Bubble Gum and Pineapple Crush Memories

Back in the early ’70s, I lived with my dad and two older sisters in Inglewood, CA in a little 2-bedroom, 1-bathroom house. My dad had the big front bedroom and my sisters and I were squeezed into the smaller back bedroom. The house was right under the flight path for LAX, and boy those jet planes were loud going overhead.

On the other side of our street, half a block down, was a little corner grocery store. A family of Mexican heritage owned the store and they made these fantastic tamales that we’d sometimes pick up for dinner. My dad loved tamales.

The store also sold the usual small grocery stuff, including soda, candy, and bubblegum. I certainly ate my share of candy (3 Musketeers was a favorite), but I was more often down there for a bottle of Crush and a supply of bubblegum.

Rather than the typical Bazooka Joe flat rectangle, I bought Double Bubble bubblegum, which was cylindrical and wrapped in brightly colored waxed paper that was twisted on the two flat ends. They sold for a penny apiece, and I would always buy 10 of them at a time.

As to the Crush, I was a real connoisseur. This was back when soda came in glass bottles. The Crush bottles were very tall and slender, clear glass so it was easy to tell one flavor from another. The corner store sold Crush in the familiar orange, of course, but also grape, strawberry, and my personal favorite, pineapple. Pineapple wasn’t always available, but if it was, I snapped it up. Second choice was strawberry, third was the classic orange, and I generally avoided the grape.

I’d take my sugary stash of bubblegum and soda back home, then I’d hang out in the living room reading (some Ray Bradbury short stories or maybe a comic book that I’d also picked up at the store). I’d chew one piece of bubblegum after the other, abandoning each one the moment it lost its sweet flavor. I washed all that sugar down with the additional sugar of the Crush. My jaws would ache by the time I’d finished all that gum.

Even though I paid for all that indulgence with cavities and some TMJ issues, it’s such a fond memory. Not just the sugary treats, but the convenience and pleasure of little corner grocery stores like that, set right into the neighborhoods they served. We could walk right to it, get our sugar rush or the night’s dinner, without ever having to climb into a car.

I do miss pineapple Crush and bubblegum, although I don’t dare indulge in either anymore. But maybe it’s not the soda and gum I’m nostalgic for. Maybe it’s the laziness of summer, the wonderful convenience of a corner store, and the joy of finding exactly the flavor I wanted most in the cooler.

Brain-Digital Interface

Sometimes science is stranger–and creepier–than fiction. In my young adult science fiction book, Tankborn, genetically engineered non-humans (GENs) are grown in a tank with circuitry implanted along their nervous systems, including within their brains. An interface installed on their cheek (in the form of a tattoo) allows a trueborn to upload data and programing into a GEN and download the contents of much of their brain.

In the realm of actual science, author Jonathan D. Moreno discusses in his book Mind Wars potential use of using the human brain for military advantage. For instance, he ponders the ethics of using oxytocin to induce a sense of trust and well-being in someone to enhance interrogation. Or the use of an “anti-sleep” pill to allow soldiers to continue fighting without the need for sleep.

But it was the discussion of the brain-digital interface that caught my eye. Science hasn’t advanced to Tankborn’s level of circuitry implanted within a subject’s nervous system. But scientists have already used the brain-digital interface for prosthetic limbs, and there’s even potential to allow paralyzed folks to control robotics with their minds. These are far more positive uses for the technology of interfacing with the brain than in Tankborn’s world.

Moreno proposed two guiding principles for use of the brain-digital interface: “First, the individual should have control over the contents of his or her mind. Second, the individual gets to decide who gets access.” In my fictional world, GENs never have complete control over the contents of their minds, nor do they decide who gets access.

But that’s part of what makes for an interesting story–characters with seemingly insurmountable obstacles (in this case, both physical and mental slavery) who fight against their oppressors. I have to hope that in the real world this type of technology will only be used for the best purposes, and will be beneficial to all.

RTW – Most Memorable Book

Today for Road Trip Wednesday, YA Highway asks, What book brings back memories? There are probably many I could name if I gave it some thought, but the first book that popped into my mind was The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain.

The cover at left I pulled from Goodreads. I searched for my old tattered copy that I read in 1965 but couldn’t find it. Sad to think I might have lost it.

