Summer evenings in Miami were hot and muggy throughout my childhood in the 1970s. The hotels along the beach blocked the ocean breeze. The inland neighborhoods wilted in a steamer.
But we had a beautiful evening rhythm in our home, buoyed by the sweet scent of the jasmine hedges that wandered through our neighborhood of Biscayne Park. I enjoyed those evening moments together with my mom, my dad, and our orange tabby cat, Taffy, who loved to wander just like those jasmine hedges but never let us out of her sight for long.
The transition from late afternoon to early evening began when my dad came home from work—he was an avionics engineer at Eastern Airlines for 40 years and worked next to Miami International Airport about half an hour’s drive away. When he arrived home, he greeted us and heard the highlights of our day. Then he settled outside in the white wooden bench swing he had built, unwinding from his challenging workday, while my mom finished dinner preparations and I picked fruit to put in the iced tea.
A Yard Flavored with Fruit
Our yard was blessed with fruit trees—lemon, key lime, guava, kumquat, tropical cherry, calamondin orange, and mango. The key limes and calamondins were my favorites, but I tried to pick something different each day.
Taffy would follow me out to the fruit trees, rubbing her fur against my sunburned legs, swatting her tail at the gnats that circled around us. I checked to see which fruit was ripe for picking, delighting in the citrus scent as I held a lemon to my nose.
Neighborhood Walk after Dinner
After a comforting, home-cooked meal—tuna fish loaf, green beans (lima beans when I was old enough to enjoy them), and macaroni and cheese was my favorite combo—with light conversation around the dinner table, my mom and I would clear the table, get the dishwasher going, and set out on our jasmine-scented, evening walk through the neighborhood.
I enjoyed this time with my mom. We’d share the day’s discoveries and talk about what we looked forward to that week. The sound of a screen door closing, or the squeal and splash of kids playing in a pool was our background music.
We’d wave to neighbors sitting on their front porch or brushing perspiration from their faces as they clipped flowers from their garden. Sometimes, we’d stop to chat with a neighbor, smile and exchange encouraging words.
No matter what kind of day we’d experienced, our evening walk filled me with contentment and peace. My mom started these walks when she was pregnant with me, so the tradition was one of my earliest memories.
Porch Ice Cream
Taffy would greet us at the edge of the front walkway and follow us up to the porch. We’d go inside, wave to my dad, who was already watching a television show, and dish up bowls of ice cream. Then we’d settle back on the front porch to enjoy our frozen treat and continue our conversation.
The taste of icy peppermint patty felt refreshing, as the front porch tile warmed my bare feet. I heard a sprinkler kick on down the street, and imagined how cool that water would feel. Taffy stretched out near the wrought-iron railing, as if wanting to catch any whisper of a breeze, her gaze alert for a lizard taking a last run for the day. We had the most tailless lizards on the block.
It was our turn to wave to neighbors out for their evening walk. I could hear the muffled sound of the television through the jalousie front door, as I scraped the last bits of ice cream melting in my bowl. We finished our conversation in the dim light as the sun slid quickly below the horizon.
Television Time with Dad
As the evening deepened, Taffy stood and stretched. She knew it was time to go inside and watch television with my dad.
My dad loved avionics and the people he worked with. But the growing corporate structure came with its set of stressors for someone in middle management, and my dad had a fragile heart. My mom and I gave him space to unwind in the early evenings.
As he got caught up in the laughter of his favorite television shows, it was time for us to join him on the couch and have some laughs together.
My dad’s favorite shows were Hee Haw, Hogan’s Heroes, and M*A*S*H. But when we joined him, he’d delight in whatever was on that we wanted to watch. He just seemed glad we were all together.
Back then, we had four television channels, and we were limited to whatever programs were showing at that moment. It was less about something to watch, and more about relaxing and laughing together as a family.
My mom watched parts of the shows, and she had her favorite moments to laugh. But she also used this time to glance through her favorite magazines, with Taffy curled up in her lap. It was a fun and peaceful time for all of us.
Frozen Pillow and Attic Fan
Television cutoff time became later as I got older. What started at 8:00 pm had stretched to 10:00 pm by the time I was in sixth grade. An hour before bedtime, I grabbed my pillow and placed it in the freezer. I knew that was the only way I’d fall asleep in the summer heat.
We had a wall-unit air conditioner, and it had been installed before the garage was built. That meant the air conditioner vented out into the garage. If we ran it and kept the garage door closed, things could blow up. In Miami in the 1970s, we didn’t want to leave the garage door open at night, or we might have woken up the next morning with our car missing.
Our only option was to turn off the air conditioner overnight, open our windows, and turn on the attic fan. On a July or August evening especially, we would fall asleep in high heat and humidity, as the fading remnants of cool indoor air battled the muggy air pressing in from outside.
I discovered that if I froze my pillow for an hour before bedtime, it would be cool enough that I could fall asleep quickly. The attic fan, with the windows open, helped draw in what little breeze stirred outside.
When I was younger, my mom sat and fanned me with a magazine until I fell asleep. As I got older, I turned on the radio to a mellow oldies station, and fell asleep to the soft strains of music, hum of the attic fan, and comforting cool of my frozen pillow.
If I didn’t fall asleep quickly, while the pillow was still cool, it would be a long night of getting up to splash cold water on my face—and sometimes onto my pillow—and trying to get back to sleep.
Reflecting on Family Rhythms
Our summer evening routines weren’t just a way to stay cool or pass the time. They were moments of being together as a family, with even Taffy finding her place beside us on the porch or couch. My mom’s lighthearted presence on our neighborhood walks, my dad’s laughter by the television, and the refreshing comfort of a frozen pillow on a hot night became our family narrative.
It’s the simplest rhythms that weave together the story of a family, passed down through the generations like the sweet scent of jasmine on a Miami summer evening. What moments of simplicity do you cherish, from your past or in your present? Who can you share those memories with, to bless them with a glimpse into your rhythms of life?
Exploring Generations 