.png)
Our Ears Are Wide Open! We Need & Hear Your Voice(s)
- Camp Goldston Publishing, LLC
- 16 hours ago
- 6 min read
Remembrances
Family Memories
When I was a little guy, my Father used to take me to taverns on Saturday, and I would dance, and people would give me tips, and I never got the money 💰😞
My brother, Donald Crossley, and I were on a Jeopardy Bible Team. We won first place two years in a row! Both years, the grand prize was a week at a sleep-away camp in Wisconsin.
Jitney Cabs with My Mama
Boy oh boy!! I remember the Jitney Cabs on King Dr. (originally South Park Boulevard). A story in particular comes to mind. After shopping on 47th & King Dr., my mama would hail a jitney cab. She would hustle her five well-behaved girls in the jitney and proceed to bargain with the driver. He would say, “Ma'am, 25 cents for you and ten cents for each child.” Mama would counter with “25 cents for me and 5cents for each child.” I remember the driver stopped the cab and told my mama to get out and take her noisy a** kids out of his cab. My mama said some words I didn’t understand in a low voice that sounded like a growl. The driver mumbled something and agreed to take us to 63rd Street for 35 cents. Hmmm. I never questioned my mama, but she certainly had a way with words! Always an experience taking a jJtney with my mama.
Collecting Empty Coke Bottles
Taking empty Coke bottles to the store to exchange for candy and popsicles ...
...and Converse All Stars.
I asked my Mom for $15.00 to buy them from the Army Surplus store on 63rd and Cottage. She told me to go to Thom McCann and buy some $3.00 PF Flyers because she only spent that kind of money on my dress shoes for church. I delivered groceries, took back pop bottles, and delivered papers to get those shoes. Black low cut like the Celtics. I couldn't play that well, but I looked the part.
Memories with Nature and Critters
Chasing lizards in my backyard, and trying to convince them to sit with my dog and me as we reenacted the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!
Fall in the Chatham neighborhood of Chicago. The crunch of leaves under my feet, wool pleated skirts, and knee socks, the beautiful smell of burning leaves.
We used to climb the neighbor’s apple tree to get the apples at the top of the tree. One day, too many of us were out of the limbs and broke off a large part of the tree. You can imagine the consequences
My cousin and I used to explore some caves in the bluffs that bordered a nice, flowing creek. Now, since this week and 60 years later, while we're walking the area and reminiscing, he humbly lets me know that he now owns this several-acre spread and beyond where we played. My heart nearly burst. I was so surprised and so happy for him.
Smells!
One of my earliest, 3-4 years old, memories is a smell. I wore the ankle-high, white, lace-up Buster Brown shoes, longer than most children. (They said my ankles were tiny and needed the support longer?).
My Mother would polish them with the liquid white polish. She heated the oven, opened the door, and set my shoes on the extended open door of the oven to dry (as she did to rise bread dough). I remember the smell of heated leather.
The next time I remembered that smell was when I rode my Granddaddy's old mare. The warm leather of the saddle. That mare was so gentle that they set the children on her, and she just walked around my uncle's house and came back to the starting point. All the grownups sat on my Grandparents' long front porch across the street and watched.
As a teen, I started riding my uncle's Tennessee Walkers. Again, I enjoyed the smell of warm leather. My uncle sat on that porch and watched me as I struggled with a horse that had run wild and free all winter in the pasture land. He was 17 hands high, and I had to hit the back of his front legs so he would stretch out and lower himself so I could mount. He threw me and would reach around and act like he would bite me. He even put his mouth around my thigh once as I mounted him and looked up at me. I ask him, “Please don’t do that,” and “No, please.” He didn’t bite me. After that, I rode in a large circle and eventually got the wild out of him. I worked until I got him into that beautiful gait these horses have. My uncle was so pleased to see that gait again.
My cousin, Billy, removed the saddle. I could smell the warm leather as we silently brushed and cleaned that beautiful walker.
At Home
No school shut-downs in the snow in Cleveland, so we had to walk to school in knee-high weather. No hoods, gloves, boots, or scarves. No pants either. All dresses.
Watching Cartoons on TV on Saturday mornings with the neighborhood kids. There was only 1 TV, so we all had to sit on the floor and watch together. Also, I was so excited in the early sixties when I got my first poodle skirt!
I remember when the price of sodas went up to seven cents. My parents were upset about it, and so was I.🙁🤣
Those were the good old days!😊🙌🏼
Coming of Realization
6 years old. My aunt lived on Irvine near UNA. I was outside and saw a baton randomly soaring above the fence in the backyard across the street. I snuck across to have a look. I peered through the fence to see a gorgeous black boy twirling and high-kicking with such beauty that I couldn't believe it. I was, of course, too young to know my sexuality, but I knew I connected with this person on a level where I felt community with him. I wasn't drawn to "normal" boy stuff (football and such). Seeing this beautiful black star doing this "not normal" for boys thing, not just carefree, but with purposeful drive. He meant what he was doing and didn't need approval. I got all of this in quick moments of just seeing him shining.
Through the years, I have watched this star with quite amazement. His lack of fear scared me at first, but taught me later. I learned to be me. Terry Shelby and those I have met like him are my true heroes. Love you, Bronzie De'Marco.*
Garden Spices has been infused with your generous stories - some funny, and all unforgettable. Thank you. Our next issue's theme is "Comfort." Immediately, the songs, Arms of an Angel and Angels Watching Over Me come to mind. How do you settle into comfort during the rocky waters of perception and reality?
Garden Spices invites you to join our family of contributors. If you are a creator through writing, artistry, cooking, designing, or photography, submit to campgoldston@gmail.com. Our next issue is on January 4th. Our deadline is December 20th, and our gate is open.
People ask how to subscribe or support us. PLEASE SEE BELOW
WE WELCOME YOUR SUPPORT!
Garden Spices has a host of generous contributors who share their talents. Since 2014, Camp Goldston has been publishing this magazine free of charge and without advertisements. We have maintained the integrity of our mission and hope to preserve the beauty of this “garden.”However, now we need your help.
Countless hours have been spent bringing you the finished product of Garden Spices. If you enjoy reading or browsing this magazine, please DONATE or join our Patreon page to support Garden Spices. Camp Goldston will contribute 10 % of your membership support to a designated charity. It’s easy; click the link:
Please Support the Garden – DONATE or become a PATREON member :
Thank you for your generosity and support,
Vicki Goldston
CEO,
CAMP GOLDSTON PUBLISHING, LLC
Founder, Editor-in-Chief
GARDEN SPICES MAGAZINE
*Terry Shelby (Bronzie Dr'Marco) is a celebrated Guest Contributor of Garden Spices, and his image is featured on this page.
Comments