Every two or three months, she'd take the pages she had collected and cut them into individual strips--Mary Worth, Blondie, PEANUTS, Steve Roper and Mike Nomad (my favorite), Then, she gather them in no particular order and staple them together, so you had a little book of comic pages.
I was always fascinated by them, and remember spending summers in our garage, spread out on a lawnchair, poring through those little self-made books. A stack of comics, all randomized. Serials strewn throughout the collection, in no coherent order, often with weeks missing at a time.
To me, there was no better way to waste a summer day. Just looking at the pictures. Getting the pages grimy with my fingers.
Occasionally, I still get the feeling I had (because there was a very specific feeling) when I was laying in Dad's garage. It kind of comes over me, like a cool spring breeze.
Woke up this morning, and that feeling kind of came over me. I embraced it. Really, there's no better sensation in the world.
I always let it linger for as long as I can. It's like an aerosol can filled with summer youth.