If aging has become a bothersome burden relentlessly weighing on your bent back, arthritic joints, and ever weakening bladder fear not my feeble friends June 24th is fast approaching. If you fancy yourself a follower of Icelandic folklore, or have been pondering giving it a go, June is the perfect time to test the waters…or at least the morning dew.

If you are an early riser you may want to sleep in the morning of June 24th, unless of course you live next to an Icelandic sorority, unlikely but not unheard of. Icelandic folklore says that if you bathe in your birthday suit in the morning dew on the morning of June 24th you will keep aging at bay. I don’t know about aging but you will keep a lot of things at bay following this frolicsome folklore.

Except maybe law enforcement and curious dogs anxious to greet their new yard mates…those noses are cold and so are the vinyl seats in the back of the squad card. So they say. I’ve only been in the back of one cop car. It wasn’t on June 24th. It was a minor misunderstanding involving my misinterpretation of some kooky Canadian law. I had a nice chit chat with the Queen and all is well. Nice lady the Queen.

For those of us residing in the northern neck of the hemisphere, June has more daylight hours than any other month, so soak it up there’s only about 200 shopping days until Christmas. Farmer tan season is short…git em’ while it’s hot. I’ve never fancied myself much of a farmer but I’ve sported my fair share of farmer tans.

Baseball tan would be more accurate. Brown arms, brown neck, and one white hand. A farmer tan and baseball tan have a lot in common; one’s earned working in a field the other playing on a field. It’s a little known fact that Michael Jackson wore one white glove as a tribute to all the hard working baseball players. A little known fact that even your genius buddy Google doesn’t know so you’ll just have to trust me.

When I was a kid I don’t remember my mom slathering us with sunblock every time there was a chance sunlight would touch our skin. I do remember a painful scrubbing during a failed attempt to get us somewhat presentable for a dentist appointment one summer. It took some convincing (a.k.a. screaming) to make her believe that the “dirt” on my neck was in fact a tan. Another little known fact…it’s possible to remove a tan with an S.O.S. pad and a little motherly elbow grease.

How did we survive without hourly slatherings of sunblock and an ever present water bottle? It’s a wonder we didn’t burn up and turn to dust. Nowadays we’re surrounded by pasty, overhydrated kids with squeaky clean necks. Sissies. I remember wobbling down the driveway on my Coast King bicycle in a sun stroked stupor in search of the first water source available.

I always wondered why the morning dew tasted funky every June 24th.