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Tropicupco

On April twelve, nineteen hundred and sixty-four, sitting in the family room in their home at 9116 Balcony Place, Des Plaines, Illinois, after staring in spaced for about twelve minutes, having kind of an ‘out of the blue’ epiphany, Mitchell Lipensky stated, “Yeah, that’ll work!”

Lying on the floor watching television: seven year old Michael; four year old Ellie and two year old Sammy glanced over their shoulders as, “Huh?” Michael vacantly said, then, immediately losing all interest, the three children turned their attentions back to ‘Laugh In.’

Echoing, “Huh?” Marsha Lipensky stopped her, seemingly, never ending task of folding underwear and matching the mountain of socks that were piled upon  the home-made, extra-large Formica topped coffee table before her. Repeating, “Huh? What’ll work?” she asked.

This being within the period of time of the popularity of Harry Belafonte and his songs of the tropics and of home luaus and of flowery, usually umbrella topped, sweet tropical drinks; the most popular of which, at that time, at least for Marsha and Mitchell Lipensky, was a  Harvey Wallbanger, which Marsha referred to as Harvey’s Ballbanger.

“Huh? What’ll work?” Marsha asked.

“A coconut glass.”

“A glass made out of coconut?”

“Well,” her husband said, “not actually a glass, uh, more like a cup.”

“Why?”

Looking at the five foot long, Carrabin style bar made of Philippine mahogany paneling and mosaic tile that he’d recently constructed. “ ‘Cause they’ll go nice with the bar, and be neat to drink out'a, and besides, I think they’ll keep the drinks colder longer.”

Folding a pair of underpants, haltingly trying to think which of the three kids they belong to, “Mitchie, that’s really dumb; a cup made out of a coconut?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Reconsidering, “or maybe not.”

“How’ll it hold anything?”

“I think I’ve got that figured.”

“How’ll it stand?”

“I think I’ve got that figured.”

“How’s about all the hairy, fuzzy stuff on it?”

“I think I’ve got that figured.”

“You do, huh?” Marsha asked. “How’ll you make it?”

“Well, first off, I’ve got to get some coconuts.” Looking at his watch, “Think the A & P’s still open.”

“ ‘Seven sixteen’; yeah, they’re open till nine.”

“Hey,” the father asked, “any of you guys want to take a ride to the A&P with me?”

Turning from the television, “No,” the two older kids answered in unison with a squeaky voiced, “No,” piping in from Sammy.

“It’ll be too late and past their bedtimes anyway.” Their mother stated.

Realizing, “Yeah, I’ll go!” Michael said.

“And me, too.” Ellie said.

Yawning, his eyes in the process of closing, Sammy said nothing.

To be continued

©April 14, 2012 / Mark M. Lichterman