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Kansas City MO 64131






Cindy Maddera


This summer was fairly mild as far as temperatures go. It got hot here, but not as hot as I was used to, living in Oklahoma. I should have been more grateful for this. When I was a kid, the heat would be so oppressive that after two months of it, Dad would say "enough!" and we'd head to the cool mountains of Colorado. We'd trade in our shorts and flip flops for sweatshirts and hiking boots. It would be late August and I'd be stealing every blanket in the camper to stay warm while my friends in Oklahoma would be sweating it out. Escaping the heat of Oklahoma for a week was always nice, but I never minded the heat. I remember the summer Mom got a new refrigerator and I got to keep the box it came in. I'd play in that box all day if Mom had let me, but it was so hot, the box was like an oven. Mom would come out to check on me and find me laying in my oven box like a limp noodle and she'd make me get out and come inside. That box was my own personal sauna and I loved it. I was fascinated with the way asphalt would radiate the heat in waves and how the tar in the street cracks would bubble up. You could pop the bubbles with your bicycle tires. One of the best things about riding the scooter during the dog days of summer was stripping down to my tank top and rolling my pants up to my thighs, coating myself in sunscreen and heading out. I could feel the heat radiating up from the road and it was bliss. I am a warm weather girl. Or so I thought.

I thought I would be more upset about the crispness that has creeped into our mornings here. I thought I would grumble more about having to wear a sweater in the evenings. I thought I would cringe at the sight of the bins of pumpkins showing up at the grocery store. Instead I find that I'm ready for a change of season and that I've grown accustomed to the end of one and the beginning of another. Remember how you used to wish Summer would never end? No more pencils. No more books. No more teachers' dirty looks. Then we reach that age where summers are just no more teachers' dirty looks. The constant drone of summer, the cicadas never ending hum starts out soothing. In fact you may even take the time to notice it and say "this! this is the sound of summer". But after time you realize you are sighing with relief as you enter a building, not because of the cool air, but because of the silence. Because seasons are shiny new toys or visitors. They can wear out a welcome. I suppose this is why I am not so sad to see the leaves beginning to change and why I've got a craving for Frito-chili-pie and honey crisp apples. I am ready to fall.

Fall creeps in

Happy Love Thursday!