After ripping the plastic strip off the can, removing the aluminum disk from the end, I would hold that can for a few seconds then wait for the “scccuuuupppppp” sound as the plop of pink creamy ice fell into the pitcher. I remember being in such a hurry to make it that filling 3 whole cans of water seemed like an eternity. The sticky, gooey mess would be left on the counter, along with whatever utensil could find to make it. Then, after selecting a glass as impressive as this pink drink, I would find the perfect spot to enjoy it. The ritual involved with pink lemonade hasn’t changed much and while buying a carton may seem easier, there is something about the canned frozen pink lemonade that remains my prefered method of classic, summer-must enjoyment.
What is it about the Martini that reeks of class? Fancy glass? Olives in a drink? I would love to sit down with Geotge Peppard (Breakfast at Tiffanys) and enjoy just one Marini. It’s a flirty drink- you would never make one for yourself and sit on your couch drinking it. I can just imagine the music spewing out of the restaurants in the sidewalks of Saratoga, say in 1965. How great would it be to have just one Martini sitting on that sidewalk?
Note: Not even one Martini was consumed for this painting.
Every time I see a golf tournament on TV and they are near the hole, I wonder if these guys practice on mini golf courses? In the Adirondack,s there are a few real gems that would guarantee help their handicap if they tried them out! Some have spectacular fountains and windmills, others are more simple like this one in Long Lake. It’s not much of a course, but don’t tell that to a six year old. I remember hitting the ball and then it disappearing. Where’d it go? We would hunt around and sooner or later, we would finish the game, return the club, add up our scores with out tiny pencil, then get an ice cream cone. Night made.