The official start of summer always takes me back to school being dismissed. An open road of possibilities ahead, ready to fill the time between ringing bells on brick walls.

I often feel most nostalgic for high school summer months, in the late nineties. Arm surfing our way down familiar country roads as daylight stretched across rural land.

A fresh license in my wallet and an unnecessarily large keychain dangled from the ignition of a car only a few years younger than my sisters. Beads on a necklace swayed from the rearview mirror. Serving as decoration on the straightaways and an inertia meter around the bends.

My ride at the time was a well maintained, two door, baby blue, 1987 Oldsmobile Toronado. Wide velvety seats rivaled the most comfortable La-Z-Boys on the market. I purchased the car from a family friend with tip money earned working at the local ice cream window the year before turning sixteen.

Most days, a winding road would take me to the same restaurant and soft serve window for a late afternoon into evening shift. Exchanging dollar bills for milkshakes with neighbors heading in and out of town for a special summertime treat.

The rhythm of my friends’ work schedules always felt predictable. We knew when each nearby establishment closed for the day, freeing us in waves.

There were no cell phones to call and finalize plans after leaving landlines at home or work. We instead relied on the gravitational pull of childhood friendship and trusting our instincts.

Summer nights always started in one of three places around town. Once the majority arrived at one, there was a twenty-minute waiting period for the rest to show up, before heading out.

We always found each other.

My Toronado was a popular car for cruising. Claiming the passenger seat for the night meant heightened comfort with a view. Plus, control over the center console packed full of cassette tapes. And, more importantly, the drive’s soundtrack.

All roads out of town were classic country roads described in songs destined to play through the speakers. Sometimes, “Take Me Home, Country Roads” was belted out the open windows while driving on the actual road used for inspiration. Though, we had no idea at the time.

Since this was well before built in GPS, parents stuffed massive statewide paper maps in the seat pockets of every vehicle. In case we got lost. From time to time, someone would jokingly pull one out if we were cutting it a little close to their curfew. But we never actually needed printed guides.

We all knew the trees, fields, and curves in the roads. From a lifetime of taking us home.

As always, thank you for being here.

Hiding under a bunny blanket, on a mission to experience a few extra minutes with Mom.

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We were inching out of the early eighties, as a new family of five. I went from being the baby to having a baby sister. Temporarily becoming the middle child, too.

As you can imagine, my alone time with Mom significantly decreased. Something about the new baby needing more than pillow assisted cuddles from her older siblings in brief five-minute intervals.

Once everyone started settling into a new bedtime routine, I began executing little outings to the living room. Hoping for extra time with Mom. Always wearing a bunny blanket on my head, thinking it made me invisible.

Both Mom and Dad played along. At first, letting me sit quietly by the arm of the chair. Then on top of Mom’s feet and the plush carpet. And during my boldest moments, sitting so close to her on the couch, my legs would get caught in her nightgown when trying to leave.

Of course, my stealthy movements were completely imagined. Because one of my parents helped me onto the couch. Mom certainly had to free my wiggling legs from entangled fabric. And if she was enjoying a sweet treat, I trust our eyes met and smiles widened before a bite or two reached my mouth.

My dad captured the above photo. A time capsule for one of my earliest memories. Sitting on the couch, Mom beside me, watching the television’s glow light up the room.

I sometimes imagine their laughter as I tiptoed back down the hallway. Taking turns tucking me back into bed. Wondering if another mini gathering would happen the following night.

Soon enough, days, weeks, then months went by between each nighttime living room visit. Surely, I realized there was always enough Mom time, love, and attention to go around for everyone. One of the many wonders of our mom. Even to this day.

As always, thank you for being here.