Ovaltine and Mitten Clips

Whenever I think about my childhood in the Heights, one or more memories will pop up, crisp and vivid and brief. I try to grab any that catch my attention to share with you.

Last week, the ice cream truck surfaced in my mind. I meant to share Good Humor bars and the “Turkey in the Straw” tune that warned children of approaching delights, but took a look at your current temperatures and changed my mind.

The joy of ice cream didn’t seem to sound as appealing as it would in, say, July.

I always miss the trill of the robin song, but again, spring seems eternally far away, so the first robin songs can wait, too.

Winter. We couldn’t always be sledding down the School Hills. What else did we do in the cold weather, with or without snow?

Whatever we did outside, it required suiting up like an astronaut to face the elements.

Anyone my age or older will recall snow suits, or heavy jackets and leggings, with enough weight to prevent quick movement, or sometimes, standing back up from making snow angels. We learned to roll back and forth for momentum. Remember winter hats with flaps over the ears, and mitten clips to keep either mitten from disappearing? (Not always effective.)

Freezing temperatures, snow, or the beginning of sleet was no joke, but we were embarrassed to be found wearing yarn pinned to the inside of our coats with mittens at the other end, pulled through sleeves.

Funny what children consider mortifying.

“Mom, we want to go outside,” was the beginning of a process that took time and physical effort. I remember Mom grumbling about the epoch it took to prepare and pull on boots for the amount of time spent outside. Somebody’s boot was always missing, or on the wrong foot, or on the wrong child.

And you can all recall hopping around trying to pull on boots over your shoes, or sitting and tugging.

I’ve seen pictures of children frolicking in the snow. Frolic? We stomped like the Buck Rogers robot Twiki in our weighted outerwear.

Still, we built snowmen, complete with rock eyes and carrot nose. My brothers worked on snow forts until they once created a masterpiece. We all made snow angels or played with footprints, tried to lick icicles like cones, and, of course, pelted each other with snowballs. At least, when there was snow.

Looking at the last batch of winters, there couldn’t always have been snow in our childhood, right? Sure seemed like it.

The best part of winter play was the first entry into crisp, cold air. It smelled clean.

The best part of being cold and shivery and ready to return home was Ovaltine.

Mom made us hot cocoa with marshmallows or hot Ovaltine. I think we all preferred Nestles’ cocoa, but I remember best the smell and taste of hot Ovaltine. Triggered a love for malt throughout my life.

A brief history—developed in Bern, Swizterland in 1904. Exported to Britain in 1909, and in 1915, manufactured in Illinois for the rest of us. Did you ever drink Ovaltine? I suspect it was offered cold or hot, but we sipped ours steaming, after playing outside or dragging sleds back from the School Hills.

Who knew that sugar, whey, corn, malted barley, nonfat milk, and molasses could be so delicious, and linger in my memory?

Snow and winter weather is so much more congenial from the mild seasons of Florida.

Yes, we do get cold weather, but it’s brief, even when temperatures drop below freezing, as they have the last two nights. (Dragged my pot garden into my room and have a temporary jungle atmosphere. Still hoping that no lizards were hibernating in any of them. Sudden scurrying thrills my cats, but trying to rescue one without smooshing it is difficult. Then, what to do with it?)

Native Floridians shiver in chilly weather, and you can recognize them by parkas and flip-flops.

No Michigander would venture outdoors in flip-flops during January.

Children don’t drive in slush or on icy roads, don’t scrape car windows, or warm up the car before everybody piles in. Yes, we walked the two blocks to school, but I don’t recall it being four miles uphill both ways in the sleet. My brother would beg to differ regarding his long paper route on winter evenings.

Ovaltine.

Mitten clips.

Mom.

I’d love to have a few of those moments back, and burst into the back porch, shivering and dropping boots and coats and mittens to get to that hot cup of Ovaltine, to see Mom’s face again. Hear her voice admonishing us to pick up our coats, stand up our boots, hang up wet mittens.

Just heard a touching song by Chris Janson called, “Bye Mom.” Cried all the way through it.

Thought about Mom.

And Ovaltine.