Jumping beans were always included in our stockings.
When was I sitting under the palm tree in front of the faded yellow duplex looking up at the underbellies of incoming planes? Like a mechanically defective windup toy, the car entered and reentered the cul- de-sac, playing brief segments of a mariachi tune at irregular intervals.
Those fluted paper cups by our places invariably contained an inadequate supply of mixed nuts.