Her Royal Highness of Pastry Land
Last night I dug into my decades-old Ziploc bag looking for more baby photos to use on my sidebar. I spent upwards of two hours browsing and scanning what seemed to be millions of old memories from around 25-30 years ago (yikes), and became surprisingly sentimental over the whole deal. Being a young kid in the 1970’s was the best!
Case in Point #1:
Simplicity. Look how happy, albeit hot and sweaty, I am in this picture. Just chillin’ with my Aunt Jemima bandana on a hot summer day while my dad waters the lawn. I wonder how long I spun around on that dorky sit-and-spin. Probably all freaking day long. Would kids these days be content on a plastic spinny-thing all day? I think not. Now, it’s all about the over-stimulating video games or driving a battery-operated mini-Hummer. Crazy, I tell ya. Bring back the sit-and-spin!
Case in Point #2:
McDonalds birthday parties. Oh, how joyous! Eating our cheeseburgers and fries while shooting the shit. Hell yes. Not concerned that some crystal meth freak might snatch us off the playground. And not once did our parents worry about us catching the Avian Flu while jumping around in the colored balls. Good times.
Case in Point #3:
In the 1970’s, you were forced to use your imagination. First of all, check out my thrilling tea party. I don’t remember who that little boy is, but he appears to be having a mighty fine time. Actually, he looks a little constipated and/or scared. Whatever. What a hostess- I particularly enjoy the way my arm is resting on the chair, like I am posing for Town and Country magazine.
Whoorl enjoys a lovely afternoon of tea and crumpets in her fine Oklahoma home.
Ok, that isn’t the reason I posted this photo. I truly believed with all of my heart that a miniature pastry queen lived in the top of my yellow ruffled curtains. Her specialty was blueberry pie, but she also made all sorts of fruit tarts and pastries. When I would have friends over, I would sit them down on the bed and tell them about my pastry queen. Then I would hand them an invisible pastry and promise that if they squeezed their eyes shut really tight, they could taste her amazing pies. Their faces would light up and they would yell out “I taste it! I taste it!” I would just nod, knowing that I was the luckiest girl to have a miniature pastry queen living in my curtains.
Call me bonkers, but I really could taste those pies. They were damn good.