Friday, April 11, 2014

Endless Summer

Memoir: June 28th, 1989

I dreamed very vividly of Grandma's house.  Maybe it's just this time of year-- summer, and heat, and sunshine; and this summer just opens the door to memories of other summers.  Grandma kept her house like a cool dark cave.  You could smell pine-sol on her freshly scrubbed linoleum floors, the rooms were cluttered with knick-knacks and endless bunches of books, and little dogs curled up sleeping in their baskets or at the end of a sofa. (Fans hummed)

I remember lying on my stomach across the foot of my bed upstairs, reading a book by a barely opened window to the east, the diffused light and all the little sounds of summer-- a lawn mower in the distance, birds, the rustling leaves in the large tree outside my window, a dog barking.

It was very peaceful.  You felt as though summer would never end, and you would be thirteen forever.

 
 

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