting when my own eyes can so often deceive me. I'm one of those people that needs hard evidence or, ideally, the chance to make a sighting firsthand. In the absence of proof, I'll mark the anniversary of the Roswell Incident with a distinct feeling that something more than a weather balloon and a crash test dummy dropped in on that New Mexico landscape. With all the fabrication, hand-waving, and document shredding that the government is guilty of on a daily basis, this may be the most any of us ever knows.

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