Window to My Past by Nannette Croce

Last week we had one of those early warm days here in southeast Pennsylvania. The temperature reached 80 but without summer’s stifling humidity. So despite a prediction of rain, I kept my window cracked when I went to bed that night.

I woke in the night to a soft spring rain patting down on the leaves outside my window, interspersed with a rustling breeze that sent the blinds tapping against the sill. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I remembered the days before air conditioning was standard in most suburban homes. In the summer, windows remained open through all but the most fierce summer storms. Then we’d shut them tight, sitting in the hot oven of a house watching rain sheet down the glass until it left as quickly as it came and everything opened again feeling cooler and fresher.

On clear summer nights we played outside until we could make out nothing but shadows or our Moms called us in early for a bath to wash the scent of grass and dried earth from our knees and elbows. Even the adults sat out on porches and patios as long as possible to catch the breezes.

Generally, TV’s significance dwindled in the summer months, at least until after dark. TV was summer reruns except, for us kids, the shows we couldn’t stay up late enough to watch during the school year like The Untouchables or one of the “eight million stories in the Naked City” or maybe a summer replacement variety show. We all had to agree because there was just one TV and three channels to choose among.

I’m grateful for my air conditioner on those 100 plus days, but I’m also grateful for those open windows to my past.