tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34182491.post4086836058513486658..comments2023-10-11T23:46:08.194-04:00Comments on West in New England: A PICNIC AT PLYMOUTHBill Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01266937924453737084noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34182491.post-1055330255998225802008-08-02T06:44:00.000-04:002008-08-02T06:44:00.000-04:00Hello Bill,I hope that I am submitted this to you ...Hello Bill,<BR/><BR/>I hope that I am submitted this to you correctly. I have never submitted any thing for a carnival and I do not have a blog, but something came over me and I wrote a few paragraphs for your picnic. I hope you enjoy it.<BR/><BR/>Sheri Fenley<BR/>Stockton, California<BR/><BR/>FAMILY PICNICS<BR/><BR/><BR/>I honestly can only remember one place where my brothers and I shared food willingly with each other al fresco. My maternal grandparents were living in San Jose, California so this was approximately the mid to late 1960’s. When we came to visit, my granddad would pile my brothers and I into the back of his car stop and pick up 3 of our cousins and take us to a park that was located in Los Gatos. <BR/><BR/>As a child, I was a very girlie girl and did not venture outside to play very often (my dress or hands might have gotten dirty). I have 5 younger brothers (no sisters) and the yard was their territory.<BR/><BR/>But I even put up with the 5 of them and being outdoors when I knew that Granddad was taking us to this park.<BR/><BR/>Smack dab in the middle of the park in a huge sand pit was a full size airplane. It had been completely gutted and all the rough edges sanded smooth but otherwise was a real airplane. I would play for hours in and on this plane. To get inside, you had to enter from the rear through a small opening. Then once you were inside you could crawl out the windows onto the wings. And slide down the nose into the cockpit. <BR/><BR/>It was the only time that I can ever recall playing with my brothers and enjoying myself. I think that they enjoyed it as much as I did so for that short amount of time they forgot all about torturing me.<BR/><BR/>The perfect end to the perfect afternoon would be the snow cones that were sold in the concession stand that Granddad bought for us every time he took us there. <BR/><BR/>This huge glob of shaved ice in a paper cone with every color of syrup imaginable drizzled on it. By the time we got back to my grandparent’s house our faces and tongues would be horribly stained with all of the colors.<BR/><BR/>The best part of all would be my mother’s outrage at her father for allowing this to happen. These outings were always on a Saturday, we would spend the night with my grandparents and get up early and go to Mass the next morning and I can’t ever remember going to Mass without my multicolor face and the look on Monsignor’s face when all 6 of us kids stuck out our multicolored tongues for communion!<BR/><BR/>Ah! Those were the days!Sheri Fenleyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01720122119370691488noreply@blogger.com