My Mind

My Mind
This is my mind

Monday, March 26, 2012


‎"Hey! Rickey! You going?!"
I was busy chasing a bottle green June bug to tie on a string when I heard Clyde call out.
"Huh!" I answered.
"Come on! We're fixin' to leave. Grab the handle and help me carry this tub to the trunk," he said pointing to the handle on the opposite side. "Can you reach this one too?"
I gave it my best and reached around. I did it.
"Hey, alright. Carry that to the back of the car. I'll get the trunk and you can lift it in."
"I thought I was going to help you carry..."
"Yeah but you are doing such a good job. Here let me get the trunk." Clyde turned the key and opened it. I struggled with the washtub until it was in the back. Clyde slammed it shut.
"We're ready!" he shouted.
"Shotgun!" he shouted scurrying to the passenger side.
"Shot..." I said a fraction too late and shambled to hop in the backseat as he held the seat up for me to crawl in.
"Wait. Where are we going?" I asked.
"We're going to get ice and salt. You're going to help churn some ice cream." Granddad opened the door and slid into the seat behind the steering wheel. "Everybody ready?"
Slam! Slam!
"Yessir!" we sounded out. Clyde rolled down his window as granddad cranked the car. He shoved it into reverse and we were on our way. The wind blew back through the window into the back and my face. It was refreshing because the day was a dead still hot one. We drove across the Wappoo Cut Bridge and then over the Ashley River Bridge and up Cannon St to Rutledge then left to Spring Street. The traffic wasn't bad and we pulled up to the ice house on the right. Granddad got out and went to the ledge. "How about cut me a block of ice and I'll take some of that rock salt too," he said to the man on the dock.
Clyde ran around to the trunk and got the washtub, which he carried over to the man chipping away at the ice. His pick stabbed accurately cleaving a block of ice just big enough for our tub. He lifted it with his tongs and dropped it into the carrier with a loud crack.
"Want a couple of chips to suck on boys?" He asked Clyde and me. We nodded our heads yes and he knelt next to the ice and whacked it a couple of times with the ice pick and several slivers popped off.
"Thanks," we said together. He nodded then took granddad's money as he handed him the carton of salt.
"Alright boys," granddad said, "let's get that tub into the trunk."
This time Clyde took one handle and I took the other. We carried it, Clyde lifted high. I was struggling with the weight sliding toward me. With all my might I helped heave it into the trunk.
"Shotgun!" Clyde yelled a split second before I was remembered to shout it. Frustrated I climbed into the back again as a smiling Clyde pushed the front seat back into the upright position and climbed in.
The ride back was halted for a while as the Wappoo Cut Bridge opened. Granddad stopped and switched off the engine while Clyde and I piled out of the car to watch the boat plow through the water. It slid past the bridge supports in the shadow of the bridge. We ran up to the other side of the bridge to get a closer look and waved at the pilot. He waved back. As the two halves of the roadway began to settle back into position, we ran back to the car as fast as we could.
"Shotgun!" Clyde yelled.
Once again I forgot. When the guardrails lifted to attention along the side of the bridge we began our journey back to the house and the churn.
"What kind of ice cream are we gonna make?" I asked.
"Peach!" said Clyde. "Peach?" I mumbled.
"Why not chocolate?" I mumbled to myself.
"We forgot our icicles the man chipped for us!" we both said together.
"Who's gonna chip ice with the ice pick?" asked granddad.
"I am!" we said.
Granddad smiled at us as he slipped into the driveway and brought the car to a halt. "Well, be careful and don't hurt your self doing it."

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