No more Ice Cream
 

Gerry Niskern

The first drops of rain started as the moving man dropped the ramp from the truck.  He shouted up the hill, “ We’ll have to carry your furniture up the driveway and stairs.”

High above our challenge sat facing us. The square two-story house on a steep hill had paint chipped from the stucco and sad, empty terraces down to the street where bougainvillea, lantana and Hibiscus would soon be growing.

Later, as the mover place the last item in the kitchen ( the old ice cream freezer) and waited for his check, he announced, “If you folks decide to move again, in another three months, just give us about two weeks notice…so we’ll have time to get out of town!” His company had moved us three months earlier from our home of many years where we had a panoramic view of the entire valley.

We had always lived in the foothills enjoying the grand show everyday of pink and silver dawns over Piestawa Peak, majestic thunderheads marching across turquoise skies during the summer monsoons, and dusty mauve and gold sunsets.

Now, after a short time as “flatlanders”, we had purchased another fixer-upper with a fantastic view of the city. This vagabond life wasn’t how I envisioned spending the retirement years; however, since I had a husband whose favorite television shows were “This Old House” and  “The Woodwright’s shop.” He had plans, enormous plans; pushing out walls, moving bathrooms and adding a large balconey.

Along with the challenge of remodeling various houses over the years, came my nagging thoughts of “Who’s home is this?” Who planted this beautiful, neglected Peace rose?   What little boy watched his dad put up the measuring chart inside this closet in another house, marking the child at three years, three and a half years, four years. Where was that little boy now?

Where was this home’s previous owner? She was a religious woman obviously, her prayer cards were scattered in many drawers. This homemaker was from the “old school.”   She had double laundry tubs, but no hookup for a dryer. The sturdy steel clothesline covered the entire patio, and it was so low you were in danger of decapitating yourself every time you ventured outside.  I guessed she must have been all of 4’5”.

As usual neighbors from both directions greeted us with statements like “We have a key to your house. We always keep it in case you go on vacation: or, don’t you just love the tile in the kitchen? We helped them choose the color.” I wanted to shout, “Not really, this is my house now!”

Later, when the rain stopped and everything was stacked in, we bid our mover’s goodbye, with promises we would positively not be calling them again. The pungent smell of the desert foothills was refreshing with the mingling aromas of the wet mesquite, creosote and sage.

“Bring the lounge chairs up to the balcony,” I called to my husband. “I’ll see if I can find the box with the margarita glasses.”  We stretched out our sore muscles and watched with never ending fascination as the glow of sunset changed to darkness and a black onyx valley below filled with thousands of twinkling lights like precious stones spread out for our pleasure.

Suddenly, we awakened to an incessant ringing of a phone somewhere in the distance. Where was the phone? Maybe it was in the kitchen. Where was the kitchen? As my sore, aching muscles finally reached the phone a tiny, excited voice said, “Hi, Grandma.  Are you home? We’re coming over to see your house.”

“Yes,” I replied, “Yes, honey, I’m home.”

I sold my home this month. I’ve always known that I would have to move to a one story place someday, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be. Over the years when a friend would remark that they were “breaking up housekeeping” and downsizing I didn’t stop to think how difficult it must be for them. I don’t even remember saying, “Oh, that must be hard for you.” Well, know I know. I just took the last load to Saint Vincent de Paul and on top of the stack was the “center” of all the family parties, the  old ice cream freezer.

“April Fool”

By

Gerry Niskern

April Fool!  I remember when Krispy Kreme came to the Valley of the Sun.  Everyone in the valley had been hearing about the unique Krispy Kreme Donuts that were coming to our area. According to the hype these famous donuts were like nothing you’ve ever tasted before.  There were stories in the news media about the opening of the first donut shop in the East Valley. We were promised those of us in the west and north would get ours soon.

Our envy grew as we heard the Krispy Kremes described as delicious, delectable and delightful. Friends from the favored side of town advised, “You have to taste them, you won’t believe how luscious they are.”

Well, our turn came. Krispy Kreme opened up at 83^rd Avenue and Bell road and also at Christown.  While my husband and I stood in line in the gleaming white tile shop, watching the donuts being made, a young woman came down the line offering hot donuts fresh from the fryer. We took a bite and my husband said, “They ARE good.  They’re exactly like the ones we used to buy when we were kids down on 15^th Ave., only they were bigger.  Remember that place just north of Van Buren.  What was the name of those donuts?”

The donut shop, from our childhood, was right on our way home from a long day of swimming at University Park. The smell in the air got to you long before you reached 15^th Ave. The hot, sweet aroma of those sinkers as they fried was more than any hungry kid could resist. It was actually a wholesale bakery for many restaurants around the valley, but if you knocked on their door, they would sell you a few fantastic donuts.

We took some Krispy Kremes by my daughter’s house. She said “Mom, they’re really good. But, what’s the big deal? They’re exactly like the ones the Donut Man used to sell around our neighborhood when we were kids, only the Donut Man’s were bigger.  He had a van like an ice cream man and we begged you to buy some each time. Don’t you remember the name?”

My son-in-law chimed in with the pronouncement; “You guys never had a really good donut unless you had one like I used to sell in west Phoenix when I was a kid. We kids sold them by the dozen. They came in white boxes with cellophane on the top. Believe me, that was a donut that melted in your mouth. The only problem was, it wasn’t too profitable for me because I had a dozen eaten before I covered the first block of customers. I wish I could recall the name of those donuts.”

