Writing in Snow

Thoughts on a summer afternoon

Word count: 536

In the afternoon, my head nods and weariness set in. My thoughts wander across the landscape of memories and hopes. I remember my childhood. I remember cool aid days. Hot summer afternoons when Grandma made pitchers of cold, sweet grape cool aid.

I remember weekends when Grandpa made homemade ice cream. Grandpa had a wooden ice cream maker. Grandma would put cream, sugar, vanilla and other flavorings in metal container. The Grandpa put the container in the ice cream maker and put ice around it. I am not sure but I think her may have used dry ice. Of course, he could have used ordinary ice. It was a long time ago.

I remember cool aid days and homemade ice cream. I remember Grandpa picking watermelon picked off the vine. He would put the melon in the fridge to get cold and then we would eat it on hot summer afternoons. There is nothing like the taste of a watermelon grown in your own garden. No store bought melon can compare in taste or sweetness to a watermelon grown in your own garden.

I remember cool aid days, homemade ice cream and watermelon grown in Grandpa’s garden. On hot summer afternoons, when my head nods and I get sleepy, my mind wanders back to the days of my childhood. I remember growing up in Blackwell, Oklahoma.

I remember the worry free days of yesterday. I had nothing to worry about, I had no bills to pay. All that childhood required of me was enjoying the time spent with Grandma and Grandpa Newland. Sometimes I suspect that part of the reason I remember my childhood so fondly was because I did not need to worry about food, shelter, clothing, or paying bills.

I remember southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy. Grandma loved to cook. Every Sunday she would fix fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, corn on the cob or creamed corn. There is nothing like the taste of mashed potatoes with gravy and creamed corn on top. My brother did not like to eat his food that way.

I remember one of my brother’s would eat one item at a time. When he put the food on his plate, they could not touch each other. He ate them separately. He would eat his chicken first and then the other items on his plate. He ate each food item one at a time and never varied his eating habits as long as we were children.

I remember tall glasses of cold milk. I remember tall glasses of cold grape cool aid. Grandma always took the milk directly from the fridge and then poured it for each grandchild as we watched. When Grandma made cool aid she would make a pitcher and then put ice cubs in a glass. After she filled the glasses with ice cubes, she would pour the sweet cool aid into the glasses.

Grandma never had plastic tumblers for us to drink out of; she always poured our cold liquids into real glass tumblers. To this day I prefer drinking iced beverages out of real glasses and not the plastic kind. Real glass make the iced beverages colder or it seems that way.