The Pinks did summer day camp at the prep school adjacent to our house for a half-dozen years. Just walking on the campus during the summer months made me relax, slow down my pace, breathe more deeply. It was the smell, mostly, and the sounds.
Smell is a funny sense. Every now and then I come upon the cologne that one of my high school boyfriends wore and it takes me back 30 years to him and the dark Alaskan winter. Or I smell roses and think of the garden in the home where Dave grew up.
Last week the smell of summer arrived, this time coupled with the smell of ripe fruit and dry heat. I was instantly transported to a market day Provence, where we vacationed a few summers ago. This is our summer to stay local and I'm sad that we're not readying for another European adventure.
Next year. Some way. Some how.
Bad Hair Day
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