Musings on Ice Cream

It's extremely hot outside right now.  Hot enough that after taking a shower the minute I got home from work, that I'm now cold in contrast.  I am very thankful for the modern convenience of central air.  I have even been brave enough to try the air in my cruiser, on occasion. Not today though...today, despite the heat, what I call hill billy air conditioning worked quite well.  Hill billy air conditioning=roll down the windows & drive fast. 

I remember summers as a child. I had never even conceived of even an air conditioner until I saw one at my Uncle Paul's house.  We simply used fans at home, wore shorts & tank tops, and drank sweet tea (or kool-aide).  When it got too hot, we would run through the sprinkler.  Our sprinkler was cool...it was different than our neighbors.  Instead of waffling back & forth, ours was in a horse-shoe shape, and the spray would jet up like a reverse Niagara Falls.  My sister & little brother & I would run back & forth through the spray.  Invariably, one of us (usually me) would pick up the horseshoe, and try to chase the others with it.  Always got in trouble for that one...and you can't run far when the sprinkler is attached to a hose! 

The best part of summer was always ice cream.  My parents often took us to this ice cream place in Berkley (MI, not Calif).  There I would have my choice between vanilla, chocolate, or a twist.  I always chose the twist.  Then I would sit on a picnic table to simultaneously enjoy my cone and drive my sister nuts.  I would slowly lick my ice cream, bit by bit.....  My sister, having finished nearly half of hers, would ask me why I was eating so slow.  I'd answer 'I'm savoring it.'  Don't know where I learned that word at such a young age, but I knew it, and knew the answer would drive her nuts.  Then of course it'd be time to leave, and my parents would tell me to finish my cone, and I would...the last one to do so.  (so mean!)

Then there was the magic of the ice cream truck.... Ding ding ding.  The sound would call us outside, to run after the slow moving truck.  Sometimes I would get a treat from the truck, sometimes I wouldn't.  Though I learned quick that if one parent said no, to NOT ask the other one. I got in so much trouble once when I did that...

Even now, I count ice cream as one of my favorite foods (pizza, jelly beans are some others).  The best hard pack ice cream is choc chip mint.  MMmm.... and it has to be the green kind.  White choc chip mint is somehow, wrong...it just is.  Though since my daughter Melody (formerly known as Cat) started working at a business near a DQ, I've been tempted by them.  Their peanut butter buster sundae is scrumdidlyunpteous!  Mmm...now I want ice cream....

Oh, the possibilities....

Some days, when the stress level of daily living begins to get to me, my mind drifts back to my childhood. I spent most of my day actively living in and with my imagination.  Anything was possible then.

I would have adventures on my purple two wheeler.  My sister and I would ride on the sidewalk (we weren't allowed to ride in the street-too young), making 'dinka-dinka' sounds when we would turn around to go back the other way.  ('dinka-dinka' is the sound of the turn signal in my parents' grassy green Duster car).  We might be cops in pursuit, or Indians riding our trusty steeds, or flying on our sonic spaceships...the skies were ours!

I played a game called 'Statues' with neighborhood kids... we'd spin madly about, until the main player called stop!  Then we'd freeze into whatever position we were in at that exact moment.  Then the 'seller' would go through his/her gallery of statues, and explain and sell them to the potential seller.  It was fun, and very imaginative.

My favorite game was superheros.  I remember pretending to be Catwoman (Julie Newmar one, of course), and standing next to a kid pretending to be Penguin...about to run, being chased by about a dozen superheros. 

I remember one night, my parents let me stay after dark, in the second lot across the street for a while.  I played a superhero there too, having adventures of my own making, and diving for the shadows whenever a car would venture by...

Thinking back, I realize that I don't want to go back to my childhood.  What I really want to do is to go back to that ultimate feeling of infinite possibilities.

My Grampa

This time of year always reminds me of my Grampa, my father's dad.  I think of him in part because the 19th was his birthday.  He was born December 19th, 1904.  Wow.  He served as a Marine sometime before World War 2, then raised rabbits as part of the war effort.  My dad was a little boy back then.  My father has told me countless stories about his childhood, and his father.  As many times as he's told the stories, I still enjoy hearing them.

