Streaming Summer

The writing challenge continues from Indie Ink. You know the drill: we writers swap challenges and write about them--we have until 11 p.m. on Thursday evening to meet these challenges or bad things happen! New contestants are always welcome to join by going to the link and signing up!

Welcome to week 8. As always, feel free to leave comments, suggestions, and other neuronically-fired feedback either in the comments here, or on Twitter or Facebook!

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Week 8.
My Challenger: Tobie
My Challenge:Most memorable summer.

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Who I am Challenging: Katri
What I Challenged Them With: A James Bond quote from Die Another Day: "Sex for dinner, death for breakfast." Tell me a Bond-ish type story incorporating this quote as the theme of your story.

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Previous Challenges I have answered:
[Week 1.] [Week 2.] [Week 3.] [Week 4.] [Week 5.]
[Week 6.] [Week 7.]

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Streaming Summer

Most memorable summer.

Hmm. Most memorable summer? Or, perhaps most memorable summer?

Yeah. Huh.

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"Life is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so. Drink up, the world's about to end." --Ford Prefect

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Oh-oh-oh! Most memorable SUMMER!?

No?

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"If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance." --Bern Williams

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Heat. Oh, yes. Brilliant rays of heat shining down nonstop. That's summer!

But it's only memorable if it's really hot--like "Wow, I have stepped out of the frying pan and into the fryer!" hot. But how often do you really say to yourself that it's that hot? Most people talk about frying their eggs on sidewalks. I once talked my sister into doing that--through the phone. I wasn't around to see it actually happen, but then again, she, too, seemed disappointed in the results of that experiment.

Probably for the best. That would actually make it too easy to solve world hunger in places like Africa, where they have the heat and the eggs, but not enough money to buy a top-of-the-line teal-colored toaster oven--let alone having an outlet to plug it into. (Yes, I do believe that is a typical American view of Africa...)

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"A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken." --James Dent

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And no, this time I have no idea who I am quoting, but I definitely like the sound of that--the lawn mower being broken, I mean. Which, in actuality, wouldn't be making a sound so much as it would be a vacuum of sound, you know, with the whole "not working" thing. So, I suppose what I'm saying is the most memorable summer now includes silence. Which, supposedly, is golden.

But not in the monetary meaning. That would also be too easy. But then again, having silence so rarely in my life, between the dog, the cat, the husband, and the neighbors, perhaps silence is about as rare, but it's still not something I can deposit into my checking account, so...

Where were we?

(How do you like that for alliteration!!)

Summer. Not just any summers, but memorable summers. And not just those either, but the MOST MEMORABLE SUMMERS.

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"It's not that bad. I'm not saying I'd like to build a summer home here, but the trees are actually quite lovely." --The Dread Pirate Roberts

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Yes, a tall order indeed. Is it memorable in a bad way? A good way? Or memorable in all it's mediocrity? As I've had a lot of those. Mediocre ones, that is. Well, to the outside observer I should say. Mediocrity should be in the eye of the beholder. But when was the last time you "beheld" something? Either you're holding it, or you're not holding it--it reminds me of learning about "future perfect tense" in grammar class: "You will have been holding an object." Because that rolls right of the tongue, eh?

It's apparently genetic, tongue-rolling. I think we five sib's did a tongue-roll-test once, when one of us actually had the audacity to learn something at that brick building Mom called a school--the same school she had attended as a child. (I should say something here about falling apples,shouldn't I?) There we were, all five of us,tongues hanging out, trying to roll and curl them up. I'm pretty sure we were all able to make that happen, but I'm also pretty sure that's how we all ended up getting chicken pox at the same time as well.

We shared everything. Which is why I no longer do. It's definitely a conscious choice. My friends know this. When we go out to eat, I order what I want to eat. They order what they want to cut up and portion about onto everyone else's plates to share with one another the various choices of delectable's found in the menu. I'm not a food orgy person. I order it, I eat it, and if your fork nears my plate, be prepared to lose it. And perhaps a finger as well.

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"I read The Civil War Infantryman, which talked about making 20-mile marches in the dead heat of summer in wool uniforms, then sitting down to eat salt pork. I'm sleeping in air-conditioned hotels, with good food every day and, like, a made-to-order omelet station. Who am I kidding about how difficult this is?" --Kyle Brady

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And yes, I just totally quoted a football player. The American version, not the European version, which just goes to show that, hang out with your father and brother's enough, you pick up a thing or two besides chicken pox. Also makes you glad you weren't a soldier in the civil war, eh?

I'd say we're off-topic at this point, but I'm not sure I ever really was. Summer, however, means warmth. The only time I'm ever warm, truth be told. Even now, my house at 70 degrees? Fingers feel like ice, toes crimped up under my feet as far as they can go...

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"I'm Mister Heat Miser, I'm Mister Sun. I'm Mister green Christmas, I'm Mister Hundred-and-One!" --Heat Miser

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I wish. But then again, I get this from my mother--she, too, is Fingers-Cold-as-Ice Woman. I get almost everything from her, from my personality to my body aches and pains. My father contributed to my hair color, but they had to split the difference on my eyes. His were green, mom's were brown, so I have shitty-hazel. Call that a compromise, 'cause I don't.

But then again, he also made me remember that "sports" exist--see above ramblings. Honestly, though, the Europeans have the right idea. At least in their version of football, feet have a lot more contact with the ball then anything else. But, we being American, we had to rename that "Soccer."

Of course, like summer, soccer players are HOT. And that would definitely make for a memorable summer...

Hmm... Soccer players...

Where were we? (Goddamn alliteration again!!)

Ah, yes. Most memorable summers. Yeah. I had some. What's it to you?

To sum up:

1. We can solve world hunger with euphemisms
2. Silence cannot be bought
3. Grammar sucks
4. I can so roll my tongue, which keeps some people in my life quite happy
5. That person is neither a football or a soccer player
6. I don't share my food
7. I have shitty-hazel eyes

And every summer kicks ass. Because it's hot--like you could fry your eggs on the sidewalk kinda hot. And then share your sidewalk omelet with a soccer player from Africa...

Yeah, that would be a kick-ass memorable summer...