Mrs. Teabody Anticipates her Class Reunion

Good Morning from Meadow Grounds Mountain where vestiges of that  memorable blue moon still scatter  a little candle power over the lush August foliage. Mrs. Teabody came to full wakefulness when her little cellular phone launched a wake up call at 4:30 A.M.. This alarm was set for an event two weeks ago, and one would think Mrs. Teabody would have the brains to remove the alarm.  One would be mistaken in that thought, however. Today Mr. And Mrs. Teabody will climb into the ancient motor car and head to Clear Ridge for a family gathering. On Mrs. Teabody's lap will reside the cake pictured above.

The cake pictured is a Bonnie Butter Cake, made from a recipe in the Betty Crocker Cookbook which served as a sort of culinary bible in the late 1950's when Mrs. Teabody and her three sisters were given free license to bake their little hearts out. After all Mrs. Teabody's mother  was famous for creating bread that would rise to the heavens on a weekly basis, for deep dish  fruit pies that assured their eaters on a harsh winter night that summer would come again, and occasionally for a cake. Few of these ambrosial confections came from a recipe box, however; these seemed to spring from the ends of Mrs. Teabody's mother's fingers, and while all of Mrs. Teabody's siblings inherited their mother's common sense, thick hair and stubbornness, baking skills had to be learned. And they were. At home. Saturday mornings were for cleaning. Saturday afternoons were for baking. In a household with seven sweet-toothed children, failures were gobbled up with nearly as much pleasure as successes. Bonnie Butter. Burnt sugar. Lemon Chiffon. Lord Baltimore. Legendary. Mrs. Teabody enjoys baking cakes. Perhaps you do, too.  A made-from-scratch cake has an altogether different texture and weight from a box mix and that is not  a condemnation of either kind. A made-from-scratch cake is all about nostalgia and Mrs. Teabody ifs feeling nostalgic this week as she will soon be celebrating her fiftieth class reunion. Mon Dieu!

Mrs. Teabody's  aptly named "wonder years" did not feature or glamorize random violence, global horror and a grid-locked government. As the vanguard of the Baby Boom  some were destined to go to Viet Nam; some were destined to go to college or trade school. Most of Mrs. Teabody's classmates were born into what one thought of THEN as traditional families. The dad worked. The mom was all-around housekeeper, chef, chauffeur, and moral compass. The use of alcohol was a sign of weakness, but many, many teens smoked cigarettes at age sixteen  and Mrs. Teabody is fairly certain that almost everyone chewed Wrigley's or Juicy Fruit.  Most kids went to some sort of church service on a Sunday morning where if you learned nothing else, you did learn to sit quietly ( mouths SHUT) without an electronic device and listen to adults who had enough  worldly experience  to share some common sense advice:  be kind to others, show appreciation, respect authority, keep your nose clean, don't shame the family, do your best, tell the truth and do not repeat anything you do not know is true. Teens "dated." Those who "went steady" wore each other's class rings to symbolize that relationship.  It was honorable to get married. Some of the couples Mrs. Teabody will see in two weeks have been married fifty years. To the same person! Imagine the sense of loyalty. Imagine the depth of their love. Admirable!

Those who did not capture the heart of someone of the opposite sex quickly learned to go mobile--in cars.  No glamorous cars for most teens. It was the family car for the most part but true car aficionados  proudly drove their  '55 and '57 Chevies and the unofficial drag strip of the era was located a scant mile north of Baker's Diner. At age sixteen - -rarely before - - one graduated to the world of cars which completely connected with the world of music. If there was anything at all global about the early 60's it was music. Nearly every house had a radio, even a house as modest as Mrs. Teabody's. Mr. Teabody explains, "After sunset, broadcasters were able to bounce radio waves off the ionosphere. Those who held such permits were able to turn up the wattage to reach great distances." So Fulton County teens were listening to radio stations in Buffalo and Chicago.  Dick Biondi, a name most local senior citizens would recognize, is credited as the first U.S. disc jockey to play the Beatles on Chicago's WLS 890 AM in February 1963. The song was "Please Please Me."  The playlist through Mrs. Teabody's final year in school included such diverse gems as  Jimmy Gilmer and The Fireballs "Sugar Shack," Little Stevie Wonder's  "Fingertips Part II," Martha and The Vandellas' "Heat Wave," and Ray Charles's "Busted." Just like teens today, teens then knew and revered the lyrics of pop music. Because of Dick Clark and American Bandstand. Because of Dick Biondi. And on a local level, because of  the Bill Seltzer Review.

By the time Mrs. Teabody's senior year rolled around, most of her girlfriends had  steady boyfriends and no time at all for Mrs. Teabody. The only "boy" Mrs. Teabody had eyes for was in college a thousand miles away both physically and in his heart. ( Insert frowny face). Luckily for Mrs. Teabody there was a friend who was clever and funny. And fun!  Curt. Mrs. Teabody and Curt were each other's shoulder to cry on, best pals and, most importantly, dance partners.  On their way to a record hop together most Saturday nights, Mrs. Teabody and Curt often spoke of  their respective unrequited loves by saying their names always followed by this phrase -- the only person I will ever really truly love with all my heart and soul.  Mrs. Teabody's far-flung college boy would one day propose to her only to recant the proposal twenty-four hours later, putting the first major crack in her heart. Curt would marry and continues to be married to that star of his heart. Mrs. Teabody longs to see Curt and the star of his heart as well as all those other classmates who grew up together during a very special time - - a simpler, saner, happier time of cars and Baker's Diner, of parents who acted like adults, of leaders who acted like people who love America, and   where any girl worth her salt could bake a cake from scratch.

Ta for now!