I've mentioned having a soft spot for my grandparents home before, but it's worth talking about again.
There is something special about their place. Each summer we'd drive up as a family, not arriving until around midnight, when with a surge of energy I'd run up to whichever room I was assigned to and breathing in deeply. It was the moisture in the air, the open window that I would stick my head out and try to make out the outlines of the lake in the darkness.
I now realize that this magical air was actually a wonderful phenomena called humidity, something that now plagues my life out during the summer. Turns out it wasn't something unique or special, but to a little girl from dry, dry Utah it sure seemed that way.
Sometimes even now there are mornings when we walk to the metro and I take a deep breath, turn to Jeff and smile, "It smells like the Morf's house."
Labels: In the USA, Where we go