Summer Memories

[Doc Creed]

Do you have a summer story you'd like to share? Did you get married in the summer? Did you get dumped? Have a funny story? Poignant? Whatever...please share it here.

I'm reminded of childhood summers on the river. Windy and hot days spent fishing for bream using bologna or bread balls for bait. I was nine or ten and my cousins, weary from splashing and diving off the pier, bobbed like turtle heads in the dark lazy wake. I could hear them talking but mostly long periods of quiet; maybe a whine of a distant boat motor or a squeal of laughter from the pontoons dotting the horizon.
The Pure Prairie League is on the boombox singing 'Amie' and I see my dad arch his back to reach into the foam ice chest for a beer. Wearing only cut offs and sporting a Burt Reynolds mustache, he pops open a can of Miller and squints up into the sun. With half a grin he shows a flutter of recognition as mom walks up in her bathing suit. "The dead has arisen," he says, pulling her into his lap and planting a kiss on her bare shoulder.
Her hair was wet from earlier but drying in uneven curls. "The ham is on low and slow, didn't mean to nap so long." She sat next to him and placed her feet on the deck railing. Drying blood and fish scales glimmered just beneath her from where my uncle had cleaned his morning catch.
We all ate with gusto that evening. Ham, potato salad, Wonder bread and Ruffles chips. A pickle on everyone's plate. In the watery dusk my cousins lit sparklers and walked down to the marina. I stayed behind and watched my parents slow dance to 'Love Is Alive' by Gary Wright. In the shadows I was all but invisible. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

 

[staropeace]

That is beautiful. I want to be there.

 

[Doc Creed]

That is beautiful. I want to be there.

Thank you, I wish I was there again, too! It's funny how songs come back...or it is said the song takes you back. I can almost put together a play list from that time:

Merle Haggard "Silver Wings"
Dolly Parton "You're The Only One"
Oak Ridge Boys "Elvira"
Crosby, Stills and Nash "Summer Breeze"
Alabama "There's No Way"

 

[GNTLGNT]

...well, can't follow that with a story about lighting farts at Scout Camp, now can I???...

 

[Doc Creed]

...well, can't follow that with a story about lighting farts at Scout Camp, now can I???...

Oh sure, why not? Lol

 

[Big_Lou]

Maaaannnn, so many summer memories...could write volumes, heh...
I remember the summer that I went to see this one, I was 12 or so and went with two of my sisters and their friends, was a great time.
(Busey really knocked it outta the park here, I'm much the same uncle to my many nieces and nephews. RIP, Corey....so sorry that you were used and abused and died tragically because of it all... )



Check me out:
(Yeah, I know, work gloves...my hairy monster hands are in storage; just play along, at least the lighting is spot-on! )

 

[swiftdog2.0]

Lots of good memories from summers gone by:

No school! That was always the best part. I absolutely hated and detested school growing up. Not that I was bullied or flunking all my classes. I did fairly well in school. It just seemed such an epic waste of time!
Family trips to the touristy places in the White Mountains of NH when I was a SwiftPup (Santa's Village, StoryLand, Clark's Trading Post, etc.).
Hanging out at the beach and late night cruisin' with my friends in my SwiftTeen years.
Going to concerts. Saw some epic summer shows (Van Halen, Aerosmith and Black Crowes, The Who on one of their bazillion farewell tours in 1988).
Having time to do whatever I wanted to do with no grown-up responsibilities!

 

[Nomik]

Do you have a summer story you'd like to share? Did you get married in the summer? Did you get dumped? Have a funny story? Poignant? Whatever...please share it here.

