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Kokomo Kootsie
6/28/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
Jelly Beans & Easter Eggs
When I was a child, I thought candy was the most beautiful thing in the world! It does seem strange to use the word beautiful, not best, or best tasting, to describe my delight in candy; but I liked it's beauty almost as much as taste.
I really was as much entranced by the color, and shapes of candies, no, more so, than the taste; some were beautiful to gaze upon, but had horrible taste! I still feel that way today about all foods! They have to look good; smell good; feel good on the tongue, and taste good, in that order.
I just loved the big colored candy eggs, of that day; my favorite then, as now, the robin's egg blue; the lavender and purple ones. Even as young as I was, I could hardly eat those eggs! They were not good; certainly not as good as they were pretty. So it was easy to keep them around to look at, play with until they became so soiled, I was told to toss them out.
The candy rabbits then, or all I ever had were made of some rock-hard substance (or perhaps molded cement!) and were covered in a thin coating of chocolate! They were licked clean of the chocolate, leaving a naked white bunny, we didn't know what to do with, and finally thrown away.
You couldn't go wrong or be fooled by those red or black licorice whips; nor by the clear candy suckers-(Today's lolly-pops)
Now the little tiny, pretty jellybeans of all colors, they were so small, when a flavor not liked was popped in the mouth, didn't seem to matter; it was so small, it was soon gone or disguised by the next bean!
Uncle Bryan, worked at Jenkins's Glass Factory, in the 'twenties'. Every Saturday morning, he went to pick up his check. When he returned home he always had a small brown sack of jelly beans for my little brother and me.
We could hardly wait for him to get home, and waited anxiously. Sometimes he would tease us, and say he forgot them; or the store didn't have any; or he didn't get paid; or he was robbed; anything to hear us clamor and not believe him!
Then he would get a newspaper, or sometimes we would be holding one ready, and Uncle Bryan would spread it on the kitchen floor, and all three of us would sit around the paper, and Uncle Bryan would produce the little brown bag of jelly beans, and dump them in the center of that newspaper!
My eyes would immediately begin their covetous tour of those jelly beans; picking out first, all the black ones for taste; the rare blue and purple ones for beauty! I wanted all of those colors, and Jack could have the rest!
That was
not Uncle Bryan's agenda. He wanted to squeeze as much fun out of it as he could, no matter our angst! He liked to dole each bean out to us. He would say, 'A red one for you, an a red one for you!' So we each had the same color beans. Very fair! When there were only three of a color, he'd say, 'One for you, to me, and one for Jack;' and pop the third one in his own mouth!
And we would be absolutely devastated, as jelly beans were lost to Uncle Bryan, because of one extra color, here and there!
It really was a fun and exciting game for us, when we were eight and ten years old; and lasted about two years, until Uncle Bryan went to Michigan to work. We looked forward all week to each Saturday.
Uncle Bryan not only gave us Jelly Beans, he made it fun, by giving of himself; getting down on the floor with us, and making a game of it, for us, and showing his joy also.
He could have bought two bags of Jelly Beans, and just handed them to us, but he made it fun for all.
Today, every time I see a Jelly Bean, and that seems to be often, I'm rushed back in time to those long ago Saturday mornings; and I see so clearly, Uncle Bryan, two little kids, and a little brown paper sack of Jelly Beans, spread out on a newspaper in the middle of the kitchen floor; and feel again the happiness, excitement and expectation of that moment in our young lives.
And a bit of sadness too, floods over me; a time gone forever, never to be enjoyed again.
Many more sweet kindnesses, this Uncle did for my little brother and me, over the years as we grew up; it did off-set any irritation we ever felt.
The memories he made possible for me, over those years, there's no way to ever thank him enough!
Dedicated to our Dear Uncle Bryan Overstreet
Rest in Peace,
We Have Not Forgotten
END
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| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
6/28/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
Fudge
Fudge was a very popular candy, easy, and fun to make when I was growing up.
But I never got to make any!
My grandmother considered everything frivolous that was not absolutely necessary to life, everyday living.
She did believe that man did live by bread alone! Nothing else!
A place to sleep; something to eat!
A small sister, of a friend of my Aunt’s, who was a year younger than me-- was allowed to make fudge anytime she wanted to! We made fudge at her house a few times, and it was fun.
Jenny would measure out the sugar, and cocoa, and milk and butter, into a big iron skillet, and stir constantly, as it began to cook.
When it boiled and bubbled up, we would take the wooden spoon, and we’d pretend it was a boat on the ocean, and as we skimmed it over the fudge, from one side of the skillet to the other side.
Then we would say the passengers who had gotten across the sea safely, gave thanks to God for their safe passage.
