Summer Getting away from it all involved an endless drive in the station wagon, surfboards held down by bungee cords, children restricted by seatbelts, vinyl sticking to your thighs as everyone played, “I spy with my little eye something beginning with …” and whatever it was, inside or outside the car, would hang in the air like the promise of January. The airless back seat, the summer heat, a rolling queasiness you try to ignore until the inevitable lurch off the road, followed by your mother’s claim that one always feels better after a good vomit. The blue-green lines on…