I mentioned in a previous post that across the street from our house, a school had been built. It was a typical early 70’s design, single story and sprawling, dark brown with orange doors. Stylish! It has a green belt in front of the school with pine trees dotted across the lawn. These trees are very mature now and probably 50′ high or more. The kindergarten playground was slightly kitty corner to our house, more in front of the next door neighbors’ and had Wizard of Oz themed swing sets. The Scarecrow always creeped me out a little because his metal mouth gaped open in a big, toothless grin that suggested a doorway to hell instead of an opening for brain insertion. Yikes!
So, our next door neighbors – who have long since moved away – were the only family on the block with older kids. While most of the families had young children, these people had teenagers. They had muscle cars in the driveway whose engines were tinkered with endlessly by the older boy and his buddies. They had skanky friends who loitered out front and on the grass of the green belt at the school. They would sit under the trees at night and talk about the universal subjects teenagers discuss – the opposite sex, sex, music, cars and school. I assume. I was only around 7. I wasn’t even invited to these kinds of parties when I was a teenager, so I am really stretching here.
One evening, I heard my dad grumbling about the teenagers huddled under the trees across the street. Remember, I was about 7 when I heard this. “grumble grumble…having a doggone pot party over there!” is all I heard (and it likely wasn’t “doggone” I heard, either). We were probably getting ready for dinner since I remember sitting at the counter in a barstool at the time I heard that. My simple mind contemplated what a pot party would be… Take yourself back…you are 7 years old…your dad has just said something intriguing…
Cue harp music that is overused in TV shows to indicate a dream sequence…
Girl in peasant blouse and bell bottoms holds goldenrod colored saucepan in one hand. “Tracy, I don’t like this pot, give me yours.”
Second girl in Hang Loose tee shirt and cut offs holds avacado green colored double-boiler in her lap. “No way, Jeannie, I brought this one and I have to take it back ho-ome.”
Third girl in tube top and red polyester pants sighs in frustration. “Jeeze you guys, we came here to share our pots, now don’t be selfish Tracy! Pass the pot!”
Fade back into present with obnoxious harp music.
They weren’t really having a Pampered Chef party, were they?