by Whenever I ran into the kitchen looking for a bologna sandwich and some Kool-Aid Mom was ready with the pitcher. The 101 Strings Orchestra played on a living room stereo assaulting my ears with the most boring music on the planet. “Don’t you lose that cup!” I was warned just before bolting out the screen door to the safe haven of sun and lawn. When the smells of freshly mown lawns and distant whiffs of lilac and honeysuckle floated past I sat in the shade with my Kool-Aid waiting for something monumental to happen. Little did I know then that it was already happening: birds were singing, dogs were barking, and the girls across the street were singing out jump rope cadences. Though no world-shaking events happened while I waited, I was reveling in the gentle noises of summer.
On the street in bright sunlight, the day felt as if it was already etched in time, meant to last forever. Most of the neighborhood moms made flavored Popsicles using those old Tupperware Popsicle molds. They filled them up with Kool-Aid, and once frozen, we had wonderful taste treats. Inside the house was Mom and Dad’s domain, and I often find myself thinking about them. On the occasions that I fell off my bike Mom was always there with the Band-Aids, or gauze and tape for the bigger injuries. She often told me stories from her past, and teased me by turning up the songs on the radio that I thought were old-folks songs.
And now, sixty years later, Mom and Dad’s old music is now among the most enjoyable for me. Crisp piano notes, a lilting of singers, and gilded orchestral strings evoke for me strong memories of home. The living room, the smell of cooking in the kitchen and daylight filtering in through the window come to life with Mom’s old fogy music. The 101 Strings Orchestra played on a living room stereo assaulting my ears with the most boring music on the planet. Now they are among the most beautiful sounds I can think of. That music, along with Dad’s country favorites, is a catalog of dreams, and the heartbeat of beautiful days gone by.
