Last night, I dozed off to thoughts of the rather bizarre discovery in Wurtsboro (previous post). I awakened to the memory of a bungalow morning.
June has been hot and steamy, in offering up some very early "dog days (and nights) of summer". Hey, that's just fine with me; no complaints whatsoever. However, last night and today are quite reminiscent of summers of my youth.
We'd be arriving upstate at precisely this time of year, after school was finished for the term. Hot, crisp, brilliantly sunny and dry days were typical... but only after very chilly nights and, as I remember them, freezing cold mornings. It was this nighttime chill that appealed to most adults. Our primitive accommodations did not include heat or hot water. My brother, cousin and I would awaken to sounds of Gran in the kitchen, where she'd have the oven turned on and its door open. A pot of farina would be on one stove burner, as water boiled on another. By the time her little princess and princes awakened, the kitchen was toasty. A warm memory indeed.
Sending off special love to Gran via today's symbolic red rose.
♡