We made one last stop with the Krispy Kremes at our Grandson’s house. His 21-month-old son enjoyed his donut with sprinkles along with his morning tippee cup of milk. He listened solemnly to our debate of the best donuts we each had eaten in our lifetime. Then he gathered up his milk cup, slipped quietly out of his chair and plucked the last donut out of the box.

I can hear him saying to his grandchildren seventy years from now. “You call these donuts. We had real donuts when I was a kid that were delicious. They were larger too.  My dad used to take me to this donut place; he carried me along the window so I could watch donuts by the hundreds rolling along on the conveyer belts and plopping  into the hot oil. I was fascinated as mysterious arms flipped them over and the other side turned golden brown. A lady came down the line and gave me a warm one in a napkin while we waited.  Now, that was a donut!  What the Sam Hill was the name of that place?”

A couple of weeks ago I was reading an article titled “A guide to weird words your teen uses.” The author Jennifer Jolly, of USA Today, said translating the latest “slanguage” in 2017 is not easy.

For example, did you know that “”fams” refers to their tight inner circle of friends? And “thirsty” might describe a friends eager desire for a romance with another person. And this is interesting. “Throwing Shade” is dissing another individual.

The natural evolution of language, plus the by product of text messaging and social media have had an effect on teen’s speech, but they have always had their own special kind of communication.

Try to think back to some of the words that you routinely used as a teen, and then get a load of the words from my teen years!

“Boy howdy! I’m getting this one,” my best friend used to declare when she liked the sounds of a great new song filling the record booth at the downtown music store. I usually responded urgently. “We need to take this stack back to the clerk. Boy howdy! They get mad if you take too long in here.”  Boy howdy was what every kid from middle to high school here in Phoenix used to say to emphasize a point. You never hear anyone say that anymore. I wonder if it was a local or national teenage trend.  I realized kids had quit saying that sometime between my school days and my daughters.

You see, years later, I was shocked at hearing, “Those are bitch’n shoes” coming out of my sweet, innocent daughter’s mouth. Her dad and I were horrified. Did we just hear what we thought we heard? Our teenage daughter was casually uttering a forbidden word with her friends. She was told to stop saying bitch’n immediately. “But all my friends say that” she had replied. We promptly decided she had to get a new friends. .

Then, just the other day imagine my surprise when I saw my great-granddaughter look at her friend’s new jacket and declare, “That’s sick.”  Now, I’ve learned to wait awhile to learn what a teen’s favorite word actually means. Turn’s out sick is a complimentary term for something you really like. You know, as in, “Boy howdy, that’s bitch’n!

REUNIONS

By

Gerry Niskern

Is your high school graduation class having a reunion this spring?  After all, this is the season.   Everywhere committees have been busy tracking down fellow classmates, working the phones and mailing out invitations for the big bash.

When your summons arrives you are usually informed that they want a short bio and pictures. PICTURES! Calling Dr. Atkins in the Zone on South Beach!

Then there’s the question of what do you wear to a reunion party? Anything you want. At our big reunion I saw casual slacks and Hawaiian shirts, suits, shorts, white gauze pajamas with sandals; and that was just on the men! The women wore sexy “little black” dresses, long cotton patio dresses, suits and “Sunday go to meetin’ ” outfits.

It seemed to be confession time for the women talking to my resident historian that evening.  “I was in love with you all through high school” and “You didn’t know it, but I had a crush on you”, were a few of the remarks I heard. “Those tight jeans and that black leather jacket!” laughed one. I was beginning to think I was attending that reunion with “The Fonz”.

If you haven’t attended your 30^th, 40^th or 50^th reunion yet, just wait. They’re the best. The barriers are down; broken by years of living.  Who cares in which side of the valley you used to live? Does anyone really remember whether you drove a “hot” car, rode the bus or rode a bike to school? It was great to see the two guys who had competed fiercely for top grades laughing and reminiscing together.

As for the short bio that our invitation requested, let’s just say our class had all been busy. We’d had marriages, divorces, more marriages, children, weddings, and grandchildren. Most of the men had chosen professions and then changed careers and changed again. Many of the women who started out as “stay at home moms” discovered later it was great to pursue a profession.

Some of our classmates served in the Korean War. Some didn’t return.  A few had sons who served in Vietnam. And now there were grandsons deployed to the Middle East.

We were in on the beginning of the war on drugs.  We ran straight into the sexual revolution, marijuana, the Pill and The Rolling Stones.

While we were busy experiencing life, the super stores replaced the corner grocery. The old drugstore with the soda fountain and home delivery disappeared too.

The women’s hair styles changed from the pageboy to the beehive and then to curly and back to straight again.   Skirts have gone up and down several times and the guy’s tight Levis are now relaxed fit. The jean jackets we wore are being worn by our grandchildren, but they are not $3.00 anymore.

We saw the Berlin Wall fall and the first man walk on the moon while we tried to see the world too.

We went from our first cars to station wagons, vans, SUVs, and back to “cool” cars.  We’ve embraced credit cards, ATMs, cell phones and computers. We’re working out, watching our cholesterol and have given up cigarettes.

So, If your reunion invitation arrives this spring, be sure to go. Life has a way of leveling the playing field.  I promise you, out on the dance floor you’ll see that the Campus Queen and the football hero are candidates for Extreme Makeover; and surprise, the class “dork” has become quite a dancer.

So go, and have a ball!