seven year Venus

Remember that story by Ray Bradbury, All Summer in a Day? It goes something like this.

Once apon a time there were some children who lived on the planet Venus where it rained all the time. Even more than Edinburgh. In fact, it rained so much that none of the kids could even remember what the Sun looked like because it only came out once every seven years for a single afternoon. They listened to stories about it, oh boy, and they waited it for it like it was Santa Claus, which it kind of was since no one was really sure if it was real.

Only, one girl cried all the time for the Sun because her horrible parents had moved to Venus a year ago to work on a ridiculous solar energy project. It was ridiculous because how could you learn anything about solar energy from a planet where it rained all the bloody time and you had to have special lights to grow anything and even take special icky-tasting vitamin supplements just to keep you from going mental? (and she was going mental. She was so sick of rain, she couldn't stand to take showers)

Well, one day the planet did spin around toward the Sun again, and everyone was totally excited. It was the biggest holiday of seven years, like Christmas, the Olympics, the last day of school, Easter, and town parade day altogether. All the kids ran around outside for the first time of their whole lives (that they could remember), playing games and rolling down hills and trying on each other's sunglasses. And then when it was all over they went back inside for ice cream and cotton candy (as if they weren't wound up enough already. they were going to be grumpy little shits tomorrow.).

And that's when they remembered. That morning they'd locked stupid Earth Girl in the closet. It was only for a little while. Because she wouldn't shut up about the Sun being a flower, or a penny or a fire in the stove and stupid things like that. And then it was time to go outside and nobody remembered who's job it was to let her out. So she missed the whole thing. It was kind of funny. But kind of really mean.

So the story might just be an illustration of what nasty little bastards kids can be. Or a metaphor for for hideous self-denial. Or for...discipline?


What if she'd locked herself in the closet on the one sunny day. Maybe to complete the six hours of writing she'd promised to do before her next life-coaching session, the research on Canadian job markets , the 5 letters to go out that were now overdue.

It might have been for her own good, you know. Because, after all, a promise is a promise even if it's to yourself . And how can we learn discipliine if it all goes out the window everytime the sun comes out?

We can't. That's what.

But what do we learn by staying indoors, except how to wear stoic, industrious expressions on our faces (smug white faces unblemished by freckly sun-kisses) rather than disappointed ones, when people ask us how we spent our weekend, our various creases clear of impertinent specks of salt and sand.

So I've unlocked myself from the closet and I'm laying in the park right now (well, not right now obviously, but i was when i wrote this) and dotted around me are other members of the unbaked, known as peely-walleys here in Scotland. Some are yapping on cell phones to their poor pals still at work and some are actually wearing Speedos, which is totally unforgivable because with skin like that they can't possibly by Spanish or Italian.

We did actually get three days of Sun instead of one afternoon, which is lucky because it takes me that long to get organized. Saturday i spent just quickly picking up a few groceries: wheat-free muesli, new correctly-cup-sized lingerie, a hand blender, some pineapple and watermelon. And then waxing my legs, trying out the bikini, discussing the sun with V on the phone. Until i was ready to go and when i looked at my watch it was 7 o'clock. Seriously. Seven pm!

Maybe nobody locked her in the closet. Maybe she was just embarrassed about how long it took her to decide whether she could get away with a bikini, if she should pack a picnic, if she should take a magazine (perfectly suitable for a beach day ) or a book (there's so many on the night stand to get through). Oh, and sunglasses . They must be somewhere.

Sunday i managed Portobello beach though and Monday afternoon i got away early for a few hours in the park. It's all over now though i fear. Plenty of time now to let those bullying little tasks out from the closet.