(my second happy snapshot, a creative non-fiction story from my life)
In my memory, it was always warm on my special radio days. The garden bathed in sunlight. With my very white skin that would mean I would get a tremendous sunburn very fast. I had experience with that.
Besides, I had other plans.
I took one of the folding garden chairs, metal
with a faded linen seat, and installed it at the front of the house.
Then I got a small bench that was perfect to rest your feet on.
I got some lemonade, a book and the most important of the whole mission: my transistor radio. I loved that thing. It had an aluminum and brown front and the controls were on the top. It had a long antenna and a handle to hold it on.
I set down the radio, sat down in my chair to listen.
Radio Tour de France.
I hardly ever saw the races on tv, but it was so exciting to hear on the radio. And the music. All those dream-like French chansons, making me feel like I was somewhere in a magical place where women sang in little girl voices and men sang deep and seductive. I read my book and drifted away in my mystical land of music.
It was always a disappointment when the wind got too cold and I had to head in to join the real world. Or maybe, just maybe, I left the real world behind on the small patio outside the front door.