I was too summer-lazy to measure. Use my guestimates as a guideline, and know your fruit-eating crowd.

1-2 lbs. fresh fruit, may include:

1 lb. strawberries, hulled and halved
1 pint blueberries, picked over
1 small seedless watermelon, rind removed, chunked or scooped with melon baller
1 medium cantaloupe, rind removed, chunked or scooped with melon baller

can also use raspberries, blackberries, honeydew or other muskmelons

1 – 2 tablespoons powdered sugar, to taste
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
small bunch fresh mint, about 1 dozen large leaves, torn or roughly chopped

Place prepared fruit in large bowl. Sift powdered sugar over fruit, tossing to coat. Add balsamic vinegar and mint, tossing once more to coat. Serve immediately or refrigerate, up to four hours. (I prefer to refrigerate 30 minutes – 1 hour, allowing fruit to steep in flavor.)

I just might be the blogger’s chauffeur, alarm clock, snack provider, ponytail holder-buyer, chief room inspector and summer personal assistant. Also, her proud mom. Be sure to read the first post, 100 Movies of Summer, to see how it all started. Dim the lights and grab the popcorn! I’ll meet you over there.

There’s good news, too. She’s wonderful, lovely and smart and funny, as she always has been. She is all those things and now more, independent and stubborn and debate-ready, on matters from politics to proper barrette placement, which, I’d forgotten, is crucial.

She does not have one answer. She has ten. On a truly inspired day, twelve.

Who was there? Well, so-and-so was there, and her friend, and nobody else. Nobody? Well, oh yeah, there was that guy, and his friend, and his little brother, but they’re boring. And someone’s mom dropped her off but then she had to leave, to go to yoga. And oh yes Emily was there but not that Emily, not the one you don’t like, the other one. There were tons of people I knew. Tons? But, you know, nobody else was there.

So the news, then, is that even when they are lovely-smart-funny, the pleasures of agreement are few. She thinks adults oversimplify, always assuming a situation is either perfect or totally awful. She says it’s all flexible, all open to possiblity. Nothing is just one way.

I called my mother the other day and asked, where is the reward here? What is it? Oh, Josie is my reward, she said. I was stunned. It’s not me? The adult me isn’t your reward? Well, she said, you are, but she’s the easiest reward.

I told her well, she’s quite complicated right now. Your own daughter takes longer, she said. You did.

One hot afternoon last week, first in a long line of scorchers, Josie got home from the pool and was sitting in the kitchen eating popcorn, briefly friend- and phone-free.  I pounced, and she couldn’t believe her luck: errands! She would join me on errands. Gas, dry cleaning, dog food place and the local co-op for eggs, asparagus, salad greens, fruit.  And because any errand-mate must act as my extra hands, on the way home it was Josie who held the small green basket, dropping tiny leaves and fine dirt in her lap, the first strawberries of the season.

The berries were misshapen and candy red, embroidered with yellow seeds. Josie cupped the basket, turning berries over with one finger, picking at curled green stems. Her hair was still wet and she wore friendship bracelets, the wrist code of teen girls: this is my favorite, these are my friends, that’s my design. I wore shorts, which I generally avoid up to August, and also a ponytail, in place through October. To me summer is a stack of camp forms, frizzy hair, bathing suit shopping, bug spray. Of course for most people summer, I know, is the golden child of seasons, joy without fuss. Josie was an unfussy baby, and later an unfussy child. Now she embraces its complications, this almost-high school life, juggling friends, algebra, parents, lockers, friends. Choices.

In the car she was quiet, rather suspiciously not asking for objects, rides or permissions. She wanted to get home, to zoom through dinner and reach dessert. Squinting through five o’ clock rays at the berries on her lap, I asked Josie: what should we do with them?

Should I make strawberry cobbler? Soak them in rum? Buttermilk strawberry cake, strawberry-rhubarb pie, strawberry rum sauce or ice cream or strawberry-banana crepes?

We should eat them, she said, and popped one. Just eat them.

And that is what we did.

It came easy to me, but editors warned of a common fault: for rhyming cards, they said, not so much “moon June spoon.” Meaning avoid the common rhymes, and don’t go for easy sound. Standard goods like “you, do, blue, and new” also made the list; what was a sappy writer to do? Only so many words convey feeling and rhyme like sugar, and let’s face it, there’s no me-to-you without you. So I’d use them anyway, re-arranged and refreshed enough to slip an editor’s eye, and they sold, sold like candy, proving that as long as it sounds pretty, people will hear whatever they want.  A moon that loves you in June pleases; blue without you, nothing I can do?  Like honey.  And my friends, a man who buys cards on the sweet side will not do better than honey.