I'm reminded of childhood summers on the river. Windy and hot days spent fishing for bream using bologna or bread balls for bait. I was nine or ten and my cousins, weary from splashing and diving off the pier, bobbed like turtle heads in the dark lazy wake. I could hear them talking but mostly long periods of quiet; maybe a whine of a distant boat motor or a squeal of laughter from the pontoons dotting the horizon.
The Pure Prairie League is on the boombox singing 'Amie' and I see my dad arch his back to reach into the foam ice chest for a beer. Wearing only cut offs and sporting a Burt Reynolds mustache, he pops open a can of Miller and squints up into the sun. With half a grin he shows a flutter of recognition as mom walks up in her bathing suit. "The dead has arisen," he says, pulling her into his lap and planting a kiss on her bare shoulder.
Her hair was wet from earlier but drying in uneven curls. "The ham is on low and slow, didn't mean to nap so long." She sat next to him and placed her feet on the deck railing. Drying blood and fish scales glimmered just beneath her from where my uncle had cleaned his morning catch.
We all ate with gusto that evening. Ham, potato salad, Wonder bread and Ruffles chips. A pickle on everyone's plate. In the watery dusk my cousins lit sparklers and walked down to the marina. I stayed behind and watched my parents slow dance to 'Love Is Alive' by Gary Wright. In the shadows I was all but invisible. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

This is a sexy and well written anecdote. I want more!

 

[Nomik]

I was a fourteen year old camp counselor at 4H camp. I brought my sheltie and my horse with me and I can still smell the fresh manure, savor the juicy sweet nectarine and conjur the essence of sweet grass. The summer was balmy and warm, the nights were cozy in the cabin of the camp EMT, Jason. The following summer Jason and I went to the Deerfield Fair in his truck listening to Meatloaf, already having achieved paradise. They don't make Strawberry Wine summers anymore, I don't imagine.

 

[AnnaMarie]

Summers were time with dad. We were both early risers, so at 6:30-7:00 in the morning I'd bring my cereal into the back yard and sit at the picnic table while dad finished his fresh perked coffee and read The Telly. (Local newspaper which I eventually learned was really called The Telegram.)

Once or twice I would convince him to take me down to the farmer's market (which I eventually learned was actually called The St. Lawrence Market). There I could see pigs hanging, and chickens too. (Sick kid? I wasn't disgusted, I was quite interested in seeing where different kinds of meat came from.) I got to taste all kinds of cheese....who knew there was more than cheddar! We could buy bushels of fruit....apples, peaches, tomatoes. And smaller baskets of beans and peas. Sometimes we'd buy peameal bacon (what American's call Canadian bacon), or huge chunks of Bologna which we had to slice ourselves. I didn't know you could buy packaged Bologna until I actually paid attention to a commercial....my Bologna has a first name....

Since he worked shift-work, there must have been mornings he wasn't there, but I don't remember them.

 

[ghost19]

Summertime in southern Arkansas around 1983 in a town of about 500 people. A group of latch key kids who have been friends since before they all started Kindergarten. The weather was always so hot and still. The heat so stifling it's almost audible. The middle of July. No breeze at all, just upper 90's temperatures plus the humidity. Sweating so badly your ears rang but continuing to play pick up baseball games despite the heat. Drinking lukewarm water from a water hose at the baseball field. Taking a water break, sitting in the dirt discussing in depth with your friends who would win an air battle between Airwolf and Blue Thunder. Mutually agreeing that Bo Derek is the best looking woman in the history of the world but still not quite understanding why you think this. Heading to the river after the game and riding your bicycle directly into the river, only taking the time to throw your baseball glove to the side first. Catching a crawdad at the river then releasing it when it pinched you so hard your finger was sore for a couple of days. Not understanding or caring a whit about what the future may hold. It's still a month and a half until school starts and this day has been the best of the summer, only to possibly be topped by tomorrow. No one complains about anything, there's nothing to complain about. It's summer in a small southern Arkansas town and we're all living in the moment. Discussions revolve around what we'll do the next day, which house we'll stop by to make a quick lunch in the middle of the day, and a mutually agreed upon decision that we'll ride our bikes really fast past old lady Campbell's place because if she's outside she never misses an opportunity to scream "YOU BOYS ARE ALL GOING TO HURT YOURSELVES RIDING THOSE BIKES SO FAST!" which, of course, is the reason we do it.
Those memories are all still as clear as they were so many summers ago. As I get older, they don't get more vague, they get clearer. I think there's some kind of magic when you're young that gets lost in the clutter and eventually departs when you get older which is a shame.

