“Coffee Time Parade” Chapter two

By

Gerry Niskern

As I sit and arrive people arriving at the best coffee gathering place in the valley, I never cease to wonder at the variety.  On any day I might see beautiful young women dressed in the latest swishy dresses or no nonsense suits in five-inch backless heels hurrying to grab a latte on their way to the office. Of course, I  have to laugh at the gals in the “spray-on jeans” and their high boots. Never mind that it’s still close to 100 some days!

Right after them come tired looking men and women, in surgical scrubs, looking for a cup of strong regular.

While exhausted tennis players arrive to enjoy an iced coffee, the morning walkers are ready for iced tea as the refreshing misters keep the 100-degree temperatures bearable.

You’ll see dogs of all breed and sizes in their daily drama of one-upmanship. Some of the large, docile pets would be perfectly happy to play with the smaller canines. However, the mighty midgets feel duty bound to challenge any larger mutt.  Then again, that eternal feud is mild compared to all their mutual hatred for the mailman. The thirsty guy in the unlucky “uniform” is challenged with a chorus of indignant barking.

On Wednesdays there is a few tables shoved together for group meetings. Sometimes it’s the retired crowd trying to make sense of today’s politics.  Or the group is the city detectives having an early breakfast. Then again, it might be a PTA committee planning the next year’s fundraiser.

The “Stay at Home” moms don’t stay home much these days. The mom’s shrieks of laughter blends with their toddlers giggles as the kids chase, but never catch, the pigeons looking for a stray crumb.

Pretty apron clad young women from the nearby hair salon chatter as they hurry by between appointments. They’re anxious to grab a designer coffee, but stop to greet regular customers seated at tables they pass.

Two fellows in business suits carry their steaming coffee and plates of gooey, pecan rolls search for an empty table. No doubt they are fugitives from the cholesterol police. I suspect the wives at home thought the heart healthy oatmeal that they prepared for breakfast would hold them until their “ sworn salad lunch.”

The kids on the skate boards always zoo right up to the entrance, tripping the automatic door opener, jumps off and catch the board as theystride through, all in one spectacular motion.

The other day when I came out to reclaim my table, an Asian family were seated nearby. The mother jumped up to hand me my book and apologize profusely. Her toddler had knocked it on the ground. The baby stood there with bowed head and when his mother was finished explaining, he looked up at me with the sweetest smile I  have ever seen and offered me his slice of pizza. I just wanted to take him home!

Where can you watch that unique passing parade? Why, at your favorite morning coffee place.  Note: Cast subject to change without notice.

“YOU’RE KIDDING ME?”

By

Gerry Niskern

I’ll admit it. You had me at Huggies. Coming from a decade where we washed our babies cloth diapers, I was constantly amazed at new products coming out every year to make new parents life easier.

First there was fitted diapers. Then came Huggies and after that the Diaper Genie. I was constantly surprised at how easy the new mothers had it. Around then, a Baby Monitor to keep track of the baby at all times, and now the Baby Shusher. Imagine that! A little device to turn on that creates a “kind of white noise” to encourage the infant to sleep a little longer.

Of course, all the different formulas and bottles were great, but later, the genius Sippy Cup. No More spills to clean up. And when the kid is ready for a stroller, now they are  the size of a Volkswagon. There is a place for everything: Mom’s purse, jacket, her drink, the baby’s diapers, bottles, changes of clothes, snacks, toys, and even a brother or sister. (I had a metal stroller that doubled as a baby walker when the foot platform was removed and the handle popped off.) Can’t tell you the price, it was a hand me down.

Next came all kinds of potty chairs designed just for the toddler boy or girl. All shapes and sizes and just as many books and advice from friends on “how to get the point across to the little tyke”. However, there really wasn’t a new innovative product to get the job done easily.

But wait, there is! MY POTTY WATCH! All you have to do is put the watch on the wrist of the tot.  Then you  explain that when it rings a happy tune, he/she should run and sit on the potty! As the instructions explain, “This will eliminate the problem of the child getting irritated at his mother nagging  him”. I’LL WAIT FOR YOU  TO INSERT YOUR OWN COMMENTS  HERE

Imagine, as the kid get older, no more nagging from mom to get up for school, take out the trash, “do your homework”. I can see that watch coming in handy over the years. That is, if it survives its flush down the toilet by the proud owner!

OME MEMORIES THAT KEN SHARED WITH ME OF HIS YEARS AS A PAPERBOY.

A Salute to earlier, young Laborers

Do you know the person who delivers your news every morning? I don’t.  Paperboys used to be a kid from your neighborhood. Ken, my husband,  remembered carrying the Republic and Gazette in the early 1940’s.

“Our station was located in front of a Chinese grocery store West of the State Capitol. When it rained, someone dragged the bundles into the doorway so they wouldn’t get wet.  We took turns folding our papers in the shelter. There were no plastic sleeves; we put our jackets over our canvas paper bags. We figured we could pedal fast enough to go between the raindrops.”

“On Sundays, after our regular route, we picked up papers from to R & G building, to deliver skipped customer for a chance to earn extra money. They gave us each ten extra papers. We rode over to Five Points intersection and sold them for 25 cents each. It added up.”

“ I recall one mischievous kid who lived in my neighborhood. In the mornings, he waited until he was a couple blocks from home so that his mother wouldn’t know and then turned on his bicycle siren. It was mounted on the frame and a spring held it against the tire. You could hear him all the way down to his station at Seventeenth Avenue and Buckeye Road. One morning a sheriff requested that he remove it.”

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“I carried around 250 Republic papers in the morning and over 200 Gazettes in the afternoon. We collected every month and every customer knew us by name. I don’t remember how much we were paid per paper, but I made around $120 a month, not bad for a kid in the sixth grade. For any kid who wanted to work and wasn’t afraid to get up at 5 A. M. it was a great job because it didn’t interfere with school. I was able to maintain good grades and even trade up every time a new model Schwinn came out.”

“Those fine old homes around the State Capitol had big porches and the customers insisted their papers be porched. We didn’t realize it probably sounded like a thunderclap at 5 A. M. when it hit as we pedaled by.” ”

“The boys took their job seriously,” he concluded. “There was a great rivalry among the guys about who could go the longest without getting any “kicks” (complaints.) If one of the guys was really late, we would hide half his papers. It was a good incentive to get to the station on time.”

“If you were sick it was your responsibility to find your sub. No parents were out delivering your papers in their cars. It was easier to just drag yourself out of bed and do the route.”

I knew Ken was serious about his job. We were in the eighth grade when I took my first ride on the cross bar of that Schwinn, on our way to a Girl Scout dance.  We started to fall and just before we hit, the bike swooped upright again. I commented on how strong he was and he replied, “Shoot, you’re about as heavy as the Sunday papers!”