Under the tree.....

None of the women in my family worked outside of the home.  I don't remember my friends moms working either.  They cooked and cleaned, and mostly took care of us kids during the day.  In the evening time when the men arrived home from work, supper was always ready and we sat down at the table as a family to eat.  After supper we would meet all my aunts, uncles, and cousins under my grandparent's Sapodilla tree in their backyard to relax and talk.  There was a lawn chair for each of us, and the grown ups would sit around in a circle and talk about their day, tell jokes, and laugh a lot.  Aunt Louise would make homemade ice cream.  She had to crank the machine manually, and when her arm got tired we would help her.  I loved the peach flavored the best.  It was wine down time for them at the end of their day. 

The brothers were pranksters and teasers, and before the night was over they would pull a prank on someone.  They would discuss all kinds of topics, and everyone spoke and everyone listened.  They laughed.   They would grab us and hug us and tickle us, let us sit on their laps while they talked.  Sometimes they would disagree, and argue their point of view, and tempers flaired.  But no one would get mad and leave, they always stayed and talked it through.  No one went home mad.  That was one of the rules.  Kiss and make up before you go to sleep at night.  Never go to bed mad.   

A lot of times, mostly on the weekends when we stayed up later, they would tell us stories about growing up in Georgia.  Friends and other family would come and spend time with us.  Sometimes really scary ghost stories that scared the crap out of us.  Me and my cousins would all sit close as we could together and hold hands we were so scared.  We would not walk home alone, and home was right next door.  Made us grab on to our parents arms as we walked to our houses when it was time to go to bed, and it was really dark and we would be really scared and we would have nigthmares.  One of the stories they told was about "Bloody Bones"  who lived behind one of my aunts shed who lived about three houses away.  None of us never went behind that shed until we were about ten years old. 

So, this was what we did for many years and as the years went by we all went through the trials and tribulations of life together.  If something needed fixing, they helped each other fix it.  They were plumbers, casrpenters, plasterers, brick layers, electricians, and gardeners.  If someone's car broke down, they helped each other get to work and back, and then fix the car.  Whatever had to be done it was done.  They faced death and sickness together and supported one another.  There was marriage, childbirth, and divorce.  We laughed until our stomachs hurts. And, we cried tears of sorrow and tears of joy.

I Wish You Love,

Cookie

112th Street.....

There was a vacant lot on our street and remained so for many years.  It was the perfect place for playing.  It had a big tree and was overgrown because no one ever cleaned it up or mowed it.  There were bushes, big coral rocks, sand, sticks, hills to run up and down, and trails we followed which were made by us running back and forth through it day after day for years.  It was like we had our own little jungle to play in.  We'd climb up in the tree and swing from ropes we had hung on the branches and play Tarzan, yelling as he did "Ah... ah ah ah....ah ah". We played freely without boundaries and without fear.

There were a lot of kids born on our street. I'd have to say at least eighteen, just on 112th Terrace.  Many more kids from the whole neighborhood would come play with us too.  We played Simon Says, dodge ball, tether ball, hop scotch, hide and seek, and softball.  We rode our tricycles, bicycles, skates, peddle fire trucks, some homemade vehicles.

We played from the time we got up in the morning until the evening when our parents called us in for supper.

We were all born on that street.  We went from Kindergarten to high school together.  We went to church together and sang in the choir.  We spent the night at each others houses, and we ate together.  Our families were good friends and neighbors who could depend on each other in times of need. We laughed and cried, we sang songs and told each other stories,  we dreamed and screamed but most of all...... we loved.

It was a glorious time.

I Wish You Love,

Cookie

P.S.  Happy Birthday Johnny Angel, I miss you so.

I remember.....

I would run barefoot, as fast as I could, out my back door through my backyard and into my Grandma Daisy's backyard to her back door, which was always open. It had jalousies and I can still hear the sound of the the glass rattling as I slammed it shut.  Once I stepped onto the back dining room and started through the french doors and into the kitchen,  I could smell something deliciously Southern cooking on the gas stove.   Maybe white lima beans with ham hocks, maybe fried chicken, maybe a ham in the oven, maybe greens with a little fried bacon for flavor, or maybe just cooked hoe cakes. Whatever it was, I will never forget how wonderful it made me feel.   My head would automatically turn to the kitchen table, where I would usually see a biscuit, some ham or bacon, that was left over from breakfast.  I would stick my finger in the butter dish and grab a dab and stick it in my mouth.  Then I'd grab a biscuit and a piece of the bacon or ham, and start walking towards the front door while I was eating it.  I'd walk through the formal dining room, the living room and then to the front porch.  Grandma Daisy or Aunt Louise would stop me on the way and give me a big hug and some sugar, (which was a bunch of kisses on the check). After they got enough sugar they would let me go and I would run out the front door to play with my cousins. As I  passed the Gardenia bushes I would get a whiff of the sweet scent that I still love today.  Mind you, I was still eating that delicious homemade biscuit ...........life was good.

I Wish You Love,

Cookie