Summer brings all sorts of opportunities in a small town:
Good old lemonade stands and a kind neighbor,
Making friends with Charolais calves--such velvety noses!
Exploring intriguing 4-H projects, like this renovated car-turned chicken coop,
Having one's face painted at a street fair,
And splitting thirty-six fat-fried mini-donuts covered with cinnamon sugar. That's between TWO children…it's all about making memories. Oh, now that I think about it, Grandpa sneaked one, too.
I've been thinking about how we often don't know what we actually did until after we do it. That's the way it often is with me. Reflection brings half the ecstasy of an experience - or the agony.
And I suppose that's the way it is with these everyday summertime experiences. Who knows what the grandkids will remember in twenty years? Looking back at my childhood, the most insignificant events arise. For example, the time my brother and I buried a dead baby chick in a Hershey's cocoa can.
Why would I recall that? Or the times around the dinner table when we'd get to laughing and not be able to stop, even though we saw dad starting to fume because he wanted to hear the market reports on the radio.
Memory has a fickleness about it sometimes. We don't have a clue, really. A couple of weeks ago, at my memoir-writing workshop for the Cedar Falls Writers' Workshop, participants seemed to agree . . . at times, we simply have to take what surfaces and go with it.
So it is with midsummer--lemonade stands, county fairs, and sweet grandchildren. Let's sink down into each experience and take it for all it's worth!