It looks to be a beautiful summer day here in central Hoosierdom. This is the kind of day that reflects my youth in my memory banks. Eight-year old me would be on my red stingray bike pedaling the backstreets of town, going to the park, wading in the drainage ditch by the railroad tracks, or riding to my grandma's house. Thirteen-year old me was still in bed at this time of day. Later in the afternoon I probably went to the public pool. Fifty-four year-old me is getting ready for work. It still looks to be a beautiful summer day.
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