Theme Thursday: Candy

My favorite candy has always been turtles. You know, those oddly-shaped little chocolate-covered-gooey-caramel-with-pecan  morsels.  Yummy, yummy. But how they came to be my favorite is a bit of a good news/bad news story.

The good news? When I was about nine years old, my Dad would sometimes take me with him when he made some of his rounds, and at one of the stops, the owner always gave me a few turtles.  I quickly put them at the top of my list of favorites, above such ordinary candies as Tootsie Rolls and Necco Wafers (well, except maybe for the black ones).  I mean, who wouldn't?

The bad new? Those rounds I went on with Dad were to bars. Some of the bartenders did have pistachio nuts, though, so it wasn't all bad.  Except for the red fingers.

In a more current nod to candy, here's a musical offering.

Wordless Wednesday: Never mind, I found it!

Previously:

Burgled by a Half-Assed Burgler

Never mind, I found it!

Corps de Ballet

Photo: Fairytale Ballet, Illinois & Kansas

It’s not that they aren’t there.

They just hide sometimes, those words

That are too shy to come out and say hi.

But with just the right amount of coaxing

And gentle nudges from behind,

They might peek out from behind the curtain

To see what they might find.

And if the air feels just right and the audience is smiling,

Maybe they’ll take to the stage, to

Pirouette, plié and dance across the page.

But only if they’re in the mood.

That's just the way it is with words.

 Photo: Summer Dance Camp for Kids, Worcester, MA

Love in 160 Bites, Part 3

(Our story till now))

There was this old dude from Duluth

A bit grozzled and long in the tooth
He looked in the mirror
And shuddered in horror
And thought: when did I lose all my youth?

The old guy decided to travel
Before all of his parts came unraveled
So off to the Keys he went
And he got a small cottage to rent
Then to the nude beach he ambled. 

**********
 And now, this week's installment:

There came an old gal from Chicago

Who met the old boy in Key Largo.

On the beach they were nude

But neither were prudes,

And their eyes had gone south a while ago. 

(To be continued)

Got something to say in 160 characters, including spaces? Visit Monkey Man to play Sunday 160.

Remember, Part 3

Remember when you didn’t need to venture far from home to see and learn new and wondrous things? It was a time when all manner of cool stuff came right to your door.

Though I was not usually the target customer, I loved the visits we had on occasion from various folks selling this and that. A frequent caller was the Fuller Brush Man. "Hello, I'm your Fuller Brush Man, and I have a gift for you!" Usually, Mom didn't buy anything, but every now and then...

I still have an inherited Fuller Brush clothes brush that is almost as old as I am. It's bristles are bent and it's a bit ratty looking, but I love it.  I’m so glad Mom bought that one.  Written on its hardwood handle is $2.49, but the service that brush has given me? Priceless. I'm terrified something will happen to it. They just don't make them like that anymore.

The best smelling door-to-door salesman wasn't a man at all, of course, but the Avon Lady.  You remember. "Ding dong. Avon calling!"  She was one of my favorites, because she gave us all these neat samples: creams and lotions and, sometimes, cool little tubes of lipstick!  She had everything a girl needed to be beautiful.

Of course, there were also people selling things we never bought, like that guy selling vacuum cleaners. I can’t remember his company, but I remember the way he dumped a bag of dirt on the floor. Oh-oh!  But his vacuum cleaned it up, lickety-split! Wow! Who wouldn’t want that? But we didn’t buy one. We didn’t buy the knives, the encyclopedias or the sewing machine either.

Of course, sometimes I was the target market. For example, there was the guy with the horse. He came through the neighborhoods with this little pinto horse, enough costume stuff to trick you out as a cowboy or cowgirl, and a camera. You put on the chaps, the gun belt and six-shooter, and a cowboy hat, and got on the horse. He took your picture, and in a few weeks: it came; a portrait of you sitting astride your trusty steed, looking just like Roy Rogers or Dale Evans!   Yippee ki-yay kay-yo!

And, oh, the ice cream man! The tinkling music of his truck on the next street over on a hot summer day sent all the kids running inside to beg for a nickel. I remember standing there, twitching nervously, waiting for my mother to find her purse and dig out a nickel. “Hurry! He’s coming!” My favorite Popsicle was banana. (In fact, my favorite Popsicle is still banana.) Root beer and that unnamed blue one were yummy too. Though they are not as ubiquitous today, I’m happy that ice cream trucks are still around. Like an old fire horse, the sound of the truck’s music sends me running, rummaging for a nickel, and another nickel, and another nickel and… How much is that Popsicle these days?

But my all-time favorite was the bookmobile. Remember them? During the summer, I anxiously awaited the bookmobile’s weekly arrival. We'd all stand outside at the curb as the scheduled time approached. You went in through the front door, and browsed your way through the stacks on both sides of the center aisle. When you reached the back, the driver would stamp your books and library card, and you went out the back door with your selections. Having those books in my arms was like holding a ticket to exciting new lands. Thanks to the bookmobile, I learned to love to read, a passion that burns brightly to this day.  Whatever happened to bookmobiles? 

Nobody ever comes to the neighborhood with cool stuff anymore. I kinda miss that.

On Memorial Day, Another Thank You

In ceremonies all over the country today, the fallen are honored for their sacrifice.  Flags wave and marching bands play Stars and Stripes Forever. On the podium and quietly in hearts and prayers, gratitude is offered to those who died in the name of freedom.

But it’s easy to forget that other sacrifices were made when these heroes fell. As Memorial Day ceremonies play out today, there are many beating hearts heavy with loss. Because for every soldier killed, there is a family left behind. Wives and husbands, children, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, grandparents: these survivors have all made a tremendous sacrifice as well. I'm saddened that, too often, their grief and sacrifice goes unrecognized.

Thank you, Families.

 *******************

For more information about the challenges of military widows, visit:

Where Do We Fit In?

The American Widow Project 

And for a moving tribute to our heroes and their families, be sure to check out this wonderful slide show by political cartoonists!

Political Cartoonists Honor Heroes

Love in 160 Bites, Part 2

(Last week on Sunday 160)

There was this old dude from Duluth

A bit grozzled and long in the tooth  
He looked in the mirror  
And shuddered in horror  
And thought: when did I lose all my youth?

**********
And now, this week's installment:

 

 
The old guy decided to travel

Before all of his parts came unraveled

So off to the Keys he went

And he got a small cottage to rent

Then to the nude beach he ambled. 

(To be continued)

Got something to say in 160 characters, including spaces? Visit Monkey Man to play Sunday 160.