Each lazy turn of the ceiling fan’s blades reminds me of treasured summer memories. Light breezes rocked the wicker swing on my grandmother’s porch as I sat and read books filled with adventure. A lazy Sunday afternoon nap or the first steaming cup of coffee in the morning. Slowly tubing down a winding river in dappled sunlight. Listening to my grandmother and mother retell family stories as we shelled fresh beans. Each turn of the blades calms and calls me to a simpler time and place.