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I remember those long hot summer visits to our summer home and our grandparent's big old house in the country. The living arrangement of these back-country roads and the decor were conversation pieces. Shirttail out, barefoot, unlocked windows, token door locks and no guard dogs, can't get much better than that. Can't forget those heavy summer showers and thunderstorms that suspended activities, muddied the hot dirty roads and caused it to be too wet to plow. And yes, 'us' kids played in the mud and water. And who can forget the cool summer breeze after dust, those heavy-hands of the heated day that sent us desperately seeking a shady resting place? Or how can I not remember the gusting wind that raffled the feathers of the dirt that sent dust in our eyes? These are the acceptable and sometimes dusty attitudes of this summer-fest. Life was really simple there and every new day carried the tag of 'to be announced'. It wasn't color-coded with extremism or the entrapment of novelty nor the many knots of masking agents of the city. I guess what I'm saying is I discovered the best isn't always saved for last, the best can be elementary, the check isn't always in the mail and experts don't always get it right.

My grandparents were married more than half a century and lived qualitative lives in the spectacle of reality. This mint condition was alien to most. But it was an after school sweetheart to us. It positively impacted and molded my life in more ways than one. The illusionists that were out of touch had miscast this literal breath of fresh air with their erroneous measurement models. They called this calming get-away a social deficit. I guess they forgot that without pollination everything and everybody dies.

Big-daddy was a very happy man, always grinning, an unspoken, but understood language. Big-momma was sweet, but her stern voice sent another message. They prayed what we thought were extremely long prayers at sunrise as they rose and after sundown as they retired. Big-daddy wore overalls and a straw-hat through the week, caches on Saturdays and suits and dress-hats on Sundays. Big-momma was casual through the week, conservative on Saturdays and dressed nicely on Sundays complimented by one of her hats. They were church going folk that had no preoccupation with self and materialism. With them it was God, family and their fellowman. Often they opened their home to anyone that came by, even strangers. They never meet any strangers really. The pastor came to

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