Since the age of 14, I've read and reread a book every summer, called Seventeenth Summer by Maureen Daly. My mom bought it for me for Easter that year. The teenage couple on the cover of that edition (not the current one above) looked like a modern, 1990's couple, so I was confused when I began reading it and terms like "fellows" for guys and "radio serials" were used. I flipped to the front and realized it had been published in 1942. It's a lovely book about a girl and the boy she meets and dates the summer between graduation and college. We live in a world with cell phones and high speed internet and jets and online social networking, seemingly to make life easier, but does it? The writer of the book pays incredible attention to detail, almost to the point where a quiet evening of listening to the radio while you pin up your hair seem enjoyable! I suppose this is how the elderly feel, that life was so much simpler when you made your own bread and the milk man came in through the back door to fill the fridge. I lost my copy of the book sometime after reading it last summer, when we moved into this house, so yesterday after an early dinner with my parents, an early Father's Day celebration, we went to the bookstore and I bought up another copy. It's hard to explain how a simple book can be so important, and how it can make even me love the summer.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Posted by Unlikely Oilfield Wife at 11:32 AM