I am at my grandmother's house on a farm in rural Kansas. I am probably around 10, but the memory is the same for the span of 1974-1983. I am sitting in the kitchen, and the house is dark because the lights are all off and it's overcast outside. But the five foot tall windows in the dining room and kitchen still let in plenty of light for eating breakfast by, and since they're both open and they face each other from across the house the air is nice and fresh. The front door, sheltered by a 9 foot white porch that wraps around the house, is open with the screen door shut, and the door to the back porch, with its view of the apple tree in the backyard and the hayfield north of the house, is wide open, letting more cross breezes and beautiful smells come through. My only goals for the day are working my way through the stack of books I picked out from the library two days earlier.