May Starter Sentence Courtesy of Karen Harris

I hadn't heard that song in years.  Seal's & Crofts' "Summer Breeze," took me back to an autumn nearly thirty years before.  I turned up the volume on the oldies station, letting it float me out of the carpool lane.  Instantly, I was an insecure college freshman, arriving at my Biology professor's home.  All of his students were invited to celebrate the end of our yeast experiment, proffering our mostly horrible, homemade wheat bread loaves. My mother, who preferred fresh sourdough from the bakery to making her own, had,nonetheless, kibitzed from a stool as I carefully bloomed the yeast and created the dough.  Faithfully following the recipe, I kneaded the life out of that yeast, resulting in a dense, inedible brick.
   I pulled up to a sidewalk nearly covered in star jasmine from the professor's garden, as "Summer Breeze" wafted from the VW Rabbit's radio.  The evening was warm, a last gasp of summer in the fall, and the air was heady with the flowers' rich fragrance.   Once inside their home, my hosts graciously accepted my paltry offering and handed me the professor's contribution to the yeast experiment, his home-brewed beer.  My first college party, first time at any teacher's home, other than my parents' friends, and it was a beer fest!  Our state's drinking age was an unequivocal 21.  Everyone turned a blind eye within their own families, so that many of us had experienced our first hangovers and embarrassing stories amid those who loved to tease us most.  Drinking outside of the family was still a risky business though, as parental consequences were even stricter than the penal code.  Yet, here I was, on the cusp of adulthood, beer in hand, no familial faces in sight.  I took a sip of the rich amber ale.  And it was grand.