| General Non-Fiction posted September 23, 2021 |
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Decisions, decisions...
Here's the Scoop
by Mama Baer
Dedicated to my sister, whose calm influence and knack for no regrets inspires me still.
Though two years younger, my sister exhibited tranquil decisiveness far and above my own. "Bubblegum," she confidently stated in response to dad's what-kind-would-you-like question on frequent ice cream outings. It took five minutes tops even if we caught both stoplights red for our metallic blue Pontiac wagon to deliver us from our driveway to the Baskin-Robbins parking lot.
As children of the '60s, treats were not a DoorDash away nor were Ben & Jerry cartons available at local markets. So, when Dad declared it the perfect time for ice cream, we squealed with delight. His declarations usually followed long Saturday chores in our modest suburban yard.
On competitive days we became sisters-turned-contenders in self-induced contests to see who could inch their way fastest along the yard where warm summer grass met the hot rough sidewalk. Down on all fours yet balanced on left hands, we gripped, released, and gripped again to power guillotine-like shears, felling tall blades that escaped Dad's push mower swath. Golden hour sun rays shone on shorn sod, our tired family, and made Dad’s announcement all the sweeter. Like clockwork, my little sister and I grabbed silver car door handles with aching right hands in excited anticipation.
The moment dad pushed the steering wheel lever to Reverse, my elation turned to contemplation, then frustration, and before we were in Drive had plummeted to panic. Six blocks were far too short to mull over thirty-one flavors!
Dad seemed to enjoy his weekly Pralines & Cream. Mom rarely strayed from Strawberry. I glanced across the seat at my younger sister, her six-year-old grass-stained knees peeked above lime green knee-highs. Her auburn curls calmly framed her cool collected head.
Teri's small feet were first to hit the blacktop. In a hop, skip, and jump, she would relay her order to Dad. I stared at the long list mounted to the wall, pondered Banana Nut Fudge, Vanilla Burnt Almond, and the twenty-nine flavors in between.
Desperate, I turned to my sister, now halfway through her pink creamy treat, and pleaded, "How do you always know what to get?"
"It's easy," she shrugged. Then, behind pursed lips, her tongue wiggled into the growing wad collecting in her mouth. A large pink bubble appeared then popped around her nose. "It's two treats in one!"
I had lunch with Teri the other day. The waiter came for our orders. My sister, now the survivor of breast cancer and two failed marriages yet tranquil as ever, quickly ordered the Waldorf, her favorite. Me? I asked for another minute with the menu.
True Story About You & A Sibling writing prompt entry
Dedicated to my sister, whose calm influence and knack for no regrets inspires me still.
Though two years younger, my sister exhibited tranquil decisiveness far and above my own. "Bubblegum," she confidently stated in response to dad's what-kind-would-you-like question on frequent ice cream outings. It took five minutes tops even if we caught both stoplights red for our metallic blue Pontiac wagon to deliver us from our driveway to the Baskin-Robbins parking lot.
As children of the '60s, treats were not a DoorDash away nor were Ben & Jerry cartons available at local markets. So, when Dad declared it the perfect time for ice cream, we squealed with delight. His declarations usually followed long Saturday chores in our modest suburban yard.
On competitive days we became sisters-turned-contenders in self-induced contests to see who could inch their way fastest along the yard where warm summer grass met the hot rough sidewalk. Down on all fours yet balanced on left hands, we gripped, released, and gripped again to power guillotine-like shears, felling tall blades that escaped Dad's push mower swath. Golden hour sun rays shone on shorn sod, our tired family, and made Dad’s announcement all the sweeter. Like clockwork, my little sister and I grabbed silver car door handles with aching right hands in excited anticipation.
The moment dad pushed the steering wheel lever to Reverse, my elation turned to contemplation, then frustration, and before we were in Drive had plummeted to panic. Six blocks were far too short to mull over thirty-one flavors!
Dad seemed to enjoy his weekly Pralines & Cream. Mom rarely strayed from Strawberry. I glanced across the seat at my younger sister, her six-year-old grass-stained knees peeked above lime green knee-highs. Her auburn curls calmly framed her cool collected head.
