I started to cry....

For some reason I started to weep when I saw this image. This is a photo of the old ice cream joint in the neighborhood where I "grew" up(which I use the term loosely in for so many reasons, not enough time to go over any of them at this moment). It was just north on Wolcott past 37th Street in the McKinley Park neighborhood. It just brought back so many overwhelming memories of having such a difficult time w/my parents, my school as I was "chastised" and horribly picked on for coming from a different religious background than the one of my grade school upbringing..and just...life being a preteen girl in Chicago.

This place, Oren's, was heaven.

And a haven for me, even if it were for the few minutes that it took to make my transaction. I was able to escape even if it were for a few minutes to an entirely different world, where everything was sweet, and happy, despite crowded surroundings and disarray in the shop. The dusty old greeting cards that had designs from the late 50s and cost $.35(yes, 35 cents!), the brick-a-brack he had all over from cheesie Mardi Gras beads to various old tin cans(YES! Tin cans) from different types of soda stacked up against the wall, the various beaded projects brought in and created with love either by grandchildren....or fans; the thick and sugary smell of ice cream and maraschino cherries that almost grabbed you by the throat and practically choked you along with that faint scent of musty old paper. To this day whenever I smell old paper I think of Oren's. The anticipation of having either a bag of Swedish fish, shoelaces, or a Green River and feeling absolutely rich in spirit and mind being able to afford all three, and various hot summer days cramming in the store to sit on the ragged and ripped cherry red vinyl bar stools that itched and scratched your legs when you made your way onto it.... and how your legs were almost adhered with rubber cement to said stool when you attempted to make your way out of the shop ....almost removing a bit of skin in the process but happy with goodies in hand and tucked into a brown paper sack, smelling of whipped cream and those candied cherries.

It saddens me so much to see that it's gone. It almost feels as if a small part of me is gone. A tiny teeny part of my one bit of happiness during such a difficult time.

Poor Oren died of liver cancer back in the summer of 1996. Going to his wake stirred something in me as he was terribly thin in that casket, not resembling his usual self as he was always a chubby and jovial man. Almost always had a smile and a joke for you. Standing there, taking your order then making his way to create it wearing his little paper soda jerk hat and gray Dickies pants and flannel shirt, giving him a Bob the Builder's grandpa look...but he didn't build houses, porches, or any other handy work. None that I'm aware of.

What he did build was a little bit of happiness for everyone. Whether it was to make a simple Green River, a walking sundae, a toaster oven pizza, or a plain old ice cream cone with the best bubble gum ice cream, Oren made you happy and made you forget all that crap stuff that made life the way it is at times; complicated, hard, horrible, sad, difficult and just downright sucky.

And for a brief amount of time this old lady became a little girl again...slightly happier than before and forgetting all about the part of her life that's compicated, hard, horrible, sad, difficult and just downright sucky.

And as brief as it was, she was happy.