I woke up in bed next to my sister. I knew it was early, but not too early for my grandparents, so I slid out of bed and went to find them. I found them right where I thought they'd be, sitting on their back patio. There sat Grandpa with his plaid shirt, dark pants, and muddy garden boots, with his straw hat atop his head. Beside him was Grandma, with her lace-up Kmart "keds," flowered polyester shirt, and hair in rollers. They had been up for a few hours, getting a jump start with their day, like they had for decades. There was work to be done; it was the 4th of July. We no longer lived in the Salt Lake Valley, and had moved to the desert. It had become a tradition that we return home every summer. Dad's parents lived in Salina, Utah, and Mom's parents lived in Cedar City, Utah. I looked forward to these trips every year, especially to Salina.
Salina is a little town, smack dab in the center of Utah. There was one grocery store, and one major intersection with a stop sign at Main and State Streets. There were, however, two drive-ins (not movie theaters, but "restaurants") where we could get an ironport or a lime rickey. There was a city pool, that we never went to, no matter how hot it got. The highlight of Salina, hands down, was the 5 & 10 right on Main Street. We would save up our money before our trips, and go to the 5 & 10 every day, sometimes more than once each day. When we'd run out of money, Grandma would dig into her coin wallet and pull out a few coins for each of us to have, so we could rot our teeth out from the penny candy sold at the 5 & 10. Another highlight was the dump. Before trash service came to Salina, everyone would haul their garbage to the dump. Grandpa would go daily, not just to dump his garbage, but also to sift through others' trash and salvage anything useful. I can still smell the smoke from the burning garbage that had been pushed off the hill and set on fire.
Grandpa's garden had been plentiful this year. He had spent the months before now tenderly planting, watering, and weeding his lot. We planned our trips just right so that we could take advantage of the fruits of his labor. Grandpa had already been out in the garden and had picked two buckets of peas. There he and Grandma sat, shelling peas. I joined in to help. I'm not sure how many peas made it into the bucket, probably not too many, because they wound up in my mouth. After we were done with the peas, we ate breakfast (with the rest of the family who had finally woken up). Our breakfast consisted of hotcakes that Grandma made. Grandma was a good cook; she always made sure that things were well-done, including the hotcakes, that she had mixed by hand with her metal beaters while I added the "magic" pancake mix that she kept in a canister.
After breakfast we cleaned up, this involved each of us taking a turn in the small bathroom at the house. There was only a tub, so this process took a little while for all 6 of us to have our turn. I talked my parents into letting me, my sister, and my brother walk down to the 5 & 10 so we could get some swedish fish and other candies. When we returned, I found Grandpa in his workshed. He was busily building a scooter made out of various parts he had found at the dump. It was time for lunch which consisted of bread and cheese. We knew that we'd have a good meal after the parade, so we ate lightly. After eating, the kids each picked out a butter container that Grandma had saved. With our containers in hand, we walked through the neighbor's lot and flower shop to our reserved seating for the parade. Grandpa and Grandma had connections; they were able to set up chairs in the morning just outside the flower shop, where we could have perfect seats for the parade. It really didn't matter that us kids had perfect seats, because we were on our feet eager to get any handout. Grandma's brothers, Dick and Jay joined in with us, along with their kids and grandkids.
After waiting a while, the parade finally started. The highlight of the parade was the salt water taffy that was thrown from the floats. Us kids would eagerly run into the street to get the taffy, tootsie rolls, and other candies that were thrown our way. Grandpa always looked out for us, and pointed out any candy that we missed. He also helped to fill our containers. There were a couple of times that he would nudge another child away from candy he had spotted, just so we could get the candy. A Coke truck drove past, throwing Coke water bottles. Grandpa and Dad each caught a bottle and gave it to us kids. We saw the beauty queens from the various towns and counties. At the end of the parade, we heard the song that (now) always reminds me of the 4th of July - "God Bless America," by Lee Greenwood. My mom stood up and sang her heart out to the song. As the parade ended, we waited for the floats to pass, and then walked along the ditches, checking for any missed candy.
We walked back to Grandma's on 2nd East and set up for the picnic. Grandma had made her famously delicious macaroni salad with tuna (which she called chicken), peas, and cheese. Alongside the macaroni was the pistachio salad with pineapple and marshmallows. There was bread and cheese to accompany the salads. I have since tried to make the macaroni salad and it just isn't as good as Grandma's. We also had some corn and cantaloupe from the garden. The fresh food was delicious. This was our 4th of July food. It always was.
After dinner, we played outside with the poppers (the little firecracker things that you throw to the ground and they pop) and bouncy balls. We also went into the garden a few times to pick more peas. We loved it when Grandma came out with the creamsicles and milk nickels. Throughout the day, Grandpa had been busily snapping our pictures, like we were the most important people to him, and he wanted to capture us on Polaroid film. As the sun began to set, we piled into Grandpa's truck. It was a truck, so there wasn't room inside the cab for more than three people (reserved for Grandpa, Grandma (so her hair wouldn't get messed up), and Mom). We started our ride, a nightly tradition when visiting Salina. We first stopped at Jan's drive-in and ordered our drinks, Grandma and Grandpa shared a Pepsi without ice. Us kids ordered the novelty - ironports. We drove around Salina, with Grandpa's good 'ol country music playing. From the back of the truck, us kids continued with the poppers, throwing them at anything we could. We messed with the wrong dog, who started following us, ferociously barking. Grandpa yelled out the window, "Get out of here, you big ugly!" We eventually made it back to the house, with our popper supply depleted.
We noticed there began to be a chill in the air, as we sat out front, waiting for the rodeo to finish, so the fireworks would start. There was a rodeo every 4th of July. We never went to one, but could hear it from the house. We heard the fire engine sound off like it does every night at 10:00. We gathered on the driveway, and lit our fireworks. The sparklers danced in the dark, and the tanks sputtered along the concrete. By the time we heard the first "Boom!" we were wrapped up in brown army blankets, standing at the end of the driveway, "oohing and aahing". We loved the fireworks, even if they started late. It had been quite a fun day, celebrating the Salina-way.
*******
This year as I laid in bed thinking of the 4th of July, my mind drifted to 20 years ago and how we celebrated the 4th of July when I was a kid. Tears came to my eyes as I realized that that is how it's supposed to be celebrated and that it's not going to happen again now that I have grown up, and now that Grandpa and Grandma have passed away. In my mind, that was the best of times and could not have gotten any better (well, maybe if we had gone to the rodeo or if I could have had an extra creamsicle). I miss the simpleness of it all. I miss how we could just walk down the street two houses and be there at the parade, where our seat remained empty for us. I miss how Grandpa would do anything for us, whether it be snatching taffy, or whether it was pushing us around in a wheelbarrow. I miss Grandma's simple cooking. I miss fireworks. It was good times, and I hope that I can always remember the good 'ol days.
No comments:
Post a Comment