 

[Doc Creed]

Summertime in southern Arkansas around 1983 in a town of about 500 people. A group of latch key kids who have been friends since before they all started Kindergarten. The weather was always so hot and still. The heat so stifling it's almost audible. The middle of July. No breeze at all, just upper 90's temperatures plus the humidity. Sweating so badly your ears rang but continuing to play pick up baseball games despite the heat. Drinking lukewarm water from a water hose at the baseball field. Taking a water break, sitting in the dirt discussing in depth with your friends who would win an air battle between Airwolf and Blue Thunder. Mutually agreeing that Bo Derek is the best looking woman in the history of the world but still not quite understanding why you think this. Heading to the river after the game and riding your bicycle directly into the river, only taking the time to throw your baseball glove to the side first. Catching a crawdad at the river then releasing it when it pinched you so hard your finger was sore for a couple of days. Not understanding or caring a whit about what the future may hold. It's still a month and a half until school starts and this day has been the best of the summer, only to possibly be topped by tomorrow. No one complains about anything, there's nothing to complain about. It's summer in a small southern Arkansas town and we're all living in the moment. Discussions revolve around what we'll do the next day, which house we'll stop by to make a quick lunch in the middle of the day, and a mutually agreed upon decision that we'll ride our bikes really fast past old lady Campbell's place because if she's outside she never misses an opportunity to scream "YOU BOYS ARE ALL GOING TO HURT YOURSELVES RIDING THOSE BIKES SO FAST!" which, of course, is the reason we do it.
Those memories are all still as clear as they were so many summers ago. As I get older, they don't get more vague, they get clearer. I think there's some kind of magic when you're young that gets lost in the clutter and eventually departs when you get older which is a shame.

Wow, great details.

 

[Doc Creed]

My story continued. . .

...the foam igloo with melted ice, reeked of fish. Everybody's hair smelling of the dank river, hearts resting on the hard bank...so tired from swimming. Arms and legs weak. Muscles faint.
"Elizabeth" by the Statler Brothers permeates the silky night. Wet bodies become still, and melt in fatigue. A silent whistle of green and gold explodes across the velvet sky.

 

[Nomik]

My story continued. . .

...the foam igloo with melted ice, reeked of fish. Everybody's hair smelling of the dank river, hearts resting on the hard bank...so tired from swimming. Arms and legs weak. Muscles faint.
"Elizabeth" by the Statler Brothers permeates the silky night. Wet bodies become still, and melt in fatigue. A silent whistle of green and gold explodes across the velvet sky.

That's more like it! Sounds like the northern lights! If we can shift this to winter memories I have a good smelt shack story for later. . .

 

[Nomik]

Im just going to do it anyway.
4:30 AM on February morning:
Bacon and eggs sizzle on the stove and dad hollers "time to get up, Nome!". Still groggy and lost in the depths of last night's dream, I reluctantly stumble toward the smells wafting through the house. This house is my favorite, it's a gambrel with barn red paint and black shutters, complete with a babbling brook running across the front boundary, stopping at the driveway segment, and a river down the embankment in the back. The beaver dam crosses that river at leads to what I used to imagine was an island, rather than a peninsula.
That day the house is filled with half brothers, colleagues from dad's old job in Caimbridge, my cousins and nephew (older than me).
I'm the first one up and dad hands me coffee, cream, and tells me to get my hat and coat, my mittens and the toboggan, for we are headed to our favorite winter fishing spot: "way the hell and gone up to Bowdoinham." It's at least a four hour drive from Derry, but well worth the trip. The fishing is always good, but the little store on the way will have Jolt cola. . .

 

[Doc Creed]

Im just going to do it anyway.
4:30 AM on February morning:
Bacon and eggs sizzle on the stove and dad hollers "time to get up, Nome!". Still groggy and lost in the depths of last night's dream, I reluctantly stumble toward the smells wafting through the house. This house is my favorite, it's a gambrel with barn red paint and black shutters, complete with a babbling brook running across the front boundary, stopping at the driveway segment, and a river down the embankment in the back. The beaver dam crosses that river at leads to what I used to imagine was an island, rather than a peninsula.
That day the house is filled with half brothers, colleagues from dad's old job in Caimbridge, my cousins and nephew (older than me).
I'm the first one up and dad hands me coffee, cream, and tells me to get my hat and coat, my mittens and the toboggan, for we are headed to our favorite winter fishing spot: "way the hell and gone up to Bowdoinham." It's at least a four hour drive from Derry, but well worth the trip. The fishing is always good, but the little store on the way will have Jolt cola. . .

