It's no fancy French cookie that brings me rushing back to summers of my childhood... it is the BLT. I am home in Indiana for a very brief stay, under sadder circumstances than I would like, but I grasped one moment of joy today when I made myself lunch. I fried up three pieces of bacon until there were crispy bubbles of white amidst lines and textures of brown. I washed and dried 3 pieces of lettuce and laid them out on my multigrain bread. And then I sliced a homegrown tomato... blood red, with juice just pouring out of it. I finished the remainder of the tomato like an apple before applying a tiny layer of Miracle Whip and closing my sandwich. As I bit into the first bite, tomato juice dripping down my chin and hands, I reminisced on the multitudes of BLTs that I have consumed at home. We awaited with great anticipation the first ripe tomatoes and it would be one of the few times of year that Mom would buy bacon. I remember my very exa...