A Perfect Summer Day

I think it was June, 1946. Something about this evening’s after-dinner, back deck chat triggered a vivid memory from my childhood. I had told Rip to come over for oven-fried chicken and creative leftovers with Stephen and me. He arrived with an empty old crockpot under his arm—I recently complained that I no longer have one that size—a very thoughtful gift for me. A glass or two of chardonnay had put us in a reminiscing frame of mind, and we were going at it: moms and dads, ex-wives, kids, rectors we have known, the usual fare.

Rip and Stephen Chat
Rip and Stephen Chat
Breeze Stirring the Canopy Above
Breeze Stirring the Canopy Above

 

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