Cold and Sweet

In these dog days of summer, it’s not unusual that I pull into a fast-food restaurant and order a cold milkshake—just a small one to cool me down. But when I was growing up, that’s not how we beat the heat.

Back in the late 60s and early 70s, it was rare for Mom to let me walk to the 7-Eleven with my older brother, Andy, and sister, Audrey, but it did happen every now and then. The whole time we were heading out the door, Mom would be warning my siblings to hold my little hand and not let me out of their sight. For the record: I never got lost.

The walk took about 15 minutes from our home on Arnold Blvd., and in the summertime, we made that trip barefoot, occasionally walking on the edge of grassy lawns so the soles of our feet wouldn’t get too scorched. The store sat in a storefront facing Pleasant Hill Road. Sometimes our neighbor got to come along, too. Debbie Watson was my sister’s age and lived behind us. There was a ladder along the fence line so she could climb over to visit us, and my sister could climb over to visit her. That’s just how it was done back then.

But the big memory is what we bought when we got to the 7-Eleven: Icees! Do you remember Icees? Because I sure do. Carbonated frozen beverages—water, carbon dioxide and flavoring—and you sucked that flavored ice up through a straw from a red and blue cup. Good times!

Somewhere in the 70s, Icees became Slurpees after 7-Eleven struck a deal with the Icee folks, and the clerk behind the counter dispensed them after counting out our change to make sure we had enough for the purchase. Cherry and Coca-Cola flavors came first, then orange, grape, lime and banana. I don’t remember the quirky novelty names, but apparently the marketing department eventually dreamed up flavors called Pink Fink, Redeye, Moonshine, Kissin’ Cousin, Gully Washer, Sticky Icky, and Fulla-Bulla.

We slurped our Icees and Slurpees all the way home in that Middle Georgia heat, and by today’s standards, I guess that sounds a bit boring. But let me tell you: It was big time. I loved it so much that I’ve never forgotten those little foot trips.

When I was a teenager, Mom, my sister Audrey, and I learned to make homemade popsicles out of Kool-Aid, an ice tray and wooden popsicle sticks. Those were a big hit around our house, too. They waited in the freezer part of our refrigerator until we were so hot and worn out we felt we’d surely die without a frozen treat on a stick. Cherry was our favorite, though the lemonade ones were mighty fine, too.

And since we’re traveling down memory lane, I’ll mention homemade ice cream. Every now and then, we’d pull out an old hand-crank churn. Mom would mix the concoction using cream, milk, sugar and vanilla extract, and we’d pack ice and rock salt around the container. We’d take turns sitting on top of that churn on a thick towel—so as not to have our rear-ends go numb—while everybody cranked. At first it turns easy. But when the ice cream starts to get thick, it takes a little muscle to crank, and that’s when continued from page

it gets exciting. We always wanted to eat it right away, but Mom made us keep cranking for a while.

I loved the vanilla, made with plenty of pure Watkins vanilla extract, but when the Middle Georgia peaches came ripe, that peach ice cream—well, there’s nothing like it. I pity folks who’ve never tasted freshly churned homemade ice cream—all natural, and some of the most delicious, sweet, cold desserts you will ever put in your mouth.

So yes, these days I settle for a drive-thru milkshake, handed to me through a window by someone who doesn’t even make eye contact with me. It does the job. But it’ll never taste quite like an Icee or Slurpee sipped barefoot on the walk home, or a Kool-Aid popsicle on a day I thought I’d melt, or that first spoonful of peach ice cream I helped crank. Some things just taste better with a little sweat and a lot of memory in them.