When I was a kid, my sister Laurie (at least, I think it was my sister Laurie) would on occasion set aside the Sunday comics pages from the Providence Journal, which my father would always bring home every Sunday morning to faithfully read (the news, that is...he hated the comics).
Every two or three months, she'd take the pages she had collected and cut them into individual strips--Mary Worth, Blondie, PEANUTS, Steve Roper and Mike Nomad (my favorite), Then, she gather them in no particular order and staple them together, so you had a little book of comic pages.
I was always fascinated by them, and remember spending summers in our garage, spread out on a lawnchair, poring through those little self-made books. A stack of comics, all randomized. Serials strewn throughout the collection, in no coherent order, often with weeks missing at a time.
To me, there was no better way to waste a summer day. Just looking at the pictures. Getting the pages grimy with my fingers.
Occasionally, I still get the feeling I had (because there was a very specific feeling) when I was laying in Dad's garage. It kind of comes over me, like a cool spring breeze.
Woke up this morning, and that feeling kind of came over me. I embraced it. Really, there's no better sensation in the world.
I always let it linger for as long as I can. It's like an aerosol can filled with summer youth.
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