(and would be wasted up against the wall).

Would that I were too.

Summer day in miscellaneous post-early childhood, pre-teenhood.

Smells: The yellowy-green scent of grasses and weeds; a faint overlay of wood slowly baking as all the trees on the hillsides slowly roasted to kindling in the hot sun; baked earth and grit; the clayey/cottony scent of damp beach towels on concrete; the sharp sting of chlorine on days spent at the swimming pool; the clammy scent of algae at the pond.

Sounds: Out in the hills, the near-constant hum of miscellaneous insects, rising to an occasional clicky crescendo; the clackety-clack of the old bicycle changing gears as I pushed uphill; distant traffic muffled by the trees and grasses; the rustle and scrape of dry calloused fingertips across the pages of a book, turning the page, riffling through to see how far the story had yet to go.

Taste: The blissful rush and punch of a swallow of blisteringly cold soda on a 100°+ day; sweet dripping Popsicles; the weirdly desirable gummy taste of a Fudgsicle.

Sensation: The weight of heat, the animal pleasure of lying in the backyard right on the hot concrete, sunlight bearing down and sapping away everything but a pleasantly stoned torpor; the ache and burn of the calves, pushing and pushing at the crest of the hill; sore eyeballs from the chlorine in the pool; the plunge-and-twist of the gut in the millisecond of committing to the jump off the high dive.

Sight: Every last inch of the three blocks between the house and the entrance to the hill trails: scarily intimate knowledge of every line and crack in the sidewalk, the exact location of every wad of gum, every line of graffiti, every hand- or footprint sneaked into the cement, every clump of poppies growing wild, every patch of chamomile pushing up from every crack, all of it.

What was a typical summer day like for you when you were ten? Be particularly attentive to sense memory in describing your summer day with points awarded proportionally on this sensory scale (from high to low): smell, sound, taste, touch, sight.

For me, this was my grandparents' on Toledo Bend. So let's see...I'd wake up on a pallet made of old musty quilts in the living room of their trailer. We'd probably laid it out over a cooling vent in the floor. Other than that, there would be the mediciney smell of Dr. Titchner's we'd put on rags to keep us cool or soothe the mosquito bites. Then out to the shed or the garden. In the shed we had all sorts of wood scraps we'd build into tree houses or elaborate barbie houses or barns for my Bryer horses (usually they had several hooves broken off). If we were in the garden we'd pick tomatoes or zuccini, sometimes carrots for dinner (lunch) which would be anything from the most amazing tomato sandwich to fried catfish with fried zucchini. We'd make trails in the woods down to the creek where we swung on vines. later we'd sew clothes for our dolls on my grandmother's Singer- big ole' industrial type thing with cloth wrapped cables.

If we were lucky, we got tea cakes. Nothing but butter and sugar, and at night when Mimi and Grandandy were in bed we'd sneak dough to eat.

We also brought home any number of critters. Snakes, frogs, crickets, even one time a raccoon.

Oh, and fishing! I always had to sit on the cooler, since I was the youngest. My grandad and my cousins and me. I don't think I can even describe the coolness of fishing down there.

We'd (my cousins and I) put on plays at what we called the "Sagging Stage." It was a treehouse we'd built and someone had mistaken for a deer blind, so they sawed the supports. Cinderella is the main one I remember. We rolled out logs for seats and made our own costumes. I was Cinderella, and my cousin Kara played most of the other parts.

I also learned how to make gumbo and which color roux was right for which dish, and how to scale a fish (horrified my mother the vegetarian. I told her it's fine "they just go like this" Makes face like a fish gasping for breath )

Sometimes we'd go into town to the Piggly Wiggly for Dr. Pepper, or to Mansfield for more fabric or a sweatsuit for Mimi. The water down there was this soft well water, so we got a few jugs of that to drink and to rinse with. Baths at the lake always felt like you'd overloaded on Skin So Soft.

What else? Oh, church was awesome. Maybe 20 people in a one room church, mostly older people who'd retired. We were always introduced to people by whose "girl" we were. Hymns were sung horribly off key and really loud, and instead of announcements and prayers being printed in the program, people just stood up and said them. There was one woman who always asked us to pray for soap opera characters.

My cousins and I did a lot of soap opera watching with my grandmother. Around her naptime, she'd lay out a quilt on the floor to do her leg excersises and we'd all watch Ryan's Hope, All My Children, One Life to Live, and General Hospital. Whenever we did play barbies, mine was always "Tina."

Summers with my grandparents are probably my fondest memories of childhood. I had so much close family around me constantly.

Oh, and I think 10 was when I had friends on my street, and around the neighborhood, and we'd run around on bikes and rollerskates and whatnot. Possibly also that was when I decided that the cute boy next door was enough older than me to count as "someone older than you" for the purposes of crossing the biggish street nearby, on the other side of which was a spa that sold slushes. (Corner store kind of spa.)

Huh. Guessing how to spell that kid's last name and googling, it looks like he's an agent now, but I can't tell if NY or LA.

What is a corner store kind of spa?

Is that akin to a hospital sort of restaurant?

When I was 10 ... we were living in Barbican and I hadn't been to England yet. That means that Warren and Tracy and Aisha still lived next door to us. This meant mango eating contests, me running clubs in a thinly veiled stab at controlling them all, stealing the older cousin's porn and reading it in a mixed group, and long days in the pool at the Senior Common Room while my father played tennis.

What game shows were you watching, erika?

See, work avoidant.

You suck. t /tep

I was in South Florida when I was ten. Summers were hot and humid and breezy. I'd read the morning paper and eat cold cereal, probably just wearing a pair of cut-off shorts. If I mowed the lawn that day, I'd get my $10 allowance. Lawn mowing was always a semi-miserable experience since it'd start my allergies off in a big way. I'd come in completely sweaty and take a quick shower and down a Pepsi. Then I'd take off on my bike ready to spend money.

While I rode my bike I'd practice my loud whistle (which still comes in handy for hailing cabs). I'd probably stop by 7-11 and check out the new comics. I might get some penny candy, or Luden's Cherry Cough Drops. Maybe a Now 'n Later, or Sweet-Tarts. Then I'd ride my spider bike as fast as I could over the sidewalks, which had innumerable jump points because the tree roots made mini-ramps.

I'd ride my bike to the one used bookstore where all the paperbacks were half off cover price. I'd buy Robert Howard, or ERB or Fritz Leiber.

Maybe I'd come back early in the afternoon, after a lunch of two orders of McDonald's fries. (I'd dump them in the bag with some salt, shake it up, and eat while I rode my bike.)

Go back to my house and flop on my bed reading about the Grey Mouser for a few hours. Then I might go climb in the big tree in our side yard, sucking on Now 'n Laters and hang out with the next door neighbor kids. We'd swing from the limbs and get sticky sap on our hands.

The strongest smells I associate with summer though are from days we went to the beach. Particularly when you were driving home after playing out at the beach all day and you smelled like coconanut oil and sweat and beach salty air.

What is a corner store kind of spa?

Is that akin to a hospital sort of restaurant?

It's a New England thing -- it's just what corner stores are called. I dunno.

You suck.

cries and cries and cries.

I think my childhood summers were very late century Southern typical. Parents divorced, sent off to grandparents or aunts. Kara and I were shocked by our spouses' not being close to at least their first cousins. We were close to 2nds, 3rds and removed. (I have a sort of funny story about that actually). But then, Morgans are weird.