Musings
Innocence has been gone for a long time. I can remember when a kid flipped me off in third grade and I had to go ask Mom what it meant. She said I'd find out soon enough and that was enough for me. My 5 year old knew what the finger meant and told me.
Remember when you sassed or disrespected your parents you got your mouth slapped and no one called the police on your parent. Or the switch? Anyone ever have to go cut their own switch, peel the bark off and bring it back? You better pick a good one too or you went back for another. The green smell the wood threw out as the bark was peeled slowly, layer by layer trying to make it go slow because when that last piece of bark was gone it would meet your butt? Remember dancing the "switch dance?"
What is one thing your grandma did for you that you still remember? I used to love my Grandma Cozy's popcorn. She'd get out an old iron skillet, put oil in it, dump in the popcorn, and put on the lid. I stood right there in the kitchen waiting for that first pop, and then the next and pretty soon the lid would start to come off with all the popcorn and the air was filled with the smell! Grandma would get an old brown paper bag, roll down the top, and dump all that popcorn in the sack. The sides and bottom of the sack would be greasy and salty and boy, was that good to wipe off the sides of the bottom and sides of the sack and eat all that greasy salt.
I got my first taste of wine from my grandma. It looked like strawberry pop. She got a fancy little glass (a shot glass I now know) poured some in and gave my brother and me a little snort. She had one too. She was just about to give us another when my mother walked in and yelled, "Mother what are you doing? Giving them wine? You'll make them drunk!" Boy, what a big deal. I never got another taste until I was old enough to taste it on my own years later.
We had an old Pontiac somewhere around 1960. It was a shiny brown and cream. We traded it in on a Chevrolet Belair and went back to the car lot that night to see it. I got down in the floorboard and cried because it looked so lonely. I used to ride the fins and pretend it was my horse. I lost a playmate that night.
I remember the Fall the best, how the sky changes from pale blue to deep blue and the clouds stand out whiter than ever and the stars are so clear and crisp at night you can almost reach out and pull one down. And I remember the scent of many autumn's and the way a cigarette would smell in the crisp air; the breakup of my marriage; finding new love. Sometimes a certain smell or song flings me back in time and I remember. I remember listing to my transistor radio late at night. Sometimes it would be a song, sometimes a ball game. The announcers voice always lulled me to sleep. Or, lying there dreaming of the guy I liked wishing he'd notice me and when it finally happened feeling like nothing would be this good ever again. Why is it if we love something so, we leave it? Have you ever noticed it's a tendency with people to talk about how much they love something and pack up and leave?
You can't stop the march of time or go back; time circumstance, and people stop you. The memories matter to each of us individually and together add up to an era.
Innocence has been gone for a long time. I can remember when a kid flipped me off in third grade and I had to go ask Mom what it meant. She said I'd find out soon enough and that was enough for me. My 5 year old knew what the finger meant and told me.
Remember when you sassed or disrespected your parents you got your mouth slapped and no one called the police on your parent. Or the switch? Anyone ever have to go cut their own switch, peel the bark off and bring it back? You better pick a good one too or you went back for another. The green smell the wood threw out as the bark was peeled slowly, layer by layer trying to make it go slow because when that last piece of bark was gone it would meet your butt? Remember dancing the "switch dance?"
What is one thing your grandma did for you that you still remember? I used to love my Grandma Cozy's popcorn. She'd get out an old iron skillet, put oil in it, dump in the popcorn, and put on the lid. I stood right there in the kitchen waiting for that first pop, and then the next and pretty soon the lid would start to come off with all the popcorn and the air was filled with the smell! Grandma would get an old brown paper bag, roll down the top, and dump all that popcorn in the sack. The sides and bottom of the sack would be greasy and salty and boy, was that good to wipe off the sides of the bottom and sides of the sack and eat all that greasy salt.
I got my first taste of wine from my grandma. It looked like strawberry pop. She got a fancy little glass (a shot glass I now know) poured some in and gave my brother and me a little snort. She had one too. She was just about to give us another when my mother walked in and yelled, "Mother what are you doing? Giving them wine? You'll make them drunk!" Boy, what a big deal. I never got another taste until I was old enough to taste it on my own years later.
We had an old Pontiac somewhere around 1960. It was a shiny brown and cream. We traded it in on a Chevrolet Belair and went back to the car lot that night to see it. I got down in the floorboard and cried because it looked so lonely. I used to ride the fins and pretend it was my horse. I lost a playmate that night.
I remember the Fall the best, how the sky changes from pale blue to deep blue and the clouds stand out whiter than ever and the stars are so clear and crisp at night you can almost reach out and pull one down. And I remember the scent of many autumn's and the way a cigarette would smell in the crisp air; the breakup of my marriage; finding new love. Sometimes a certain smell or song flings me back in time and I remember. I remember listing to my transistor radio late at night. Sometimes it would be a song, sometimes a ball game. The announcers voice always lulled me to sleep. Or, lying there dreaming of the guy I liked wishing he'd notice me and when it finally happened feeling like nothing would be this good ever again. Why is it if we love something so, we leave it? Have you ever noticed it's a tendency with people to talk about how much they love something and pack up and leave?
You can't stop the march of time or go back; time circumstance, and people stop you. The memories matter to each of us individually and together add up to an era.
posted by Mines Broken @ Friday, October 01, 2004
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