I started the summer with the best intentions of writing a novella of my boyhood experiences from the summer of 1973. It started off well enough. I collected 45 pages of memories over a short span of years. It was quite fun as the images were often so strong and pungent that I could feel and taste them. However, I couldn't always recall the year, so I checked the dates on songs, movies, television shows, stamps and other artifacts from the era to help me set the memories in the right place in time. Kind of a history of objects, which is quite popular to do these days, but I wanted it to be a story in the first person, not an old man looking back at his childhood. Unfortunately, the summer conspired against me. I got involved in all sorts of projects, mostly gardening, and the days slipped away with little to show for it in the way of writing. This past month we've been spending with our oldest daughter, who returned from Australia with her husban...