The weather in Dortmund that July was hotter than hell. We lived in an apartment on the outskirts of the city―when I say “we” I mean my husband Les and I. Les was a British soldier, who in 1982, was stationed in West Germany. We loved our home there, which sprawled across the top floor of a big, old building, but it had no air conditioning. On Sunday, July 4th, the temperature soared into the mid nineties. Heat rises of course, and by mid- afternoon it was almost unbearable. The living room window, set into the sloping roof, opened to the sky and offered no relief. A slight breeze wafted through, but it was hot and filled with little particles of silver shimmering in the sunlight, courtesy of a huge chemical plant close by.
In an effort to soak up the sun, I perched precariously on the window ledge, my legs dangling below me. The street by our apartment was almost deserted. The odd pedestrian that passed by and saw me on that scorching Sunday afternoon was either amused or horrified by my precarious position, as I sat half in and half out of the third floor attic window. One or two laughed and waved, others yelled up at me with alarmed voices, perhaps thinking I was about to jump to my death.
When I sent the edited copy of my finished manuscript to my publishing company, it was just pages and pages of words. They were exciting, well written words, but now they are so much more. My words have come to life in a beautifully laid out book. Can’t wait to share it with you.