The Sun and Me

I have been contemplating sunshine a lot these days. It has been gloriously sunny and unseasonably warm in Northeast Wisconsin recently, and I am scheduling my days around the twin imperatives of a) getting into the garden and b) avoiding the harsh mid-day rays. I find myself constantly slathered in SPF 50, donning sun hats and long sleeves (even in 80+ degrees), and running for shade. Early mornings and evenings are my prime time to be outside, and I now relish the sinking of the sun. All in all I feel rather vampire-ish, and although vampires are very cool these days, I am finding it all a bit awkward.

And, I realize that I have always had a complicated relationship to the sun. When I was a kid my parents would have to practically force me to go outside and play. There were no girls my age in my neighborhood, and I really didn't want to play with my brother and his friends because it always led to some kind of aggression or violence (e.g. the time my brother captured and then squished -- one by one -- a bucket of minnows; the time he handcuffed my arm to my best friend's leg and then threw away the key).

And, besides, I wanted to stay inside and read.

And then there was the fact that I just found bright sunshine to be overwhelming. I mean this literally -- the glare of bright, untempered sunshine always compels me to close my eyes and want to retreat. I get hot (and sunburn) very easily, and so I begin to feel suffocated by the sun pretty quickly. But, I also think of the sun, metaphorically, as an overwhelmingly cheerful optimism. As a very young child I associated bright sunshine with Jesus, and I associated Jesus with the church we attended until I was six or seven. This church was a angular, 1960s, post-Vatican II, "modern" church, and was located smack in the middle of a cornfield. The church was very sunny, and it was very hot in the parking lot when returning to the car after mass in, say, July. I always felt overwhelmed and out of place both inside and outside of that church, and those early memories -- linking sunshine and church -- continue to shape some of my feelings about organized religion.

There are all kinds of directions I could head with these associations. However, for this morning I am going to leave the blanks for you to fill in. It is important to say that my relationship to the outdoors has changes significantly over time. We have a lovely yard and garden, and I now wish I could be outside more than I can. For now I find myself looking ahead to a summer of books, shady gardening, and contemplating the divine.