It was the summer of sixty nine, I was thirteen. Quite a handful, I’d been caught sneaking out while we were camping. I had no regrets about walking in the moonlight along the lake shores with a sweet American boy. It was innocent fun, stealing kisses, and giggles while sharing stories. I often wonder what happened to Richard. We kept in touch as pen pals for years; he even visited one summer with friends. The boys drove from
But I digress. Words entered in my diary were read fervently by my father. I felt pretty sheepish about disappointing him. Mom decided to ship me to her best friend’s house for the rest of the summer. It was a posh house, with a pool. Everyday I laid out by the pool reading a true story magazine. I wasn’t permitted to read them at home. So it wasn’t really much of a punishment. I babysat Sherry’s girls; we swam, talked and listened to music.
Sherry, whom I'm named after, but with a different spelling, was more current than mom. She lived a pretty swank life, dressing very stylish, up on the latest fads. She took me out and bought me a gray jumper shorter than mom would have allowed. I remember finally feeling like I was mod. She would dance with us girls to the latest music. It was fun there. A different atmosphere than I was used to.
Most evenings, after a day of hairdressing mom rushed to put on her house dress, then start dinner. She spent most of her time in the kitchen, cooking dinner nightly. Except on the occasional busy Saturday when she brought in take out chicken. Even then she'd prepared a salad to go with it! There always seemed to be pot of soup on the back burner of our stove. Sherry didn’t work, was out shopping or with friends most of the day, and they ordered in most nights. Although I do remember her specialty was spaghetti, she could cook, she just didn’t!
I used to admire how beautiful she was. Very cute at under five feet tall, and the epitome of the Valley of the Dolls era! I loved her laugh and smile. They had a housekeeper so I only had to clean up a few dishes and such, whereas at home I did a whole gamut of daily chores. It was a nice holiday for me being there, except for one thing. When I opened the fridge it was bare. Not even a pickle, no cheese, no jam, no condiments whatsoever, nothing. Our definition of a bare fridge would still include a selection of pickles, cheese, eggs, fruit, and all the condiments. I could make a peanut butter and jam, or pickle and cheese sandwich in a pinch. The cupboards were pretty much the same. They were wealthy, with many luxuries, yet they had no food. We had very average lifestyle with a house full of food and love!