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Most of my best childhood summers were spent on my bike. I had a yellow ten-speed Grand Prix (a Simpson's special) and I was rarely off it. I'd get up in the morning, ride to my friend Denise's, then we'd ride other places (can't remember where now but I feel sure it had to do with riding by the houses of boys we liked so we could "accidentally" run into them). Then I'd ride home for supper or just before dark. I was never sore from riding, no hill was too hard to ride up, nor distance too far to go - though my mom would probably disagree with that. Now, I lived in the suburbs so gong to a friend's house was likely a distance away, but the world was still a much safer place back then, traffic a lot lighter.

This post is not about the bike I lost in April, though its loss has greatly affected my summer. This post is about the carefree days of summers gone by and trying to gain some perspective on the summer now coming to a close -- in many ways a pretty difficult and confusing one for me, though it has lately begun to redeem itself.

Just in time.

I spent a good deal of time fighting with myself on my chosen path of employment - for two reasons; a) it's a lot of hard work with only sporadic remuneration and one begins to worry about lack of savings, which leads to b) why is it so impossible for me to be satisfied with a normal kind of life?

This preoccupation is counter-productive to work, especially work that requires a clear, creative brain.

Summer has also been bereft of much activity -- like say, getting away from it all -- due mainly to a shortage of funds. To put it crudely, that sucks.And it's not something you can easily admit, or explain to people. To boot, while the record rainfall in Ontario didn't bother me, the thunder and lightening did sending my usually well controlled anxieties through the roof (or under the bed).

Now, in spring I was hatching a plan to spend the summer of my creative journey in Vancouver. That would have significantly altered the crowding in my brain.

My first summer in those parts started out a little like this one- I had some anxiety problems related to a delayed reaction to throwing my life up in the air by quitting my career, trying to change it and living away  from everthing and everyone I knew. And, on the cusp of my 40th birthday. You know, just when most people are settling down from Part Two of life, I changed the rules, took a huge left turn and started Part One over.

That summer i couldn't go very far but then again, I didn't have to. I lived five, 15 or 20 minutes away from three ocean beaches. I spent the better part of every day lying on one of them, listening to music, writing and just watching the waves.

I can't tell you how much I miss those daily visits, the sound and smell of the ocean is something I can't think about without a lump forming in my throat. Every evening at dusk I joined the legions of people gathering at English Bay to watch the sun set, a nightly entertainment that eclipsed any other.

Many people in my life accuse me of idealizing the place so I will tell you that, hard as I tried not to I began, over time, to take this all for granted.

But it took awhile.

By the following summer, things had settled down quite a bit, and I spent the next three in a row exploring the province and the one next door, driving through the mountains and valleys. The majority of one summer was spent in Calgary, with regular (twice a week) jaunts through the Rockies to Lake Louise. That such a drive can become a normal part of a day is still amazing to me.

A mountain is something that can make me believe in the presence of God.

It's hard to live without all that and knowing this, I think I don't even try. That' s the problem with me and Toronto summers. It's not summer, it's not the extreme heat, the unpredictability of the weather,  it's not the humidity and pollution - although I find all those things annoying. It's me. In Toronto I get lethargic and full of ennui. I find it hard to move. And to breathe.

My last summer in Vancouver I broke my foot and became virtually immobile in a place that demands mobility for optimum enjoyment. While I had plenty of friends, I didn't have the safety net one should have when faced with calamity. By year's end I had decided to move back to Toronto. A decision born out of emotional confusion more than anything else. I don't like to say or feel I have regrets. But I think I might.

In a way, my inability to be active that last summer in Vancouver made it possible to think about Toronto again. Part of this summer of my great disappointment is knowing I allowed stasis to come back into my life, this time self-imposed and  not the result of an accidental fall.

The hold button is thankfully coming loose, and the first order of business will be to replace that bike. There's still time.