But when the new passengers loaded up, to cross the ocean, they didn’t pray for a safe crossing, so in the middle of the ocean of fudge, their boat would sank!
And variations on that theme.
I remember one evening after school, Jenny asked me to go home with her and we would make a pan of fudge. She waited out on the sidewalk, while I went inside to ask, or tell my grandmother, I was going over to Jenny’s house to make fudge.
Grandma was in the kitchen, sitting by the open window, close to the sidewalk where Jenny was waiting for me, and I knew she could hear all we said.
Grandma was peeling potatoes for dinner, and when I said I wanted to go over to Jenny’s to make fudge, she said, "you’re not going!" I began to wheedle in a low voice, so as not to be heard by Jenny, and gave reasons why I should be allowed to go! I said, "I’ll come right back; I’ll not be gone long; that Jenny could make fudge; use all the sugar she wanted; etc. etc.!"
To no avail! No reason given; just, "you’re not going!"
Finally, she jerked back her hand, with knife in it, and said, "Get on out of here, you’re not going, I’ll cut your throat!"
I was so embarrassed; I knew Jenny heard her. So I didn’t even go out to tell Jenny I couldn’t go to her house. She slowly walked away, home.
As I write this today, I think, no wonder I loved my grandfather and Uncle Pete. (Or Mutt, as I called him.) In a million years, they would never have said that to me, an eleven year old child.
Grandma, and Auntie, also, were ‘gifted’ with sharp tongues, and the ability to say and do some thoughtless things that hurt, wounded, and always remembered.
I loved them, or thought I did; but did I? How can you really love someone who leaves such memories? Does the good offset the bad? Yes! It really does!
Yes, all of them did give me precious memories that I cherish today, so many years later.
Grandma’s pride in me, as I grew older; gave me my first high- heel shoes, money, from her meager savings, when I coaxed enough!
Uncle Bryan, and the ‘jelly beans Saturdays;’ the five dollars each, to my little brother, Jack, and me, for our tennis shoes every spring. Money for my first permanent when I was a fifteen year old; and many mini-cedar chests of Cherry Chocolates.
But grandpa and Uncle Pete, gave us nothing; just love and consideration, and of themselves, and left our dignity intact.
There is no ‘dark-side’ to my memories of either them.
Auntie took the place of my mother; and as we both grew older, she was just that, my mother! She taught me so much just like grandpa had. How to have great table manners; how to have style, to dress; and a lot of public relations! I know she loved me.
But this is, or was, about ‘fudge’! The children across the ally made fudge; on the corner of the next street over, those girls made fudge too. But not me! I got to share it with them, when we played ‘Jacks’ at their house. These two groups argued who made the best fudge. If we said we liked ones fudge-the other girl would say, ‘Yes, if you like your fudge salty!" It was all great fudge!
One more fudge tale! When I was about thirteen, and living in the country, at Star Ranch, the lady who lived in a rented house down the cross road, made a pan of fudge one night I was spending the night with Maxine, her daughter.
Maxine’s mom, put the fudge out on the back porch to cool and harden, while we played a card game, waiting for it to be ready to eat.
It was late fall, and a bit cold; I went out to Mrs. Jone' and when I came back in, I took a piece of fudge!
When the lady brought the fudge in, there was that vacant spot in the pan! She wondered if a tramp had passed through and sampled the fudge!
She knew, I took the fudge! That was all that was said, but I felt like a louse!
Enough fudge? No! I think I’ll go make a pan of fudge! END
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| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
Kokomo Kootsie
6/28/2002
Nibbles- Bits & Pieces
Orphans
Cordie Rivers, one of Auntie's best friends died of T.B. and left three young children. The boy was about ten years old, one girl six, and a baby of two years.
Her mother said they could not keep the children; they were putting them up for adoption!
When Auntie told me this I was stunned! I was only ten years old myself, but I knew what adoption meant and I also knew, my little brother, Jack and I, were left orphaned by our mother's death. Our grandparents did not put us up for adoption like a cat or dog!
They fought two court battles to keep us! Out father sued for custody, after an absence of two or three years and a new wife and step daughter! The battle was fought through two courts and he lost in both!
So, I gave a bit of serious thought, for years, as to how those grandparents could give up their only daughter's three children to strangers.
How they could have not loved them enough to keep them, fight for them, as my grandparents had fought for us. What kind of people were they?
Everyone wanted to adopt the baby girl; no one wanted the boy-too old! The middle girl, a few wanted her.
The baby was adopted, and finally the other girl. But the boy was sent to an orphan's home. Their only grandson!
That story of Cordie, her parents and those poor children, lingered with me always, haunted me. Such a direct contrast to how our lives and theirs were.
I still wonder, how could they? END
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| EPM 2002 - 2005 |
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