It isn’t the fact that Tom Sawyer is such a fantastic book that makes it memorable to me. It’s the circumstances under which I read it. In the summer of 1965, my dad’s company, TRW, was sending him to Cocoa Beach, Florida for a satellite launch. As an electronic technician, he’d made that trip a number of times, spending a month or so near Cape Kennedy (or it could have been Cape Canaveral back then) helping to ready whatever satellite he was working on for launch into orbit.

That particular year, the summer of ’65, he decided to take his daughters with him. My 12-year-old sister, Debbie, and I (I was 10), got out of school a week early and drove with Dad in his 1955 Ford station wagon. Our 13-year-old sister, Linda, would come later by plane with a friend.

The drive to Florida took five days, with my Dad driving as long as he could until we either stopped at a motel or slept in the car. Along the way, I think in Texas, we stopped at a truck stop where they had books for sale. I’m not sure what it was about The Adventures of Tom Sawyer that caught my eye, but I asked my dad to buy it for me. I then read the book as we drove through Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama on our way to Florida.

As I read Tom Sawyer, I was literally in the world of the book. It seemed like the descriptions took on a new vividness because it felt like I was there with Tom. Later when I read Huckleberry Finn, it was the same (although by then I’d returned home to Southern California). I remembered what it felt like to be in the South and that book, as Tom Sawyer did, became a part of me.

I’ve re-read both books several times (most recently as a Kindle version). Tom Sawyer has never lost its charm. It always pulls me back to our own adventures on the road and that hot, humid summer in Florida.

It’s Getting Pretty Out There

Spring in the Sierra Foothills is a gorgeous time. The weather is perfect and wildflowers like California poppies start covering the hillsides along the freeway.

It’s always a great time for my garden, before the 100 degree days of summer hit and the more tender flowers struggle in the heat. The tulips are gone already, but my other bulbs, mainly irises, start showing off. The purple one to the left has always been my favorite with its big, showy blooms.

This year, Cosmos have made a reappearance in our garden. We have a couple of raised beds that we used for years to grow our peppers and tomatoes in. The last few years, I haven’t been able to grow a veggie in those beds to save my life. I decided to use smaller containers for the peppers and tomatoes (you can see one pot in the upper right corner), and let the flowers take over the raised beds.

Gerbera daisies are another favorite. The flowers are such a vivid red. I also love that they’re perennials. This particular plant has probably been with us for a half-dozen years or more. It got moved and separated, struggled for a year or two, but now is doing beautifully.

One more picture, just because it’s pretty cool. Those are a variety of Cosmos. Rather than flat petals like the others, these are sort of trumpet shaped.

They look a little unworldly. I can imagine them on an alien planet, looking harmless and pretty. Then you get too close and that stem extends, the petals wrap around you and shoot out a venom…

Sorry, I guess a writer’s mind never quite shuts off. Do you have pictures of your own spring garden? Or fall, for those of you in the southern hemisphere. Share a link. I’d love to see them.

Flashback to the ’70s – Vidal Sassoon

I was born and raised in Southern California, in the decidedly blue-collar neighborhoods of Hawthorne and Gardena. Beverly Hills was just a dream, a place my dad would drive us around so we could see the big, beautiful houses.

Then in my teen years, my boyfriend and I, both “starving” students, started hanging out along Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, soaking up the wealthy ambiance. We drooled over gorgeous jewelry in the shop windows and experienced the occasional celebrity sighting. Maybe a few times we scratched together enough money to have lunch at some not-quite-so-pricey place.

From my college ID, circa 1974.

We also started to get our hair cut at Vidal Sassoon’s salon. At that time, you could find a stylist there who was relatively affordable. I had my hair styled by a Japanese-American man named Tanaka (he went by one name). It was maybe $20 for a cut–a lot of money then (and my dad probably got stuck with paying for it), but so worth it. Tanaka was way cute. And I would spot Vidal and Beverly Sassoon at the salon and feel quite glamorous.

Alas, over time, the prices increased and I started to feel kind of scruffy compared to the other very chi-chi clients in the salon. When it got to the point that I couldn’t afford the Sassoon cut, I let my hair grow out and eventually it hung past my waist. But I have very fond memories of Vidal’s salon, how pampered I felt and how much fun Tanaka was to visit with while he styled my hair. I’m sad to hear of Vidal’s death, and sorry to let go of a special part of my teen years.

