Childhood Memories, Part Two

When my sister and I were little girls, our parents used to take us to the neatest places. I remember one of our absolute favorite places to go was an amusement park at the coast called Pixieland. It was at the entrance to Lincoln City as you came down over the hill on your way to the beach and we always begged and pleaded to go there for lunch and to play. I can still imagine the aroma of fried chicken and fresh baked scones that wafted on the air from the parking lot! The Pixie Kitchen was the restaurant at the entrance to the park and when you walked in the door there was a row of exaggerated circus mirrors along the hallway that made you look super tall and skinny, super short and fat, or all wobbly and crooked when you looked into them. If you got a seat by the window in the restaurant, you could watch the Pixie Train go by as it rambled along the tracks around the park. I always got a kick out of the name of the train, which was "Little Toot" because that's what my parents used to always jokingly call us. My favorite ride at the park was the Log Flume ride where we climbed to the top of a big ramp in a log-shaped cart and then barrelled down the slide splashing through the water. There was a ferris wheel, a big tree house to explore in, a children's zoo and a frontier village. There was a big hat-shaped building where they sold the fresh baked scones and there was a cheese barn where you could sample freshly made cheeses. There was an opera house where you could see live shows and a candy kitchen where you could buy every kind of candy imagineable! My favorite was always the box of rice candy where you didn't even have to unwrap it because the wrapper was made of rice paper and it would melt in your mouth. I always thought it was magic. The park was long gone, even before we grew up, but every time we passed the spot on the way to the beach, we thought about all our fun times there.

Another neat place near the coast that our Daddy used to take us was called Deer Park. It was a wildlife park of sorts, where they had all kinds of domestic and exotic animals and a huge petting zoo where you could feed the animals pellets you bought out of dispensers set up around the park. Our favorites were the deer and llamas and goats. I remember the llamas were sometimes mean and if you teased them, they'd spit at you. Our Daddy used to stand as close to the fence as he could and make faces, taunting them. I remember one llama hauled off and hocked the biggest loogey you ever saw and it landed right on the front of Daddy's shirt. We laughed and laughed. Another time, I remember we were feeding the goats and there were so many of them that they just surrounded you, trying to get at your hands full of feed. Daddy was feeding a bunch of goats and a big Billy goat came up behind him and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and started eating his money! That was hilarious, although Daddy didn't seem to think so at the time.

There was this place closer to home called Enchanted Forest that we used to beg to go too. It also had rides, a train and a western village to walk through, kinda like Pixieland. I remember there was a village based on storybook characters where you could walk into the Old Woman's Shoe and slide down a big slide, and the Crooked Man's House where the floors were all slanted and the windows were caddywampus and you couldn't stand upright. There was a big house shaped like a witch's head where you walked into her toothless mouth and stared up at her big, pointy, wart-covered nose. The park was always real dark and eerie to me, almost like it was haunted, because it was nestled inside a huge pine forest, thick with trees. I'm pretty sure it's still there, but it's been years and years since we last visited.

Mom used to take us to the neatest nearby parks and we'd play for hours. She'd pack a picnic lunch and we'd make a day out of it. Once, when I was really young, and before my sister had come along, we had a picnic in Marion Square Park, which was situated right at the foot of the Marion Street bridge downtown. As kids growing up, we never knew the park by it's real name. It was always Bum Park, or Hobo Park to us then, because of all the homeless men that slept there on the benches throughout the park. Tacky, I know, but that's what we called it. One weekend my parents and I were having a picnic at this particular park and my Daddy invited a homeless man to our table to have a plate of fried chicken and baked beans. He sat right alongside me and scraped his plate clean! I think it's a skateboard park now, and I'm not sure if the homeless still sleep on the benches or not, as I haven't been by there in ages.

Another neat treat was when Mom would take us to feed the ducks on Mill Creek. There was this cute little drive-in called Duck Inn where you could get corndogs and burgers, ice cream cones and the best krinkle-cut fries ever. There was a big yellow duck on the sign and it bobbed up and down like the duck was dipping his beak in the water. The creek ran along the back of the restaurant and you could sit on picnic tables on the creekbank and feed the ducks. Mom always stopped at the bread store and bought day-old loaves of bread and we'd toss it to the ducks, who gobbled it up and quacked for more.

I'd love to be a kid again and be able to do all these favorite things over and over. We had so much fun growing up and I'm so thankful for all the memories our parents gave us along the way.

Life is a cartoon

A friend of mine told me the other day that she thought I had a very "animated" outlook on life. Of course I was playing in the yard with Tubby at the time, talking baby-talk to him as if he could understand what I was saying. Later, as I thought about what she had said, I realized she was right. I do tend to view life as a cartoon, for the most part. I see everything in a comical Looney Tunes way and I emphasize everything I do, say, view and experience in a silly manner. It's just my way of never growing up and not taking things too seriously, I guess.

