2001-04-27 - 19:38 M DST

THE WONDERING JEW

Compendium Of Things Of Ago

I'm in a funny mood tonight, don't have a connected story to tell. Old memories or pieces thereof drip down like rain from the eaves, not connected but all related.

The women folk made a concoction of snow, Pet milk, drop or two of vanilla and sugar and called it ice cream. I loved it, guess cause it was sweet. Sounds yucky now.

The kids I was in elementary school with, their names, their faces and their personna. Each one unique, each one I loved for one thing or another. Steadfastness, honesty, loyalty and pure good natured friendship.

I remember the night "exercises" that occurred when I was allowed out to play under the arc light and the games that were afoot. Thinking back, those lights lit the intersection and that is about the extent of it, In the middle of the block it was dark, dark, dark, except for lit windows in some of the houses. I remember the cloud of flying bugs swirling in the arclight in the summer time, and remember the infestation of house flies in the house when a screen door was left open.

The local smells, depending on which way the wind was blowing, from the north - stockyard perfume, from the west or south - Gates Rubber. In our neighborhood the smell of Jonas Brothers large scale taxidermy place took some getting used to but in time became a part of our ball game.

The squeal of street car wheels in a turn a block or two away, not intrusive but comforting and familiar.

Riding the old street cars whose construction was mostly creaking wood, late at night when the stops were few and the motorman could make a bit of time, how the front would twist one way and the back the other in a repeating cycle that lulled one to sleep after one's observation turned into a form of self hypnosis

Memorial day picnics in the near by mountains. About as early as the adults would go up that far, during those years cars weren't so good and neither were tires. Sometimes seeking shelter from a short rain, but most years a very enjoyable outing and feeling of freedom from the city. Rejoicing in the cool smell of evergreens and running brooks. And the trip back to town in the dark that seemed to last forever. Not falling asleep because of things revealed by the headlights.

The Argo Mine near Idaho Springs was still a working mine way back then, and the electric lights at that facility were a blaze of illumination to be noted as we passed by.

The Fourth of July, a day like the kids of today will never experience. The big barrage of all sizes of fire crackers started very early in the morning and escalated as the day went on. The occasional numbed fingers from too close contact with a firecracker. A lot of our fireworks were bought in Hop Alley in Lower down town Denver. Good reliable Chinese stuff, with scads of punk sticks. I remember Dad coming home with a big box of fireworks, Sky rockets, Roman Candles, Pin Wheels, Fire Crackers of all sizes down to the Lady Fingers which were lit and fired off in a string. In the bottom of that box were a slew of sparklers to be used when all else had been exhausted and before we were sent to bed. Skyrockets flying everywhere, Roman Candles galore. Animals seemed to sense when the Fourth was coming because a day or two before, they weren't seen on the streets. I remember our dog Peggy hiding out in our closet for the duration. Sure every year someone got hurt, but the rest of us learned a bit of safety along with the thrill of making the BIG BANGS. Most of us learned lessons that stood us in good stead for a lifetime. It has only been in recent years that the throwing of lit firecrackers into the open windows of passing cars became so prevalent.

Foul weather wear, the yellow slickers stiff and unwieldy, but a guy wasn't in with the bunch if he didn't have one. The fabric and rubber combination that made galoshes a floppy sloppy performance unless the latches were closed -- but that was no fun.

Candy, oh the infinite variety and wonders of sweetness. The caramel "Milk Duds," where I did my first gambling. A penny apiece, but if I found one with a little round white center when unwrapped I could get five and hope for more white centers. The Non-Pariels. the Jawbreakers. There was a long, red, pillow shaped sucker with a great flavor, kind of spicy it was, and the stick was of licorice root which I would chew on for hours.

I remember a few times when I was young being with an adult, meeting a train at night at the Union Station and whiffing the engine smoke smell, the smell of hot grease and steam and seeing my white cuffs turn gray from the soot in the air, rubbing my fingers across my forehead and seeing the dirt.

The iceman coming down the alley, looking for the square shaped card in back windows, showing a certain weight on each corner of it, stopping, clutching a block of ice with his tongs, putting it on a shoulder padded with a gunny sack and taking it in and putting it in the ice box. While he was doing that we would scrounge for the ice chips on the bed of the wagon. Doubly delicious because of the sweetness of snitched goods.

The cool feel of dewy grass between the toes while inhaling the scent of growing things and feeling that the world was new born that morn.

A list ? A Compendium Of Things Of Ago . . . . .

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