On this, the last official weekend of the summer, I feel the need to take pause. (And make potato salad and devilled eggs, for the last time until May. Supposedly. Although it is hard to go that long without devilled eggs, which I always make in times of great indecision or sadness. As for my potato salad, my technique is improving, mostly thanks to my cousin Caroline, the best cook I know.)

I love summertime. Even here in N.C., where from about mid-May to mid-September the humidity is enough to make you feel like you’re living in a big sponge. I’ve set three books now in the summertime, and I love the potential in that time period. Especially in high school, when it seemed like your whole world could change in the time between the last day of classes and when you had to go back. Somehow the fact that everything is condensed, with this set beginning and end, makes anything that happen that much more memorable.

Now, fall is coming. (Well, again, here in NC it won’t get really cool until October, but I digress.) My husband will go into his less-daylight-less-time-to-fish funk until the spring. I’ll have to start wearing itchy sweaters. And so on. It seems to get harder every year to let summer go. I’m not sure why.

Oh well. Enough deep thoughts. Life is too short to dwell long, and besides, those devilled eggs are calling.