I was pushed way out of my comfort zone when, a few years back, my 15-year-old nephew and I went to Valleyfair — a mini-Disneyland filled with rides and a water park. I watched him having a blast on all the water slides and daring tube rides, while begging me to join him. I asked, "What if you run into some of your friends from school? Won't you be embarrassed to be seen with your aunt?" "Heck no, why would I? I don't care so you shouldn't… go get your swimsuit on," he said emphatically. We did every ride and screamed like maniacs! I had so much fun, bulges and all.

I'll take the oceans, too. To smell the salt in the air, hear the waves crash on the sand and the seagulls flying overhead just melts me. In Anne Morrow Lindbergh's book, "A Gift from the Sea", she writes that her getaway to the cabin without her husband and five children defined the ease of summer for her. Beach living is about shedding, not only clothes, but vanity. She even described rolling up the rugs so she could more easily sweep the sand off the floor. Written in 1959, that book shows a deep appreciation of the simpler life without the technology we have today. She wrote with a blotter, a fountain pen and a bottle of ink.

I can hear the waves of Lake Superior calling me. I will not bring the same writing utensils as did Anne Morrow Lindbergh. I will bring my colored pencils, gel pens and coloring books. I will open the windows and smell the northern pines, and listen to the crashing waves on the rocks below me. I will roll back my rug of impatience, my drive to overachieve and my needless worries. I will gratefully reflect on my life, and on my ostomy, which thankfully prolonged my existence. Oh this summertime living is easy.