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               I remember once a long time ago, skipping around the backyard at my Aunts house while my Uncle stood over a grill smoking a salmon. My Uncle---who has long since parted ways with my Aunt---was a tall handsome man, with olive sun weathered skin. He spent a lot of time surfing the waves, a true 'Beach Boy'. His stringy sandy blond hair rested on his shoulders, and he wore old sun faded tee shirts and cut off jeans.

               When I close my eyes I can picture the patio of their home in San Luis Obispo. A slab of cement sheltered by canopy connected to the roof. Patio chairs and a table sat there beneath the covering. The grass that ran from the cement met a wall that lined their property. Along the wall were an assortment of tall tropical plants, I cannot recall what kind but I remember it being brilliantly green---this a shocking contrast to the desert in which I was not born but raised in, and still dwell to this day.

               The setting sun shone brightly on this particular afternoon, and a smooth breeze danced off the ocean countering the summer heat and making the air shimmer and the temperature near heavenly. I was wearing a little one-piece bathing suit, which was typical for me at that age. My mother had given up on asking me to get dressed, most summer afternoons at home I spent in my bathing suit. I recall feeling freer that way, cut loose of the restraints and weight proper clothing imposed---free to run through the neighbors sprinklers with my friends or soak myself in our front hose at will.

               My Aunt sat in a one of the patio chairs puffing away at a clove. The smell of them made me wish I too were adult. But due to my age, and the relentless supervision of my responsible parents I was forced to simply sit and enjoy the smell of what smoke drifted my way from the bud of her dark maroon colored cigarette. I sat as near as was possible without raising the suspicion of my parents. I recall---this memory being the most revisited in my thoughts---skipping past the smoke rising from the grill and in-hailing deeply with the hope that when I exhaled I too would see smoke drift out of my mouth and then float away in the air, just as it did each time my Aunt parted her lips to exhale.

               And so summer afternoons at their home went much like this. I was always filled with a sense of adventure when my parents agreed to let me explore the tree fort at the edge of the development. It had been perfected and then left behind by what seemed to be generations of children that came before us. The fort extended over multiple thick branches of an old monstrous tree. I can't recall the type of tree, but what I can recall were the well placed ladders and ropes---making accessing and exiting very easy incase a sudden attack were to be launch by a certain older brother who had very good aim, and plenty of ammo on the ground.

               A few paces past the tree fort were railroad tracks. We could hear the train’s horn blow from the house. I still to this day feel a rush of excitement at that sound because it is a rarity now. My excitement, due to a trick we learned from our Uncle. He showed us how to get pennies and quarters flatter then pancakes by placing them, just so, on the railing.  This became a regular practice when we would visit. My big brother and I would gather a small collection of coins and place them on the tracks and then go home and wait until we heard the trains approaching. Once they passed we'd race to the tacks and search high and low for the coins.

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               I am uncertain why some moments stick to our conscious memories while others slip away into the abyss of our minds. I am so fond of moments like these. It is at the most unexpected times that they emerge from the depths of our minds and remind us of how full and wonderful life has been. Not all the memories that emerge are pleasant, in fact some are extremely painful to revisit. But that is what reminds us we are alive---at least it is that way for me. I liken them to the coldness of winter. I become so much more aware of each of my fingers and toes, and my checks turn pink once exposed to the crisp cool air. How my nose beguines to run, and the hairs on the back of my neck are raised as shivers run from my neck down my spine and into thighs and calves. The cool air makes me more aware of a great many things, but tonight it has brought to me a pleasant memory. One I will revisit I am sure, many many more times.

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