I love it, that's a sensory memory if I ever heard one. We all have those primal, instinctual memories...begging to be told, whether we realize it or not.

 

[Nomik]

I've got more, you first. I only say that because I'm completely loving this thread, and I would hate to ruin it by writing the wrong thing. (Where did that come from?)

 

[Doc Creed]

"Dude, you ain't kissed her yet?" My friend Davey nudges my ribs with a bony fist. "Quit bein' a wuss."
I force my spine to straighten, adding two inches. I'm chewing my gum nervously. I can see Janelle sweeping closer with the other skaters, her skirt lapping her thighs. She doesn't see me. My stomach is hot.
"I will. I'm waiting for the right time."
He sighs and is lost with the kids on the rink. I study my shoes like a man trying to memorize it, lost in thought. My skates remain unused next to my coke. The feeling of a thousand eyes upon me lifts and I once again scan the broad parquet for Janelle. She's laughing and has a friend in a fierce grip. As they glide into the shadows I can see her silhouette against the pink and red arcade glare. The music is thumping and I can feel it pulse in my gut. I can only imagine her fingers tracing my knee...her knowing eyes.
"Are you ok?" a voice says breathlessly. It's Janelle wearing her Jordache jeans; green rugby shirt.
I show my teeth and sip my coke. "Yeah, I'm coming."
She braces herself with one hand on my shoulder and is seated beside me on the floor. "Hey, let's go get some nachos...wanna?"
My heart cools and I hear the first high strokes of strings from 'Philadelphia Freedom' by Elton John. I stand and offer her my hand, emboldened.
She walks beside me barefoot. I take her hand.
As we wait in line, smelling popcorn and ground beef, Davey rushes past my peripheral view and whistles. I look at the ground and smile.

 

[Nomik]

"Dude, you ain't kissed her yet?" My friend Davey nudges my ribs with a bony fist. "Quit bein' a wuss."
I force my spine to straighten, adding two inches. I'm chewing my gum nervously. I can see Janelle sweeping closer with the other skaters, her skirt lapping her thighs. She doesn't see me. My stomach is hot.
"I will. I'm waiting for the right time."
He sighs and is lost with the kids on the rink. I study my shoes like a man trying to memorize it, lost in thought. My skates remain unused next to my coke. The feeling of a thousand eyes upon me lifts and I once again scan the broad parquet for Janelle. She's laughing and has a friend in a fierce grip. As they glide into the shadows I can see her silhouette against the pink and red arcade glare. The music is thumping and I can feel it pulse in my gut. I can only imagine her fingers tracing my knee...her knowing eyes.
"Are you ok?" a voice says breathlessly. It's Janelle wearing her Jordache jeans; green rugby shirt.
I show my teeth and sip my coke. "Yeah, I'm coming."
She braces herself with one hand on my shoulder and is seated beside me on the floor. "Hey, let's go get some nachos...wanna?"
My heart cools and I hear the first high strokes of strings from 'Philadelphia Freedom' by Elton John. I stand and offer her my hand, emboldened.
She walks beside me barefoot. I take her hand.
As we wait in line, smelling popcorn and ground beef, Davey rushes past my peripheral view and whistles. I look at the ground and smile.

Wow! Damn good, you will have to forgive me because connected (I was going to say at this point I'm drunk) but autocorrect fixed the error. Don't hold that again me. I seldom, if ever, get drunk. I'm wondering if popcorn holds the same sensory sensation. . . I think I . . . And that was on purpose. Now, tell me more. You have so much in that story that I can and will go on. Your writing is beautiful, because sensory circumstances collide with collective consciousness only once in a blue moon. I want it all.
My time to edit this is almost up. Please continue. I will.

 

[Doc Creed]

Wow! Damn good, you will have to forgive me because connected (I was going to say at this point I'm drunk) but autocorrect fixed the error. Don't hold that again me. I seldom, if ever, get drunk. I'm wondering if popcorn holds the same sensory sensation. . . I think I . . . And that was on purpose. Now, tell me more. You have so much in that story that I can and will go on. Your writing is beautiful, because sensory circumstances collide with collective consciousness only once in a blue moon. I want it all.

Thanks, I just try to follow the memory and find the moment. The crux.