So. Why are we talking spoons in June and sending the very best?  Because it’s summer, and even if you couldn’t see the wide bright sky or smell sun off the pavement, you’d hear it.  We all have those sounds that ring summer, the slap of wet towels and flip-flops and no thoughts at all.  What are yours?  Mull it over, and while you do, try a few warm-weather sweets, pulled exclusively from the archives for your breezy dessert pleasure:

Key Lime Tarts say crashing waves to me.

Bowls inside or on the porch? Peach-Pecan Cobbler swings like a screen door.

Sizzling Banana Sundaes with Salted Chocolate Pecans. Now with built-in sizzle.

For pure June-moon bliss I’d also point you to Bumbleberry Pie and Good Kansas Limeade. Now – cicadas, campfires, bike bells. What’s your summer sound?

I don’t even try growing cucumbers. My vegetable thumb is so not green that I’d probably kill even summer’s most overstayed guest. Obviously I’m free to love them precisely because I don’t grow them. When green-jean friends shove their extras at me (“no, I insist. I’ll pay you.”) I’m happy to chat about salad and soups and frothy mousse. They’re just happy I’m holding the bag.

When your cuke overfloweth, here’s a quick and satisfying way to use them up. It’s an easy chopped salad with a great big punch – more than just creamy-cold-crunchy, it helps you suck up a lot of cucumbers. Bring a bowl to a barbecue and watch them praise not just your stellar side, but your astounding powers of cucumber disposal.

Cucumber-Tomato Salad with Feta

(for a crowd)

3 giant cucumbers
2 pints cherry tomatoes
1 pound feta cheese
1 bunch green onions
grated zest of 1 small lemon
extra-virgin olive oil
red wine vinegar
salt and ground pepper
parmesan or pecorino romano cheese, for grating

Wash and dry cucumbers, then halve lengthwise. Cut in half lengthwise again, then chop crosswise into even chunks. Place cucumber pieces in large bowl.

Remove stems from and halve cherry tomatoes. Add tomatoes to cucumber bowl. Chop ends off green onions and then chop entire bunch into small pieces. Add green onions to cucumber bowl, then add grated lemon zest. Lightly toss the vegetables together.

Crumble feta cheese over salad, then add olive oil and red wine vinegar to taste, using more vinegar than oil. Season with salt and ground pepper; toss all ingredients together to coat. Refrigerate to chill; before serving, grate parmesan or pecorino romano over salad.

Serves 6-10 (know your crowd!) as a side dish. Double (or halve) as necessary.

When Josie was little I catered from home, often baking through the night while she slept. We had central air but the space was tiny – room for me, an oven, and a dozen hot pans. Mixing cakes alone at two a.m., I figured what the hell, and worked in my secret summer uniform – a sports bra and Gap shorts. Why not? It was just me and the cake pans and Nick at Nite, and Nick wasn’t looking. There was a big kitchen window, but not much to see: just a girl in lobster-print boxers and oven mitts, whisking and dancing to Ricky Ricardo’s drums.

Maybe all those hot kitchens fried my common sense – because if I want pot roast and it’s 97 in the shade, I’m still making the pot roast. At least this one tastes like the season – I had some lovely key limes and messed with Caribbean flavors. It seemed more…reasonable. The dish would cook for hours but it would be a tropical pot roast, right? Cuba Libres, white sands, ocean breezes?

Well…the mirage not so much, but it did taste great. The key limes really do a job on the meat; it’s a tangy, unusual roast that tastes even better the next day. We rounded dinner out with sauteed bananas and black beans with rice. I say if you can take the heat, stay in the kitchen – just long enough to squeeze limes, set a timer, slam the oven door and run.

Key Lime Pot Roast

one chuck arm roast, about 2.5 pounds

light brown sugar
salt and ground pepper
cayenne pepper

2 tablespoons olive oil

dried oregano
6-7 key limes
(if you can’t get true key limes, try adding a few dashes of red wine vinegar to regular limes)

A large Dutch-oven style pot with a tight-fitting lid works well for this recipe; you can also use a roasting pan, tightly covered with aluminum foil.

Preheat oven to 375 F.

Cut and juice the limes, removing any seeds. Keep both the juice and the empty lime halves.

Rub the meat with an evenly generous amount of: brown sugar, salt, ground pepper and cayenne pepper.

Warm the pot and heat the olive oil over medium-high, just to sizzling. Add the roast and sear both sides evenly, only turning once or twice, until both sides are browned to a dark, caramelized color.

Turn off heat. Add 3 cups of water to lime juice, then pour both juice and lime halves over the meat. Sprinkle the meat generously with oregano. Cover with lid (or tightly with foil) and transfer pot to preheated oven.