For me, my Grampa was a cool guy who my father would take my sister, brother and I to see every weekend.  I always took Sooner, a tiny dog who I never knew what breed she was, for a quick walk up and down the block.  When I'd come in, my dad would be talking to Grampa, and my siblings would be watching wrestling, something we weren't allowed to watch at home (yay Bulldog Kent and the Sheik).  Every year at Christmas time, he would hang a candy cane on the lamp beside his sofa.  That candy cane would become part of the collection  of canes that hung there year round. 

I remember the plain white paper bags he would give my siblings and I for Christmas, filled with candy, nuts and shiny change.  Loved it!  And I remember one year he made cheesecakes, festooned with sprinkles used to make a design.  He was so creative! 

When I was in 9th grade, I was feeling really sick at school, but they wouldn't let me walk home without them speaking to a relative first. Well, both my parents were at work, so I called my Grampa.  He okayed my going home.  When I got there, he called to check on me. He also gave me his recipe for a tea to make me feel better: hot tea with a generous dollop of honey and a half a shot of whiskey.  Well, I did the tea with honey only, obviously.  Still he was really there for me.

My Grampa and my Aunt Alise (my maternal grandmother's twin) are the two relatives that meant the most to me growing up.  They were my extended family.  I still have my Aunt Alise (who always speaks her mind, which I love about her, and who claims to be 39 still. So cool.)  But I lost my Grampa in May of 86.  Every year on December 19th, I think of him even more.  I miss you Grampa. 

I'm going to go hang a candy cane on my lamp, in honor of my Grampa.

Halloween Memories

Halloween is so different as an adult.  Now it means hayrides, and decorating my desk at work.  But I remember a different time, when Halloween was exciting, It was a time to dress up as my favorite comic book character, or that superhero from Saturday morning TV.  I'd start bugging my mom about getting or making me a costume as soon as October began.  I would get my brother & sister into the act too, asking and asking and asking.  Then the day would come.  We'd go to Woolworth's or Kreskes, and search the aisles for those magical boxed costumes.  The plastic face masks were in the front of the package, and for all the world they seemed real to me.  I truly believed that if I put on that Wonder Woman costume, that I WAS Wonder Woman.  Bring on the invisible plane!  Of course, in reality, wearing those plastic one-size-fit-all (not) costumes, and that plastic face mask, all over winter coats and jeans, actually made for bulky looking superheros! 

Put I'd happily put it on, and trying to breathe through the tiny holes, and ignoring how the elastic pinched my hair, and head out to trick or treat.  My dad always took us three kids...my self, and my younger sister & brother.  We would clutch our plastic orange pumpkins, and head down our street in the near dark.  I could see my breath misting up as I breathed through my mask.  My brother was dressed as a clown, and my sister as Snow White, but with her mask on top of her head.  With my dad trailing behind, keeping step with my brother, my sister & I would run up to the next house that had a porch light on, and sing out, "Trick or Treat!  Trick or Treat!"...and the door would open, and reaching through the open top half of a screen door, the kind woman would drop candy into our pumpkins.  We always said 'thank you', as we were taught, even if it was something we didn't like.  Then on to the next house. 

I loved the house that gave actual full sized candy bars!  And though we knew he only gave out shiny apples, we always went to the old man's old house around the corner.  Then we'd wait until my dad & brother caught up with us, and away we went again.

My all time favorite costume was the Catwoman costume my mother sewed for me.  In reality, it was just a one piece black outfit, with a tail sewn on, and cat ears, but I felt like Catwoman in it (Julie Newmar, not Eartha Kitt).  Though time and time again, I had to explain to kind candy-giver-outers that I wasn't not a cat, but indeed Catwoman, it didn't dissuade that feeling.  Though there was this really nice woman who said 'what a nice kitty', then proceeded to hand me the biggest candy bar I'd ever seen.  I said "meow" and walked on.

When our pumpkins were full, and my siblings too tired or excited to continue, we'd head home, where my mother was dutifully giving out candy.  We would sit on the floor, and spill out our spoils.  Then the annual ritual began.  My father and mother sorting out our candy.  The chocolate went into a bowl to go in the fridge, and the other candy into a bowl for the table.  We shared all our candy...after my parents had checked it all to be sure it was safe.  Then we would get to have some, right then and there.  It was a very happy ending for an exciting childhood time.

Hmm...wonder if there'll be any candy at the hayride tonight?