Rey, Linda and I have more time on our hands these days, as many do. We’ve gotten quite used to lanai lounging; I wonder if we’ll find the energy/motivation when the time arrives to return to “normal” . . . whatever that may entail.
We were chatting the other day about the weeds that need pulling, shrubs that require trimming, and the pool that hasn’t yet been fixed (poor thing is missing tiles like a youngster missing milk teeth). After stifling a few yawns, we drifted to discussions revolving around childhood days—those funny/silly moments that we’d carry to our golden years and beyond. Rey thought it a great idea to share, so that’s what we’re doing on this fine June day.
Linda will start us off.
I don’t recall many good times, I must confess. My mother died young, during squally weather, when she was rundown by a vegetable truck (cabbages and beets, to be precise). My brother Lido and my sister Loretta and I didn’t really much like each other and have only recently made efforts to be “family”. But that said, I do recall an occasion when I must have been seven or eight and my siblings and I were seated at the Thanksgiving dinner table. I don’t know what started it—most likely Cousin Ivers sucking back too much bourbon (again)—but one of those asinine TV food fights began. Every last person seated at that immense table ended up covered in some sort of foodstuff, myself included (I sported gravy and green beans). It became even more comical when inebriated Cousin Ivers dragged drunk Uncle Max (not a true uncle) onto the lumpy, bedraggled lawn. A colossal brawl erupted, resulting in a free-for-all, the likes of which the neighbors—and police—had never seen. You know, I’ve never looked at a turkey dinner quite the same since.
And Rey?
I have to go with the time Margaret-Ann, this pig-tailed cutie in fourth grade, set her baby blues on Merck, this guy I really liked. She’d smile and flip her thick, satin bow-tied tails, and tee-hee-hee at all the right times. Small wonder he started liking her too—and turned away from me. Gag. I felt a need to let him see what a fake she was. So-o, I made sure something “accidentally” fell off her desk. When she leaned over to pick it up, I stuck a huge multi-dollar wad of gum on her seat. Oddly, she didn’t notice right away. When she did, which was outside the classroom, she cursed a mean streak right in front of Merck. Who’d have thought a fourth grader could utter words like that (never mind that she looked like she could smack the guilty party straight across the schoolyard)? Given he came from a rather religious family, he was surprised, and not in a good way. That crushed that mushrooming relationship. He-he. Yeah . . . that was a very fun day.
Lastly, me.
I’d have to say a fun/funny childhood memory involved Rey and me at Uncle Flex’s Ogunquit cottage. I may have mentioned him re another incident—the one where he lost one eyebrow (a fox-moth caterpillar-furry one). This transpired after that. (I’m surprised he’d not become more wary of the two of us.) We were in our early teens and not getting along, as was the norm. This time we’d decided to be constructive and grill dinner on the handsome Weber grills that Uncle Flex and Cousin Balo used so well. The hot dogs and hamburgers were scorched beyond recognition, one of the grills was knocked over when Rey and I got into “fisticuffs” about who burned what. Anything within reach burst into flames almost immediately (the patio and railings were old and dry). Henri, a husky Havanese, never barked, but hearing the commotion, yapped up a storm and raced from the cottage, followed by frantic Uncle Flex, into the nearby woods. Long crazy story short, the cottage did survive—for the most part. Henri was never heard from again, though, and Uncle Flex moved across the Big Pond not long after that. And Rey and I were forbidden for the next three decades to be together in the same room, cottage, state.
Here’s to old/long/since memories. Funny how they can prompt grins and rolling-on-the-floor laughter . . . [much] later.
Take care everyone—continue to stay safe and be well.
The Writer's Grab-Bag 