Do You Know the Title of This Book?

Last night, my husband was doing a little electrical work. We’re getting a new vanity installed in our master bathroom with some fancy granite as a countertop. The new vanity is taller than the old one. The old outlet on one side is so low it would be in the way of the backsplash. Yes, we could have the installer cut the granite to fit the outlet, but we preferred the option of moving the outlet up on the wall.

I bring this up because at one point, my husband was trying to fish wire between those two small holes you see in the photo. There’s insulation inside the wall and sundry other things to block the cable from sliding easily from point A to point B. As he was struggling a bit to get the wire through, a memory popped up in my mind of a book I’d read (and re-read, and re-read) as a child.

I was maybe 8 or 9 when I first read it. Sadly, I can’t remember the title. It was probably published by Scholastic since I bought plenty of books from their school catalog. I hung onto the book for years, loving the story each time I re-read it.

In any case, the story went like this. A boy goes to the local pet shop to buy a pet mouse. But the mice cost more than he has saved up. He spots a mouse in the cage that’s missing its tail. The pet store owner agrees to sell the mouse at a discounted price (which the boy can afford) because of the missing tail. The deal was something like, Well, it’s 3/4 of a mouse, so you can pay me 3/4 of the price.

Thrilled, the boy takes his pet home. This is a particularly clever mouse and the boy manages to teach it to come when he rings a bell. One day he takes the mouse to where his dad, an electrician, is working on wiring a house. The dad is trying to push electrical tape through a conduit. Once the dad has that tape through, he’ll attach the wiring cable to it, then fish the wiring back through the conduit.

But just as the dad has almost got the tricky tape through, the pet mouse gets loose. When the boy reaches out to catch it, he bumps his dad’s arm. Now the tape is hopelessly stuck and Dad has to start over. He’s angry and tells his son he shouldn’t have the mouse at his job site.

The boy gets an idea–attach the tape to the mouse (I think it had a little collar or harness) and let the mouse pull it through the conduit. The boy will ring the bell at the other end to summon the mouse. Of course, the boy’s works, and the boy and the mouse save the day.

Why has that story stuck with me for so many years? I’m not sure, but I suspect it’s because the boy was the one who was the hero. It was his patience and cleverness in teaching the mouse that solved the problem. I remember also thinking how cool it was to have trained the mouse to come when the bell rang. I liked the dad too, who despite the frustration of having his son jostle his arm, gives his son a chance to try his plan.

As a side note, I identified with that little boy and wanted to be him. Even though I was a girl. The fact that all the heroes in books were boys back then didn’t faze me. It never crossed my mind that as a girl I couldn’t be as heroic.

So what childhood books have stuck with you? The ones that your mind returns to at odd times, the ones that still make you smile? Extra special credit if anyone can come up with the title and author of the book I described.

RTW — My YA Buddy IRL

This week’s YA Highway prompt is What IRL people can you talk to about YA? I confess it took some head-scratching to figure out what IRL meant. Yes, I’m an old fogey (hah! how many of you even know the word fogey?) and sometimes I have to look up those Internet acrynyms. For those as fogeyish as me, it means In Real Life.

After figuring that out, it took a little more cogitation to come up with an answer. My hubby might read YA if I told him it was a fab book. He read my book TANKBORN (and even got annoyed with me when I interrupted him while he was reading it), so why not other recommended YA books? Well, you should see this guy’s TBR pile (hah again! see, I do know some Internet acronyms). He’s got books piled everywhere and he often only has time to read late evenings (when he promptly falls asleep) and weekends (when he sometimes falls asleep). Plus most of my YA books are on my Kindle and he likes reading paper.

My younger son reads some YA (Neil Gaiman for example), but he’s often the one giving  me recs for books. Also, he’s got his own eclectic tastes and I’m pretty sure the YA books I’ve been swooning over wouldn’t be to his liking.

Then there’s older son. Since he lives in Osaka, Japan, we bought him a Kindle so he could buy and read new books without having to have them shipped at great expense. I have lent him nearly every lending enabled YA Kindle book I own and have strongly recommended he buy others if I’m not able to lend. I lent him The Hunger Games after I read it, and when I didn’t get around to buying the other two books, he told me he would if I didn’t. So I got him somewhat hooked on YA.

So I guess he’s my YA buddy IRL. I look forward to sharing many more books with him in the future.