The small fan, which sounded like it would die any moment, was her only way of keeping cool, or at least keeping the hot air moving. She didn't grow up with conveniences like air conditioning and numerous other gadgets to make life easier. It was all she knew, and it was okay with her. Not many people came for a visit in the heat of summer, and that was okay with her as well.
Today was laundry day, and it didn't take long for everything to dry on the clothesline. After all, it was just three flowered sundresses, some undergarments, and a few pairs of socks she needed in her shoes that were a little too big, but she bought them that way as she knew she would grow into them.
She put on her sun bonnet and got her basket, then walked to the garden, where she weeded what the sun hadn't killed and sparingly gave each plant a drink of water from the bucket she had brought along. With any luck, she would have vegetables for the winter if prayer and hope worked in her favor.
She only ate once a day as the heat took her hunger away. Midday, she made a tuna and tomato sandwich with lots of pepper, just like the one her mother used to make for her on hot summer days. Out on the porch was one good thing the sun gave to her: a big glass jar of sun tea. She kept an eye on the color of the water so it wouldn't over brew, which made for a strong taste she didn't care for. Sometimes, she would splurge and put two ice cubes in her glass, enjoying the cool liquid sliding down her parched throat.
As the fireball known as the sun went down, she sat on the porch looking up at the stars in silence with the night birds singing her to sleep. More than once, she awoke in the middle of the night in her chair on the porch, scolding herself, knowing it would be hard getting up. But with a few groans, she stood up and went inside, where the old fan hadn't died yet, and she was okay with that.
Mike 2025
Reminds me of a story from grandma Adelaide
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