The Real Thing

There is nothing on this earth better than a cold 16 oz. Coke in a glass bottle. OK, that is an exaggeration but it does taste pretty darn good that way.  Everything about it is good.  The little pieces of ice that form on the surface of the liquid. The sound of the bottle opener as it frees the carbon gas. That first drink that sends fizz up your nose and gives you the hiccups. This is the stuff of my childhood.

At family reunions a huge galvanized tub sat in the shade packed with ice and beneath that ice were frosty bottles of Coke, 7-Up and Orange Crush.  An opener was tied to the tub’s handle but was seldom used. It was much preferred to just yank the bottle across the edge of the tub, dislodging the cap from the bottle. At least that’s what the cool kids did.  It was an art, believe me. You nearly froze your fingers off fishing for that bottle and afterwards you  found your mother and placed your frozen hand on the back of her neck.  Well, some kids might have.  By the end of the afternoon we were so full of Coke we could have floated home - the caps jingling in our pockets the whole way.

At my Grandmother’s house there was always a supply of 16 oz. bottles stored in the door of her refrigerator.  There was an open invitation to have one. No permission needed.  I remember many late Friday nights spent on her living room couch.  She sat at one end painting her fingernails and I sat at the other with a bottle of Coke. We watched Johnny Carson. We talked about the “old days” and sometimes we even talked about boys. 

Saturday was grocery day at our house. It was my job (along with my sister) to gather the empty bottles to return to the store. We each had our own 8-pack of bottles to return for 10 cents each.  My sister usually saved her money but I spent mine immediately.  Five feet from the customer service desk was a display of the weeks top ten 45 rpm records.  That 80 cents never had the chance to warm in my hand. As long as I had my bottle deposit money, I never left the store without a song.

These days, I drink my Coke from a cup.  A 16 oz. glass bottle is just a memory. A wonderful memory from a wonderful childhood. It’s the real thing.

The Memory of Smell

I was sitting in Panera  having some lunch and minding my own business when all of a sudden a very familiar smell enveloped me.  I looked up to see an elderly lady sitting at a table beside me. She was eating her bowl of soup and minding her own business but I was no longer able to mind mine.  She smelled just like my Grandmother.  Isn’t it funny how something as simple as a smell can instantly transport you to another place, another time?

White Shoulders Perfume & Dusting Powder. Pink containers in a pink box. It was my Grandmother’s signature scent for as long as I can remember.  For her birthday every year, it gave me great joy to go to the fragrance counter at McAlpin’s Department Store and pick out a gift set containing a bottle of perfume and a box of dusting powder.  The case was just my height and I searched until my eyes landed on the pink prize. She always seemed surprised and immediately sprayed herself generously.

The powder puff with its pink satin ribbon seemed as big as my face and I was entranced with its feel as well as its smell.  I sprayed and puffed each time I went into her bathroom (which was also pink in every way).  I wonder if we had to drive home with the windows down just so my mother could breathe? 

 I am grateful. Grateful for a Grandmother who loved me and accepted my gifts with love.  Grateful for her life spent working hard for her family. Grateful for the things I was allowed to do with her that I was not allowed to do at home.  I am grateful for the memory of smell and for the dear lady at Panera who reminded me. I hope she has a granddaughter.