Teri's small feet were first to hit the blacktop. In a hop, skip, and jump, she would relay her order to Dad. I stared at the long list mounted to the wall, pondered Banana Nut Fudge, Vanilla Burnt Almond, and the twenty-nine flavors in between.
Desperate, I turned to my sister, now halfway through her pink creamy treat, and pleaded, "How do you always know what to get?"
"It's easy," she shrugged. Then, behind pursed lips, her tongue wiggled into the growing wad collecting in her mouth. A large pink bubble appeared then popped around her nose. "It's two treats in one!"
I had lunch with Teri the other day. The waiter came for our orders. My sister, now the survivor of breast cancer and two failed marriages yet tranquil as ever, quickly ordered the Waldorf, her favorite. Me? I asked for another minute with the menu.
Though two years younger, my sister exhibited tranquil decisiveness far and above my own. "Bubblegum," she confidently stated in response to dad's what-kind-would-you-like question on frequent ice cream outings. It took five minutes tops even if we caught both stoplights red for our metallic blue Pontiac wagon to deliver us from our driveway to the Baskin-Robbins parking lot.
As children of the '60s, treats were not a DoorDash away nor were Ben & Jerry cartons available at local markets. So, when Dad declared it the perfect time for ice cream, we squealed with delight. His declarations usually followed long Saturday chores in our modest suburban yard.
On competitive days we became sisters-turned-contenders in self-induced contests to see who could inch their way fastest along the yard where warm summer grass met the hot rough sidewalk. Down on all fours yet balanced on left hands, we gripped, released, and gripped again to power guillotine-like shears, felling tall blades that escaped Dad's push mower swath. Golden hour sun rays shone on shorn sod, our tired family, and made Dad’s announcement all the sweeter. Like clockwork, my little sister and I grabbed silver car door handles with aching right hands in excited anticipation.
The moment dad pushed the steering wheel lever to Reverse, my elation turned to contemplation, then frustration, and before we were in Drive had plummeted to panic. Six blocks were far too short to mull over thirty-one flavors!
Dad seemed to enjoy his weekly Pralines & Cream. Mom rarely strayed from Strawberry. I glanced across the seat at my younger sister, her six-year-old grass-stained knees peeked above lime green knee-highs. Her auburn curls calmly framed her cool collected head.
Teri's small feet were first to hit the blacktop. In a hop, skip, and jump, she would relay her order to Dad. I stared at the long list mounted to the wall, pondered Banana Nut Fudge, Vanilla Burnt Almond, and the twenty-nine flavors in between.
Desperate, I turned to my sister, now halfway through her pink creamy treat, and pleaded, "How do you always know what to get?"
"It's easy," she shrugged. Then, behind pursed lips, her tongue wiggled into the growing wad collecting in her mouth. A large pink bubble appeared then popped around her nose. "It's two treats in one!"
I had lunch with Teri the other day. The waiter came for our orders. My sister, now the survivor of breast cancer and two failed marriages yet tranquil as ever, quickly ordered the Waldorf, her favorite. Me? I asked for another minute with the menu.
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Writing Prompt Read All Rules Write a true family story about you and one of your siblings. Use 1 picture and 1 color font. Picture cannot have words, music, or animation with it. Your story should be between 300-400 words in length. A dedication line may be added which will not count towards word length. Two videos (with music) may be included in author notes. |
 Recognized |
With Libra's blood coursing through my veins, I agonize over decisions, carefully weighing all options. Because I "pro" and "con" lengthy lists, I appreciate the influence of my calm sister. As a young playmate, she went the easier route: stick with something you like and enjoy it!
Enjoy this vintage ad for Baskin-Robbins:
Also, a quiz: "What Ben & Jerry's Flavor Are You?"
https://www.benjerry.com/whats-new/2016/what-flavor-are-you
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Enjoy this vintage ad for Baskin-Robbins:
Also, a quiz: "What Ben & Jerry's Flavor Are You?"
https://www.benjerry.com/whats-new/2016/what-flavor-are-you
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