Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Summer Memories

Sticky-sweet Kool-Aid as my brothers and I sat at our little orange and yellow plastic picnic table and had our afternoon snacks.

Getting grass stains, not just on my clothes, but on my skin.

Riding my bicycle on our newly paved road, so recently upgraded from dirt.

Riding around in the MG with my mom, top down and radio blasting Ain’t Going Down ‘til the Sun Comes Up.

The way our beagle would run along side our Big Wheels, holding onto a sock with her teeth, her head bobbing as we pedaled our way up and down the driveway.

Bike riding with Chris (who later became my sister in law) all the way to Ben Franklin for Airheads, then to Lake Marion for swimming.

Riding around with Chris’ brother (who later became my husband) on his moped, perched on his knees and squealing with laughter.

Eating home grown tomatoes like apples, just picking them, giving ‘em a rinse with the hose, and chowing down.

My neighbor’s mom banging a triangle on her porch when it was time for her kids to come home for dinner, the sound of it echoing up and down the valley.

Driving around with my brothers on the riding lawn mower and thinking we were so cool.

Going to work with my dad and riding his wheeled desk chair up and down the long aisles of the newsroom until I’d get tired pass out on the floor behind his desk until his shift was over.

Learning to drive a stick shift in the pink Geo Tracker, with the top down, on dusty country roads, grinding gears and whooping with joy when I managed to start in first without killing it.

Three-week-long road trips in the van, towing the pop-up camper, seeing corners of the country that linger in my memories.

Sprawling in the hammock with a book.

Chasing lightning bugs.

Stemming beans with my mom on the deck.

The scent of fresh cut alfalfa, sweet and strong.

Working at the country club, drinking as much free lemonade I could hold, dodging golf balls and dirty old men.

Twins games, with contraband Twizzlers and peanuts smuggled in Mom’s purse.

Rushing home in my boyfriend’s car, scrambling to make my 11:00 curfew, the heat of the day still coming off the pavement in waves .

Picking raspberries and eating two for every one that made it into my basket.

1 comment:

NGS said...

Did you guys catch the fireflies and put them in mason jars? We'd put them on picnic tables and use them like candles and then let them out at the end of the night. Ah. Those were the days.