Yes I can taste it

January 22nd, 2008


And then there were the rose bushes, giant, taller than her with blooms that dwarfed her head when her grandma propped her there in her white gloves and patent leathers for an Easter snapshot. There was the honeysuckle vine that crept up over the shade arbor, eventually collapsing it, with the tiniest little filament right there, that one, that she pulled so carefully and touched to her tongue yes yes I can taste it. There were the tree swings and the black barrel barbecue for roasting marshmallows, the orange push-up popsicles kept in the freezer drawer. No evening without ice cream, no sir, gallons and gallons of Knudsen’s vanilla for grandpa and her, which might have been the death of him, but which she could take on the back porch in an ice-cold bowl carefully carefully and if it was still light, mash and stir to a frothy soup in the game called Making a Cake for President Kennedy.

There were long, sunny days with water sprinkler chases and front-room dance recitals, LP singalongs to Marty Robbins or Patsy Cline and black pitted olives in a glass dish on the supper table. She popped the olives like palace guard hats on her fingertips and ate them off one by one. Most everyone frowned at that but not him. He laughed out loud and so she did it every time, his Irisher.

7 Comments »

  1. Mmmmm, I want to be there.

    Comment by Mika — January 22, 2008 @ 1:01 am

  2. this brings me to these kind of moments with my own grandfather, truly the most wonderful man i knew.

    thank you.

    marybeth

    Comment by mb — January 22, 2008 @ 2:54 am

  3. Reminds me of tree houses and porch swings.

    Comment by Moanna — January 22, 2008 @ 4:05 am

  4. I so wish my children have memories like these. Rich in mood and beauty. Family gatherings were happy times for me. I had a huge extended family that enjoyed getting together. I remember fireflies rising out of cornfields, playing stickball in the dark and getting hit with the ball cause you couldn’t see it coming, tickling my cousin’s back in my great-grandmother’s huge bed. Sometimes all the grandkids got to stay with her overnight. There were three of us girls in her bed and we would each try to be the one in the middle so someone was always tickling your back. My youngest cousin would always fall asleep firstand I’d have to kick her awake so she’d keep tickling me, but she’d just fall asleep again. In the afternoon we’d walk down to buy penny candy and Pap-Pap, smelling sour from beer, would tell us the stories of how he got all his tattoos – Grandma bit him he’d say, not wanting to tell us about his real experiences at the Battle of the Bulge. How I wished I’d pressed him for the details.

    Comment by spielbee — January 22, 2008 @ 4:38 am

  5. Descriptive and atmospheric. A lovely piece that seems to set the stage for something…

    Comment by marta — January 22, 2008 @ 7:01 am

  6. Sheer reverence.

    Comment by Jena Strong — January 22, 2008 @ 6:53 pm

  7. Again…beautiful. I feel there’s more to come.

    Comment by Shelli — January 22, 2008 @ 9:11 pm

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