Do you blame me?
A month or so ago an article was written in an Eastside publication about Carol Coors. I discovered a lot about Mrs. Coors after I read that article that I did not know. To me she was simply the mother of one of my earliest best friends, her daughter Martha Coors. Mrs. Coors always looked beautiful to me. So did her house. After I would sing at the back door ”Oh Martha” to see if Martha was home, Mrs. Coors would always welcome me with a joyful smile.
We both lived on Pinemeadow Lane in Finneytown. Summer meant playing outside all day long and I adored spending time at their house at the end of the cul de sac. It was so different than my house. It was calm and beautiful and had an above ground pool in the back yard. HURRAH!
I considered myself an honorary member of the Coors family at the time. Mr. Coors was so funny. He also ran Coors Dairy down on Grey Road in Winton Place where we would go to visit him on our bikes once in a while. The cool milky air would surround us when we dropped in to say hi to Martha’s Dad. Later when I started The BonBonerie, I would still get our milk and cream from the dairy.
The Coors family also had dogs. One summer their dog had a litter of puppies. They were collies and after begging my Mother for one, I was allowed to take it home four doors down the street. Her name was Duchess and she was my first and favorite dog ever. Mr. Coors suggested we enhance her diet with cottage cheese like they did to give them a good start. What a good Idea.
Once in a while my Grandmother would bake bread and I would take a loaf to my favorite other family, the Coors’. Mr. Coors told me he would give my grandmother all the butter she needed if she would include a loaf for him when she got an itch to bake. Our family was a strictly margarine kind of house except for Granny’s bread. I begged her to bake bread more often just so we could have real butter in our house.
Martha also had an intriguing bachelor uncle named Cliff. One summer night he drove up to their house in his amazing convertible Thunderbird with the top down. He asked if Martha and I wanted to go get ice-cream with him. Yes. of course. It was my first ride in a convertible, yet alone in a Thunderbird. As we drove down the street, the breeze blowing through our hair, I thought there was no better place on earth to spend a summer than on Pinemeadow Lane at my friend Martha’s house. Do you blame me?