Dreams of Snow Cream
by Ed Bremson
Copyright 2010 by Ed Bremson
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This book is dedicated to my two grandfathers, Pa Pa and Pop, both of whom valued my mind and sought to stimulate it.
A Smashwords Edition
Snow Cream
Out on the back porch
a pot full of snow
waiting for mother
to bring it inside,
stir in her magic,
serve up
a cold wet creamy
bowl full of love.
For my family, snow was complicated.
Mother said
you weren’t supposed to eat
the first snow of the year.
I don’t know where she got that notion –
maybe it was like many things:
passed down generation
to generation unquestioned
until the reason has been forgotten
and only the dictum remains.
Maybe her father read it
in the Farmer’s Almanac
and passed it on to her.
It sounds like something
he might do, God love him.
Maybe it had something to do
with living in the Nuclear Age.
Maybe it was an old wives’ tale,
or just plain superstition.
Anyway, if we couldn’t eat
the first snow of the year,
that limited the amount
of snow cream we could make,
because when I was young
it did not snow very often
in North Carolina,
and if it did, it often
didn’t amount to much. But,
one night long ago
it snowed, and the next day
mother made snow cream
Bread pudding
was not as complicated
as snow cream.
You were supposed
to use stale bread,
of course,
but mother was
much more willing
to break that rule
than she was
to break the rule
about the first snow,
so we had bread pudding
all the time,
but not so often
that we got tired of it.
And,
bread pudding
always a treat
warm from the oven
Johnny’s Supper Club
New Year’s Eve
when I was three
happy
and singing
on the stage
with the band
the drums
bright lights
microphone
happy people
clapping
happy New Year
Pop carried
a tiny, brown,
wooden Buddha
in his pocket
for good luck.
When I was little,
he took it out sometimes,
held it out to me,
and told me
“Rub the belly
of BOO-dah”
So I gently
rubbed the belly
of BOO-dah,
grinning ear to ear.
I was a lucky boy.
When Fleetwood Coffee
had a contest
to name the Fleetwood deer,
Pop thought a good name
would be Fleetfoot.
He asked me
what I thought.
I was maybe four.
All I knew was
that I loved Pop,
and he loved me,
and yes, I thought
it was a good idea.
Pop sent that name
into the contest.
Sadly we did not win.
But now,
sixty years later,
I still think Fleetfoot
was a good idea,
and man,
I still love Pop.
Pop asked me
if I thought I could sell
some Christmas cards,
and of course I said yes,
so he sent away for them,
and soon they came
in the mail,
and Christmas came
and went, but I
didn’t sell any cards,
and somehow
they had to be paid for,
they were not free,
and Daddy was not happy
about the Christmas card idea,
so I guess Pop and I
got in a little trouble,
but it wasn’t bad,
and it didn’t last long,
but Pop and I
didn’t send away
for anything else
after that.
Wearing
shorts when
I was four
stepping
down
from the bus
hit
my leg
on the door
noticed
a brown patch
near my shin
wondered
if I got it
from the door
heard
mother say
it’s a birthmark
wondered
why I’d never
seen it before
mother got a large horseradish
and she tried to grind it
but each time she gave
the handle a turn or two
the result
was such a pungent smell
that we both
ran out the back door
into the yard,
crying, coughing,
and laughing.
after the horseradish
a trip to Dairy Queen
chocolate ice cream
in the pool
at the old, old YMCA
the screaming
scurrying
laughing
splashing
din of
naked boys
at the new YMCA
old Jewish men
smoking pipes and playing chess
Nags Head
vacation rental
dark, dirty, dilapidated
what’s that smell?
let’s try again
a new house, clean, cinderblock
painted sky blue
on the beach
old, wrecked wooden boat
driftwood everywhere
I was six
so sweet, eating Frosted Flakes
straight from the box
mother
explaining to me
why
a quarter hour
is fifteen minutes
not twenty-five
one day in the bathroom
calling mother
but not saying her name,
humming it instead,
using the same tones
I would have normally used,
MMM-mmm, MMM-mmm,
thinking that she would
respond to the tones
through the walls and doors
as well as she would
respond to the words spoken,
and I was right,
soon she heard me
and came to find me
because we both understood
each other’s languages.
At the movies with mother,
two vivid memories:
watching a preview,
Tennessee Williams,
a rose, tattooed on the chest
of a beautiful woman;
much later, going to see
The Day the World Ended
and the monsters
a family meal –
a can of salmon,
bones and all, but no skin
and onion sandwiches
with mayonnaise,
vinegar, and pepper
don’t forget
the iced tea
the way mother made it
when I was young I liked to eat–
Beefaroni,
with chocolate milk,
and a relish sandwich
banana sandwiches
with mayonnaise
tomato sandwiches
with mayonnaise,
a little salt and pepper