How May I Help You?

My first job was working at Fosters Freeze at the corner of Fallbrook Ave. and Victory Blvd. in Canoga Park. Where the sidewalk met the two streets on the northeast corner is where the building stood. It’s no longer there. Demolished and now a parking lot for Orchard Supply Hardware.

Why work at Fosters Freeze? I don’t know. I had never eaten there. There were no connections with the owner. Just happened to be my first job. We had to wear nurses’ uniforms. Not the kind worn today, but the traditional all white uniform. We wore a blue and white striped apron over them.

Behind the counter at Fosters Freeze, workers were either flipping burgers or dishing up desserts. I did the latter. Also known as “working the walk-up window,” facing the street on Fallbrook Ave.

My favorite dessert to prepare was the banana split. We didn’t make it very often. I could create one in seconds. First cut a banana lengthwise. Place the two halves on each side of the dish. Then add three scoops of vanilla ice cream between the banana halves. On each scoop pour a pineapple, chocolate, and strawberry mixture. Top with whipped cream, chopped peanuts, with a cherry on top. (I knew I’d need to share that information someday.)

During the time I worked at Fosters Freeze, about four or five months, I worked the cash register, prepared food, and cleaned up. I also learned how to work with others. Most of all, I remember learning how to say, “Hi, how may I help you?”

I’m Having A “Frosty Paw” Moment

Berowne came to us at nine weeks old. It was just after the 4th of July holiday weekend in 1993. My friend, Doris, came up to me at work and said, “Do you know anyone who wants a Golden Retriever puppy?”

Bob didn’t have a chance to say, “No.” I have no idea how the discussion went. He might say I threatened him. I suspect it was more like, he said, “When and where do we go pick him up?” Laguna Beach was where we got him and that Saturday wasn’t soon enough.

Before Berowne was given his name, he was someone else’s pet for a week (at eight weeks old), a friend of Doris’. He was a gift to someone’s wife. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out–they were expecting a baby, their yard didn’t have a fence, and the puppy had separation anxiety. The puppy had flown down from the Bay Area with the owner (husband) a week earlier.

There is way too much to write in one blog entry about the life and times of Berowne “ChewPee” Miller. (He got his Native American name within the first few months, since all he did was chew and pee.) He was too smart for his own good. Many dog trainers tell you when your dog runs off, lay down immediately and the dog will come back? Not our ChewPee!

For 14-1/2 years Berowne had a Frosty Paw practically every day of his life. What are Frosty Paws? They are ice cream for dogs made out of a soy product. Berowne knew them by name. Eventually we were unable to say the two words together. Couldn’t whisper it either, he knew. Even knew, “F.P.” (I can still see his ears pricking up.) He usually had one after dinner before we went to bed. In his latter days, he’d come walk into the doorway and give a look. It meant, “Come follow me.” We’d follow. He’d then lead us into the kitchen and point his nose at the freezer. Seriously!

Today, I had mentioned “Frosty Paws.” For a second, I thought I had to whisper so Berowne wouldn’t hear. Oh, how I miss that sweet puppy.

A Rite of Passage - Pierced Ears

At Justice Street Elementary, we culminated from sixth grade into junior high (seventh grade). All I cared about that summer was getting my ears pierced. My closest friend, Lisa, already had hers pierced (in a doctor’s office with a needle).

My parents gave me a pair of self-piercing earrings. They were small hoops with a needle-like tip at one end and a small loop on the other. The idea was that every day I would squeeze the earrings. Little by little the needle end of the hoop would eventually pierce all the way through the lob.

Eventually, the ears were pierced. It was a rite of passage. Today, most women I talk to about getting their ears pierced have a story to go with it. When I smell rubbing alcohol, it takes me back to the summer of 1973.

During my senior year in high school, I decided to double-pierce my left lob. I can’t remember what possessed me to do it. It wasn’t as though, “Everyone is doing it.” I didn’t ask permission. I just did it, with a needle. It hurt. What hurt more was trying to get an earring through the hole. It was a struggle! (My parents never knew.)

Fast-forward twenty years, summer of 2008. I decided, after a major personal achievement in my life, it was time for another piercing in left lob. This time it was done with a piercing gun. It didn’t hurt but felt like a big tug.

I’m done with piercing my ears. I can’t explain why I have 3 holes in one ear and only one in the other. Yet, getting them pierced has had significant meaning in my life. For gals my age, we all have our ear piercing stories to share.