When I drive to work and see all the animals and wildlife, I find myself giving them all silly names and relating them to characters on cartoons I watched, or children's books I cherished as a kid. For instance, when I see the chickens running willy nilly away from a dog on the side of the road, I picture them as chubby southern Mammies with gingham dresses on and red kerchiefs on their heads, holding up their skirts so you can see their pantalooned legs as they waddle off across the lawn to hurry out of harms way. You can almost hear them saying, "Lord have mercy Henny Penny, that was a close call!"

By naming the cows and llamas and horses, even the fox, bunnies and turtles along the way, I'm not only giving them names, but personalities too! That way every time I see them, they are more dear to me, and they continually act out their parts in my ongoing daily adventures. I look forward to seeing the calves jumping and kicking as they try to coax their lazy mama's into playing with them. I love watching the herons wade out in the pond on their mile-high legs, to catch fish. I enjoy seeing the turkeys in the Spring when the toms fan out their tails and puff up their chests, strutting around to impress the hens, who act like they could care less about the lovesick fools.

There's only one downfall in my playful attachment to all these creatures, however, and that's when something bad happens to them and they are no longer a part of my days. My tender heart can't bear seeing a dead bird on the road that won't ever sing it's beautiful song again, or a smushed bunny that surely has a family waiting for it somewhere close by, wondering when he's going to come home for dinner. I think of them all as my very own, and I want the cartoons to go on happily forever and ever!

Moped Mishap

One day last week, I was driving down our road on my way to work when I passed two ladies that I usually see walking with one of my neighbors every morning. I've seen them almost every morning for the past several months and we always wave at each other in passing.

This particular morning, the two ladies were sitting at the bottom of my neighbor's driveway on a shiny new moped. They waved as I passed by and as I continued down the road, I watched in my rearview mirror as they manuevered their way shakily onto the road and then wobbily drove themselves right into the nearest ditch. I stopped and watched to be sure both of them got up safely and didn't appear to be hurt.

As I drove on to work, the moped incident got me to thinking about my own comical near-death experience on a moped more than 25 years past. I was still in high school at the time, and one weekend a girlfriend of mine and I were out in the country visiting my now-husband, who's Dad had just purchased a brand new bright and shiny red moped.

While I can't remember doing so, I must have begged and pleaded for a driving lesson and knowing how my husband has always had a weakness to grant my every wish (well, maybe not EVERY wish, but most of them anyway), I'm sure he complied. I remember the brake and the gas levers were situated on the handlebars and as long as you gave it sufficient gas it was pretty easy to balance and stay upright. I practiced in the gravel drive until I felt confident enough to venture out onto a real road.

My friend bravely hopped on back and off we went, driving the winding back roads. Keep in mind, I didn't even have a license to drive a car, I had only had maybe a 15 minute driving lesson, and neither of us were wearing helmets. Not to mention I've always been the klutsiest accident-prone person on the face of the earth. Pretty smart, huh?

Back and forth along the roads we zipped and zoomed. The more trips we took, the braver I got and the faster I'd dare to go. We were so cool with the wind blowing our hair while speeding around on this zippy little machine. As we came around a sharp curve, I realized I was going just a little too fast and went to pull back on the brake to slow us down a bit. Somehow I pulled on the gas instead of the brake however, and inevitably down we went, sliding for what seemed like forever across pavement and ending up in a field.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. I remember rolling and rolling and rolling and I went from seeing asphalt to sky, back to asphalt, to sky again, to dirt and tall grass, to sky, to mud and then to sky again and ultimately stopped right in the middle of a big mud hole at the side of the road. I laid there wondering if I was still alive, or if anything might be broken and I listened for any sign of my girlfriend and where she might have ended up. Luckily I heard her rustling in the grass not too far from me and I rolled over to see her covered in mud, but thankfully all in one piece.

We both started laughing hysterically, probably in shock and relieved to be alive. Amazingly neither of us had any broken bones and barely a scratch, but you sure couldn't say the same for the shiny new moped that laid several yards away. We limped back to the moped to survey the damage. One of the handlebars was bent, a mirror was broken off one side and there were several scratches and dents. Luckily it started back up though, so we both reluctantly climbed back on and slowly drove back to face the music.

I'm sure my husband's stomach dropped down into his shoes when he saw us both drive into the yard covered in mud, but that didn't begin to compare to the reaction of seeing that brand new moped practically ruined. His Dad was going to kill us all!

Later that evening, after I'd cleaned myself up and my husband had done his best to clean up the damaged moped, his Dad came home. I figured since I was the one at fault, I'd be the one to break the news of the wreck, and then maybe my husband wouldn't get in too much trouble. As soon as he got in the house, I meekly approached him, shaking in my shoes. I remember bursting into tears as I informed him I had wrecked his new toy. I think we all held our breath as we waited to see what he'd do or say. He glanced over to my husband and then back to me and started laughing. This was so unexpected that we all started laughing.

Then he squeezed my shoulder reassuringly and as he walked past my husband, he said to him "I don't know what you're laughing about. You're going to pay the repair bill!" Darn, I knew it wouldn't be that easy. . .

