Crayons and chalk evoke some deep stirring in my soul. Actually, it is the smell of the crisp, new box of waxy Crayola Crayons (24 count) and the sight of yellow chalk on a flat, polished greenish board that bring to mind childhood memories. June meant sitting in a lawn chair on my paternal grandparents' dusty, screened in front porch on a day when humidity was rarely discussed. This was the 1970's. Humidity and heat indexes never entered my mind, but attending VBS at First Baptist Church definitely was on my mind as were seemingly endless days spent playing with my cousin, Susan. We spent many hours creating a make believe world for our beloved Barbie dolls, playing Old Maid, swinging on our swingsets, sharing cookies and Kool-Aid, and climbing the steep sides of our grandparents' storm cellar. It was quite necessary to be sporting dogears or a ponytail. Afterall, what else were you to do when your long, thick, straight, brunette hair trapped heat! Well, your mother put your hair up before you even bothered to brush your teeth. As the afternoon approached we strained to hear the ringing bell on the Sno-Cone man's truck (actually a modified golf cart). With a dime and nickel in hand, we ran to the curb to choose our flavor for the day. Mine was usually grape. The syrupy, sweet liquid was ice cold and often left the cone long before the ice did. As the day began to wane, my grape stained mustache would fade somewhat, and I would be called in for dinner. Occasionally, I would be released to the outdoors again after dinner and called in for the evening as the sun set and the mosquitoes began their nightly bloodfest.