Printer-Friendly
Email this Story
Post a Comment (1)
'Gotta Have a Fudge Pop!
It’s time once again to salute the flag, don our patriotic colors, and gather in droves for fireworks!
We also gotta smack the stuffing outta greenhead flies or any other dirty thing that has wings and flies around food; spray a myriad of chemicals on the wasps and hornets hidden underneath our eaves and behind brightly painted shutters; police for Lyme Disease, and become an advocate in our neighborhood for any puddles or planting pots that just might harbor mosquitoes that carry Dengue Fever.
Let’s not forget each morning to lather ourselves and our kids in tons of a suntan lotion; wear wide brimmed hats with no holes in them; garden in long sleeves; push anything with dark colors into the back of our closets; ignore the “Jolly Mellow Fellow Ice Cream Truck” because it harbors too much fructose and calories in its products. Remember at all times to wear big sunglasses.
'Hike up the air con for the kids who are at their computers. 'Gotta manicure our lawns by fertilizing umpteen times to allow ultimate and gorgeous lush growth. Ignore potato salad… it has way too much mayo and those other thingies in it that aren’t doing any good for us at all. For heaven’s sake, DO NOT grill a hot dog! Do you KNOW what are in those horrible meat byproducts?
Wellsburg, WV: Summers 1950-56 I was a tall and skinny kid who loved spending entire summers with my grandparents along the Ohio River. Both of my grandparents worked, and my great grandmother watched my sisters and me during the day… making us delicious chess pies, grinding up ice for the hundreds of glasses of cool aid that we devoured every day, and serving us cold dishes of fresh rhubarb from a neighbor’s garden out The Pike.
Since I was the eldest, I would take my sisters’ hands and walk them about twenty blocks up to the north end of town to the pool. On arrival, we would hook up with our own friends and splash, dive, and measure the size of our feet by holding up our legs along the splintered seesaw as we scooched down it so that our feet would touch.
We often got sunburned and would peel layers of skin off while watching the town teens kissing on big blankets covering the white clover that the bees suckled.
In the hot and sticky evenings, we would sit out on the porch glider greeting friends and neighbors with a “How Do?” We also would take off for a game of tag in the sweet-smelling grass across from the car dealership on the other side of the side street. This was the same grass in which we overturned lawn chairs and spread out bed sheets over top, pretending that we lived in tents and had grand camels to ride. Or we would take the tops of Christmas cookie tins and set them atop a table, make believing that we were Elizabeth Taylor, Doris Day, or Debbie Reynolds. Of course, I often helped myself to my grandmother’s bright plum lipsticks so my friends and I could all transform ourselves (I could not wait until the next show at the Alpine Theater. My grandmother would open a big tin full of candy bars, and my sisters and I would scoop them up in our fists that held two quarters a piece for admission).
When we got bored the other evenings, we would run with glass jars and catch lightening bugs or any other kind of flying critter that we were lucky enough to cup in our grimy hands.
Around The Fourth, we listened and watched through torn screens to the all night noise and general chaos from The Firemen’s Bazaar right across Charles Street. We delighted in pony rides that ripped the skin from our lanky legs because the animals loved running close to the fencing; we downed lemon, cherry, grape, and lime ice cones along with clouds of pink candy cotton; we played Bingo with the adults and held our breath at the very top of the squeaky Ferris wheel.
The day of The Fourth, we would rise early enough to walk down to the post office and see the Flag Raising ceremony with all of the town bigwigs in attendance. Up the long hill was the start of the Oil Can Derby. I often wanted to be a boy so that I could race in a homemade car. Well, that never happened!
From there, it was off to the big playground near my friend Judy’s, for a day of sack racing, relay races, climbing a greased flag pole, cartoons on a little screen, hot dogs and pop, greasy potato chips, and dripping popsicles and fudge pops.
Early evening, my family eagerly sat on the front porch, straining our necks and listening for sounds of a beginning parade at the lower end of town...
The high school stadium back then had (and still has) the very best presentation of fireworks. My grandmother, tired as she was, dressed us in our reds, whites, and blues…and we held onto our sparklers as we made our way several blocks to the grand finale of the holiday. The stadium was crowded and we listened to town dignitaries give long speeches, while lovely teen age girls from town sat atop convertibles in pale colored evening gowns.
We would bathe each and every night in a big white tub full of bubbles, and head off to bed with our long hair soaked, keeping us that much cooler since we had no air con.
We were dead tired, yes, but we also were kids in a generation that rejoiced in the very ordinary and never really wanted for more.
Gosh, I’d love a double fudge pop right about now!
Until next time,
Pam
Hey girl, this is memory lane for me.
I had a aunt who lived in Kentucky along the Ohio River.
Mom took us there many a Fourth of July.
Keep up the good work.
Marty
Posted by MarthaMasoni
Report Offensive Content
You must be logged in to post a comment.