Hot Summer Days and Warmer Summer Nights

A summer of fun

When I was a kid, it seemed that summers were bursting with uninterrupted days of scorching heat (“It’s a scortcha,” said the aunt), so we looked forward to rainy days in Narragansett, where from our rented summer cottage, our mothers took us to the Casino Theater for a movie. Sitting in a cool theater was a nice break from endless days at the beach. Woe to us, huh?

I enjoy hot summer days because they remind me of the days of my youth. In the neighborhood, when the sun shone brightly, we trudged to the swimming hole or the Boys Club pool to cool off.

On other days, it was more than just swimming.

Like commandos, with our water canteens hooked to our belts, we hiked along the burning country road to the distant woods and its swimming hole. Our thin-soled Keds made our scortchud feet pay. Nonetheless, we were energized and pleased. It was a good thing.

I appreciated our days on the run, free, out of school, with no homework and nary a care.

We lived outdoors.

We went to the drive-in movie, Red Sox games, stock car races, and the Boy Scouts Jamboree.

We awaited the bell-ringing ice cream man.

We went to the ice cream store, waiting for us.

We wore shorts and sneakers.

We slept late.

We stayed out late. Why? Street lights, the ‘go-home’ beacon, came on later.

We ate tomatoes from the garden, picked cherries and apples and pears and figs from grandpa's trees, and grapes from his vine.

We made tar balls from the hot tar we scraped off the steaming streets.

We fried an egg on the sidewalk.

courtesy of iSock

We cooled under sprinklers.

Summer nights in the third-floor bedroom of the three-decker on Wealth Avenue were hot, ridiculously hot. It was scorching enough for the sewing bees to stop sewing and the lightning bugs to slow down on their evening soirees.

With neither fans nor air conditioners, our bedroom was a sticky oven. Sleeping, even without a top sheet and nearly nude, was impossible. Houses nearby were so close that no breeze, if it ever appeared, would bother to drift inside. Still, those nights brought back cozy neighborhood memories. How? Through the soft susurrations of the adults nearby.

Warm weather brought people together, usually in the evenings, on their porches.

Hearing soft chatter from the first-floor porch below, Peter and I decided to explore, to follow the murmurs and some soft laughter, even though we had orders to go to bed. The heat drove the adults to their porches and sidewalks.

Attracted by the sound of bees to honey, we rolled out of bed and snuck down the stairs to sit on the porch floor, invisible, or so we thought, just off to the side. Mom, Aunt Della, and Grandma glanced and continued their chit-chatting. Dad, Uncle Carlo, and Grandpa were absent, probably sleeping, or at least trying, in anticipation of their early morning rise.

As I remember, Mom was in her pajamas, Aunt Della in a nightgown, and Grandma, though in a housedress, broke her formality by wearing backless black slippers and no stockings.

Layers of stars dotted the night. The land light came from a nearby streetlight, bugs flickering to tap the light’s metal hat. Low talking rumbles came from neighbors sitting across the narrow street or next door, doing the same thing, chatting away the heat.

Nothing we heard was of interest to us. Mom, Grandma, and Aunt Della seemed to be repeating the same things they had already talked about during the day. However, just listening, being there was enough.

The sounds were soothing and comforting. People made the best of the crisp, clear, hot evening, understanding they were all in the same circumstances. The heat was tough, but not as tough as the workday, not as tough as making their way in a new country.

We sat, very still. We listened. We smushed the occasional mosquito and rubbed off the blood ever so gently. We wanted to hang out, to be a part of the neighborhood’s family, to endure the heat together. We were a part of it.

"Time for bed, kids." Ah, they noticed us. No squabble.

Up the stairs and back to the oven, we trudged. I got in bed and looked at the clock. It was eleven. My goodness, I stayed up late, like an adult.

At last, we dozed off to the ongoing music of the voices below.

Hot summer days and evenings chased us outdoors and to a recipe for fun and more chances to connect with friends, family, and neighbors.

I loved the summer evenings almost as much as the days.