Whittling Away with Dick Brooks - Free Time

Recently, a lull occurred in my usually hectic schedule, all items on The Queen's Royal Request list had been completed, I'd already gotten the mail and made my daily run to the grocery store, I was looking at the possibility of almost a half hour of free time.  Not being one to squander this rare occasion, I decided to shovel out the interior of Casper, the friendly Kia.  Under the passenger seat, among a few dead leaves, a couple of ball point pens and assorted envelopes from the drive through at the bank, I found a Mary-Jane.  I don't remember seeing it before and can't remember where it might have come from.  Maybe it was a remnant of the trip the Princess and I had made to Woodstock, I remember a store there that carried what today is laughingly called, "Penny Candy"

Being an honest to gosh senior citizen, I can remember when all those sugar laden, sticky, gooey, delightfully delicious little clumps of tooth decay actually could be purchased for a penny a piece.  As a country kid, the stuff was hard to come by, the nearest purveyor of these yummies was a three mile bike ride over a dirt road to Mr. Avery's gas station.  The Gang would gather at the corner, a T intersection between our houses where we met the bus on school days, and make the decision, after counting up our pocket change to see if the trek would be worth our while, to sally forth in search of a sugar high.

A couple of hard pumping hours later, we arrived, hot, sweaty and sugar deprived at the gas station.  Looking back now with adult eyes, I'm sure Mr. Avery must have cringed as he watched us pile our bikes in a heap and head for his establishment.  God bless his now departed soul, he was a kind and patient man who appreciated his customers, no matter how small the pocket jingle.  

We clustered in front of the shelf where he had the big jars of goodies and all took turns placing and changing our orders.  The poor man bounced from jar to jar with a little paper sack, adding and subtracting as the little customer placed and unplaced his order.  A dime would give you a sack full enough to make the trip worthwhile, if you had a quarter, you were "eatin' good in the neighborhood" for the whole day.

That row of jars contained all that warmed the cockles of our young male hearts--at least until we discovered that girls really weren't as yucky as they had first appeared.  There was a jar of my personal favorite, root beer barrels, next to jars of Mary-Janes, Licorice-both red and black, Ju-Ju Babies-the grandparents of all the Gummy Bear kind of things you find today, candy dots stuck on paper, Tootsie Rolls, Taffy, Jaw Breakers, Balls of bubble gum, Sweet Tarts, Chuckles, and other delectables whose names have faded in my aging memory.  We could even opt to speed our journey to adulthood by choosing candy cigarettes, bubble gum cigars or black licorice pipes and frequently did since we knew smoking was good for you because the radio said so.

Purchases made, we would saddle up and ride off into the horizon on our balloon-tired steeds, leaving a tired, befuddled Mr. Avery a little richer and much older than he had been fifteen minutes earlier.  The candy would last an amazingly long time if you had made the right purchases, a root beer barrel stuffed between your cheek and gum was good for hours of enjoyment and years of dental problems.  A Mary-Jane would last almost as long with the added advantage that it could be form fitted to your gum line, eliminating the root beer barrel's amazing cheek lump.  It could also be used to cover your teeth, which was great for grossing out any females that happened to pass your way.  The Gang is still there after all these years, standing on the pedals to power through the sand covered road, laughing around bubble gum cigars, pockets holding the day's bounty in a small paper bag as we pumped our way home.

The Gang faded into my memory and I once again found myself focusing on the Mary-Jane I'd discovered under Casper's seat that had started the whole thing.  It's yellow and red wrapper was hardly dirty at all, I unwrapped it, sniffed it and settled it comfortably between my cheek and gum, next to the partial plate and lost in peanut-butter flavored memories, went back to my task of de-junking Casper.

Thought for the week--As long as I can remember, I've had amnesia.

Until next week, may you and yours be happy and well.

whittle12124@yahoo.com