Days of Yore

Today was a long day. I took my dog for a run, then ran another several miles at home, then did some yoga and showered. Naturally after that I was fairly hungry. So I decided to have a snack.

There was a long, cool glass of lemonade waiting for me, and some pretzels that I'd picked up last week. As I was savoring the salty, sweet, and tart all at once, I was reminded of my not-entirely-distant youth.

When I was in grade school I attended Vacation Bible School at my church one week every summer. We'd meet in the sanctuary, sitting in groups by grades, singing hymns and pledging allegiance to the U.S. and Christian flags and the bible.

It was an honor to be chosen to hold a flag or bible, one that the older children particularly clamored for. Mr. Brandt would work with kids before the assembly, showing those lucky few the way to hold them in procession, at rest, and when your particular item was the object of a pledge.

After the morning assembly we parted into a variety of rooms where we learned songs, bible stories and bible verses, and made craft items like matchstick crosses or cross-emblazoned puffy paint t-shirts.

The day lasted until noon, but around eleven the building would stop for a half an hour while the kids lined up in the hallway near the church kitchen for the daily snack. There was a running list of snacks- one day was sandwhich cookie and Kool-Aid day, another was chips and (generic) cola day. The most popular day was always snow-cone day, usually Thursday. Snow cones on Friday were generally too much of a mess, since it was the last day and things were already a little hectic. Adding the messiest snack of the week to the mix didn't usually work.

Friday was often reserved for pretzels and lemonade. The lemonade was usually too sweet in that off-brand Kool-Aid way, and it usually tasted more like lemon cleaner than actual lemons. I never ate the pretzels myself. They were usually stale and unappetizing. Instead, I would often sit by myself, my mouth pursed in a perfect "O" and scrape the pretzel sticks clean of salt with my teeth in between sips of lemonade.

It was a simpler time. The memory evokes a kind of nostalgia- but not the kind where I wish I was still nine and reliving those events. Though I may just seek out a snow cone stand this summer.