Bake for approximately 3 hours. Check once or twice while cooking; if juices have completely evaporated, add 2-3 cups of water, white wine or orange juice. When meat is fork-tender, remove from oven. Discard roasted lime halves (delicious, but not easy to eat) .

Cool meat until safe to handle, then remove roast from the pan. On a cutting board, shred meat roughly with a fork. Return shredded meat to pan and spoon juices over meat; cover and return to the oven for approximately 20 more minutes, until completely tender. Remove from oven and serve, with pan juices, over rice and beans.

Serves 3-4

For even stronger flavor, I prefer making this one day ahead and letting it steep, covered, in the refrigerator. Reheat and serve – or, if you’re like me, stand in the kitchen and eat it cold. It’s summer, right?

Oh, summer desserts. With a damp ponytail and flip-flops, you’d think I’d keep it simple, but no. That scoop of specked vanilla? Purity in a bowl. It needs nothing else, but it’s such a beautiful backdrop. Ice cream clearly welcomes the company of fruits and candies and other sweet bits.

My family’s always a little whacked in the heat, but if a gallon of ice cream appears we turn positively nuts – and bananas, too.

My seasonless weak spot for bananas was sealed long ago. Right after college I worked as an editor by day and in a bookstore at night, often skipping dinner but never missing a snack. By the 8 pm break I’d bolt from the store, run three doors down to Love’s Frozen Yogurt and demand sliced bananas over Double Chocolate Dutch. Seven minutes of frozen peace, one minute of trudge back to work.

Ever get on such a jag you think you might never get off? That whole year I set my watch by frozen yogurt. Standing at the register at 7:58, I was sure that if I didn’t taste chocolate and bananas soon, I’d poof into flame and take the book browsers with me.

And that, my friend, is a jag.

We tend to replace little obsessions with new ones. I no longer require two quick scoops at eight, but I still love chocolate and bananas, especially in summer, when they’re so sweet together they’re practically going steady.

Now, at a darn-close 100 degrees, I’d be crazy to sizzle bananas and dip pecans – but a few minutes at the stove won’t keep me from hot banana caramel and salty chocolate nuts. Which brings us to another upside-down summer thought: I do want to go the pool…I do not want to put on that suit.

Caramelized Banana Sundaes with Salty Chocolate Pecans

vanilla bean ice cream

2-3 bananas, slightly green, not quite ripe
3/4 cup light brown sugar
2 tablespoons butter
dash of cinnamon

1 cup pecan halves
semi-sweet chocolate, about 3 oz
sea salt, for sprinkling

salty chocolate pecans:

Place semi-sweet chocolate in small microwave-safe bowl and use microwave to melt, heating at intervals of no more than 35 seconds each. Remove from microwave after each interval, two or three times, stirring to smooth. Dip each pecan halfway in melted chocolate, and place on a parchment or wax-paper lined sheet. Before chocolate sets, sprinkle chocolate pecans with sea salt. Place in refrigerator to set before serving.

caramelized bananas:

Slice bananas in thick chunks. Place a large non-stick frying pan over medium-high heat – when hot, sizzle one tablespoon of butter for a few seconds, then add bananas.

Do not stir or move bananas for about 30 seconds; allow to brown. Use a heat-proof spatula to turn bananas over, then add brown sugar, cinnamon, and remaining tablespoon of butter. Shaking pan to keep bananas moving, cook about one minute more, until sugar is melted and bananas are caramelized, but still solid. Remove from heat and serve.

Scoop ice cream into bowls. Top with generous amounts of warm caramelized bananas and chocolate pecans. Get out of the way fast, and serve.

serves 2-4, depending on serving size

I didn’t really mean all those things I said about winter. It’s not prettier than you. You look really good in white, and white is just making winter look fat.

Honestly.

You’re definitely the prettiest, summer! You’re not all bleak and old and miserably dried up, like that winter. So…do you think you might come back?

If you do, I won’t complain about how hot it is or the mosquitoes you’ll bring. I will not worry about all those bad boy tornadoes you run with – well, okay, I will pretend not to worry. For you, summer, I will pretend.

Summer, if you bring bright juicy things back…

…and wave your summer wand over them…

…I will make us something delicious. And we can eat them outside, on the patio. Maybe with a little vanilla ice cream, and some nice minty iced tea?

How many times do I have to say it?

I’m sorry, summer, for shooting my mouth off about how I love winter and the cold is so great and how I like my nostrils freezing up. I’m cold, and it’s gray, and I’m really tired of all this exfoliating. So just think about it, summer, and please don’t take too long.

If you could, send a robin to let me know.

Please?