Childhood Memories, Part One

I love hearing stories from my parents and relatives about my childhood. Some of the stories I've heard so often I'm almost convinced I remember them myself.

My Daddy always told me when I was first born I was so tiny that he just balanced me on the inside of his forearm, lengthwise, and carried me around like that with my head resting in the palm of his hand.

My Mom said the day I was born and the nurse brought me to her, she thought they'd brought her the wrong baby. She said I had a chubby round face and the thickest coal black hair and I looked just like an eskimo baby. The black hair soon turned to tow-head blonde and that's what I had all throughout my childhood, but I've always retained the chubby round face.

My Mom said I started to walk and talk at an earlier than usual age and talk-talk-talk is all I ever did. I talked so much that when my baby sister came along, my Mom was scared she'd never learn to talk herself because I did all her talking for her.

Apparently, I never knew a stranger and I'd talk anyone's leg off if they'd put up with me. Mom said she was mortified the first time I caught a glimpse of a black man in person. We were at the airport and a porter was helping people with their luggage and Mom said I walked right up to him and tugged on his coat and said, "Mister, do you live on Sesame Street?" That was the only place I'd ever seen a black person before. Mom said the porter chuckled and reached down to shake my hand and said, "No, little lady, I don't live on Sesame Street." She was mortally embarrassed as she dragged me off.

Supposedly I was a fearless toddler as well. One time when I was about two, we went to Oklahoma to visit my grandparents and I was playing in the backyard. Mom said I came running into the house jabbering something about a "cute squirrel" and tugging on Grandma's skirt to come see it. They both followed me outside to the flowerbed where I'd been digging and I showed them the fuzzy squirrel, which wasn't a squirrel at all but a big, hairy tarantula! Mom and Grandma shrieked and screamed and dragged me back into the house. Lord knows I've grown out of that fearless stage by leaps and bounds. Anyone that knows me now, knows I'm scared to death of my own shadow and if I ever saw a tarantula within 30 feet of me, I'd faint dead away!

Oh to be a kid again with all the childhood innocence and wide-eyed curiosity about life!

Bountiful Harvest

It's that time of year again, when my mailbox is constantly full of zucchini and tomatoes from generous neighbors, and plastic bags full of yellow squash, beans and okra magically appear at our doorstep on an almost daily basis. It seems like all of us along this country road tend to plant more than we can possibly eat ourselves, so we all share with each other throughout the Summer. This year I didn't even bother planting certain things because I knew from past experience, I would have an oversupply of those items from my closest neighbors, and I was right. I don't even have to buy vegetables from the store, and it's nice. My hubby and I plant peppers, tomatoes and some herbs. Our big thing is making salsa, and tons of it, every Summer. The peppers produce all the way up till it frosts and some days we'll sit out there and pick them for hours. When my hubby makes the salsa, I have to ask him to make me a milder batch because my tongue can't withstand the blisters from the hot stuff he makes for himself. I can barely stand to be inside the house when he's making it, it's so strong. My eyes water and I practically collapse from the coughing and sneezing. He grows this one type of pepper that is so hot it could be a weapon of mass destruction with the armed forces! His Grandpa from Texas sent us the seeds from plants he grows in the desert near Mexico, and they light your mouth on fire.

All throughout the season we have an overabundance of other things too, like apples, plums, peaches and berries. I have one particular favorite friend and neighbor up the hill who I call the Martha Stewart of Leiper's Fork. She grows anything and everything and always shares. I picked blueberries at her house one Summer and came home with two huge gallon buckets full. Those were glorious! There's nothing like plump, fresh blueberries in your pancakes or on your oatmeal in the mornings. This same friend grows the most wonderful herbs and brings them to me by the sack full. Fresh basil, oregano and rosemary that smell so good you wish you could bottle the fragrance. She gave me her recipe for homemade pesto for the basil, and her fresh baked bread recipe is heavenly with some of the rosemary added. It's to die for! She's getting chickens soon, so fresh eggs will be right around the corner and she and her husband just recently started beekeeping, so fresh honey and beeswax candles won't be far behind. She has rows and rows of lavendar lining her walkways and she has fresh mint that grows along the side of her house. She's constantly giving us fresh baked items and dishes she makes with things she grows, like yummy cherry pie and jellies.

And in the Fall, we give anyone and everyone pears from the trees in our front yard. We have so many pears every year we could never use them all, and various neighbors come and help themselves. We've been known to cart wheelbarrows full of pears to the pasture for the donkeys. They love them. It's pear cobbler and pear preserves for us.

I need to go online and pull up some new recipes for zucchini, since my next door neighbor brought us an armload last night and I'm running out of ideas for cooking them. I've made casseroles, sauteed them with onions and peppers, fried them up in patties, made bread with them and even cooked some with shredded chicken and salsa for tacos. If it's true what they say that "you are what you eat" then I'll be a giant green zucchini before the Summer is through!