Nothing much happens in August.
August is when the Parisians leave Paris for calmer grounds.
August is when the well-heeled English go to the country to do little other than drink gin-fizz.
August is when school children sit by the lake and learn to throw stones that will skip the water’s surface. Any other learning will wait.
August is HOT.
I remember coming for a family visit to Israel in the summer of 2005. I was greeted by my sister at the airport, and her second sentence was, “you have a lot of courage to come in August.”
It was hot.
So, dear ones—let your minds rest, let your feet up, and keep the chocolate in the fridge. Don’t struggle; let August be August.
It’s what it is, and then it’s over.