Long ago in the land of milk and cookies

As the Bug and Worm climbed their way up the old crepe myrtle tree, it looked smaller than when my children hung from the branches.  The driveway seemed more narrow where the Vanagon had lived in off hours.  I remember running in, up the front steps from a shopping trip with my arms too full of groceries or a sleeping child.  The front lawn was groomed, not neglected like it often was when somehow the daylight hours just vanished.  I’d mowed it more than once by the light from the van’s headlights.

Yesterday I took my grandkids on the same walk, to as the Bug put it, “back to Mom’s previous life.” 

“This is where your mom, aunt and uncles grew up,” I pointed.  I gazed at the well-tended house from a long ago time.  A large shade tree had taken over the front yard, planted from a seed fifteen years ago as I was to shortly find out.  The new owner stuck her head out the window.  “What are you doing here?”

“I raised my kids in this house,” I said.

“Oh, are you Penny?”

“How’d you know?” I said.  Maybe I was famous.

“Junk mail.”

Our next stop, Joyce’s tropical paradise.  Maybe a little less kept over the years with the passing of her husband, the architect of this personal heaven.  The Koi fish were less numerous after a winter visit of ravenous raccoons.  My four young children would dip their hands into the pond for big Koi kisses.  And now my grandchildren were experiencing the same brush of fish lips on the palm of their hands.

In my mind I saw the electric train circle the pond and colorful finches flying overhead into their nests as small button quails marched on the bottom of their cages followed in line by their young.  I wished they would have shared the secret of keeping their young in line.  In stores, mine darted in and out from under dress racks and toy aisles. 

We drove to the park where so many birthday parties made their way into scrapbooks, and walked past the neighborhood plunge where my children learned to swim.  Cheezy learned to swim there when he was only two years old.  He’d surprised everyone by plummeting from the high dive during a lesson.  No one stopped the over-sized toddler; they thought it was the older Hot Wheelz. 

We ordered dinner at the Steak Corral once again, the only sit down restaurant I could afford as a single mom.  The welcoming cowboy out front looked worse for the wear.  Shoe leather, camouflaged as steaks were $4 each.  The build-your-own-sundaes for a dollar were the real attraction.  Today the grandkids straddled barrels dressed up to look like ponies, then cleaned up in the Westrooms, labeled Cowgirls and Cowboys, all for a total of $27.23, including tax, tip, and sundaes.  Still the best buy in town.

We drove by family-attended grammar schools, middle schools, and the high school.  Just last week, the Bug and I had watched Back to the Future.  I pointed to the renowned auditorium where Biff and Marty had a run-in.  “Your mom was a Cardinals drill team member at Whittier High,” I said.

Life was easier then in the land of milk and cookies.  More tiring, but easier.  I miss that time.

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