How can it be that we are already nearing the halfway point of summer? It seems like it was just yesterday when the ice finally left White Bear Lake.
While I am happy to be making lots of good summer memories this year, I'm also thinking about some of my favorite summer memories from when I was growing up. They include:
* putting on paper bag puppet shows with my neighbor LuAnn
*decorating my bike for the Park and Rec's "Wheels Day" celebration
*winning first place in the neighborhood turtle racing tournament (even though I was too scared to pick up my turtle)
*eating green apples from our backyard apple tree and softening the sour taste with picnic-sized mini salt shakers
*playing "school" with the leftover worksheets my teacher gave me just before summer vacation
What do any of these memories have to do with writing? Nothing really. Other than that someday one of these scenes, in an altered form, might find itself in one of my stories. The middle grade novel that I'm working on now takes place during the last week of summer, and as I fill in the details, I'm harvesting my own summer memories of sleeping late, chasing the neighborhood ice cream truck, and constructing a homemade miniature golf course.
So, what is one of your favorite summer memories?
4 comments:
Hi David,
Great memories to harvest! I think one of my favorite childhood summer memories was rescuing turtles from my neighbors' swimming pools. I kept them in a little pen in my backyard for awhile, and when my parents thought I had too many, we'd let them go in the Everglades.
I love that picture!!
Hi David,
I used to wait all year for summer--still do!
Did you ever follow birdcalls to see what made that sound? Or bust hot tar bubbles in the street to let the hot water out, never mind the tar that got all over your hands and clothing? Sniff the wooden deck railing after it had been warmed by the sun (which took all year just to reach that spot)? Smell the rain before it fell? Have bike rodeos with the neighbors? Play hide and seek on warm, buggy nights when hiding in the bushes was a bad idea?
You've opened the floodgates--again.
Thanks!
Hi David,
Just this morning I was chatting with a friend as we kept track of the approaching rain on the radar map. As the first drops began to speckle the stoop I was reminded of sitting on the front porch of our house when I was a kid, watching the rivers of water spew from the eaves. Usually it was Dad who went out there first, followed by my sister and me, our brothers, Mom and sometimes Grandma. The adults sat in chairs far under the roof where it was dry, while us kids sat on the highest dry step, with our feet in the falling rain. Today I am wishing for a wide porch.
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