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A Silver French Twist

(by Aimee Lee Ball)

There was something about my mother and summer. She looked great in shorts because she had the best legs in the whole world, which were really responsible for my existence. As a single working girl, she shopped at a small grocery store around the corner from her apartment in center-city Philadelphia, where my young father, recently returned from military service, was figuring out what to do with his life, while helping out his older brothers who owned the store. One day, he was bent over some cartons and looked up to see the best legs in the whole world. The rest is history.

My mother and I had such different internal thermostats that there was a running joke about how I could have come from her body. Apart from corn, tomatoes, and peaches, I could cheerfully skip July and August. Skiing was my sport until my knees started to complain. I'm thrilled when it comes time to put the down comforter on the bed. I love serving dinner by my fireplace, (My kitchen shuts down in hot weather.) But my mom’s season was summer.