曾几何时,我坐在我家门廊的秋千上看时光飞舞,女儿们也在这里无比惬意地吹着泡泡。如今,我们已搬离了那里,但有关这门廊的一切,依然萦绕在我们的梦中。
Friends from out of town were visiting when the deep summer[1] storm hit. The lightning was fierce and constant, the thunder was, well, thunderous. Our friends are longtime deep suburbanites[2], and I always felt that when they came to visit us in our 90-year-old home it was like a trip to a foreign country. Just a day earlier, their 14-year-old son had asked me what “that building” was at the end of our driveway[3]. It was an honest question, he’d never seen a “building” like that before, but I still had to laugh. “It’s a detached garage[4],” I explained.
Once the storm started, my family did what we always did: We went out to the front porch to sit on the swing[5] and watch the weather roll through. Quickly, the neighbors on both sides also came to their front porches. We chitchatted with the neighbors on both sides; the neighbors on the east yelled across our front porch to the neighbors on the west.[6]
At some point, one of our kids picked up a bottle of soap bubbles. They knew from years of experience that bubbles have a supernatural ability to stay intact and travel amazingly far in a downpour.[7] The neighbor kids wanted to blow bubbles so I tossed[8] a bottle to their dad across the driveway and they all blew bubbles, too.
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