A nice little breeze

It has been really hot the past few days, and that always reminds me of Granddaddy McCauley.

I don't really remember him at all, and I never know if the images of him that I hold in my heart are from my memories or from some mix of photos, slides and memories of other people. I think it more likely is the mixture because I was just 7 when he died.

I was at just the wrong age to know him: a little older and I might remember him, a little younger and I might have gotten a chance to stay with him a lot when others were at school. This is how my little sister remembers him.

I can almost see him in a chaize lounge outside in long pants, even on the hot days, and hear him saying that the weather was not so bad, there was a nice little breeze. I am certain Granddaddy did not have Mom's voice, but I have heard her talk about him so much that he does in my mind.

Darned if he wasn't right, too. Any time I am outdoors, if I can find some shade, a little breeze comes along to revive me.