It’s funny how memories pop up. Now that the heat and humidity are “on” in Mississippi, I suddenly remembered young childhood visits in Clifton Springs, and my grandfather coming home from the blacksmith shop. He would wash up, as I recall, in a sink that was against a wall where later a refrigerator would be installed. Gottlieb died in 1952 I think, so I would have been somewhere between 5-7 years old. These were the days of having Orange Crush in bottles on the front porch swing in what felt like an incredibly safe and deliciously boring state of childhood at the height of midsummer. Only recently as a retiree, I’ve had a renewed inkling of that sense of time stretching on with few to no plans in sight other than sitting on the front porch for the moment. What a luxury.

I have to recall that 1951, for example, was an era way before air conditioning, central or otherwise. A summer day was marked with the white noise of fans (with very unsafe large blades barely protected) and the pulling down of yellow colored shades that had a little circular loop at the end of the string, used for raising and lowering the shade.