Note: Since I’m on vacation, I’m giving you a rerun. This first appeared on June 3, 2015, back when I was new to blogging and had about 10 followers. It relates a childhood memory of mine that involved murder and explosives, as all good memories do. Also, the post includes a recipe because when I first started blogging, that was supposed to be my schtick. Then I forgot my schtick.
That’s the trouble with schticks. They only work if you remember them.
Oh well. Enjoy.

Growing up in the 70s was great. I’m not even talking about the movies and music from that era, although we had some darn fine ones.

What I’m talking about is the total lack of parental involvement. Even if a parent stayed home, they pretty much left us to our own devices. It was great.

Brother and I had it even better, as both Older Sisters and Older Brother were out of the house.

We’re talking complete lack of supervision, baby! Frankly, it’s a wonder we didn’t burn the whole place down.

Though we came close.

It was the Summer of ’76. I was a sweet, young preteen, Brother a worldly teenager. He was also the summer Program Director, coming up with all sorts of creative ideas to occupy our time. One time he created roads in our backyard with scraps of lumber from Father’s workshop. Neighbor kids joined us with their bikes and we zoomed around our yard and yelled at each other and had accidents and everything. It was great.

Click to Jump to Recipe

But it had nothing on the idea he had in ’76. His plan was simple. We would solve the Don Bolles murder case.

What? You don’t know about the Don Bolles murder?

Why, it was in all the papers! Well, a lot of them.

Don Bolles was an investigative reporter for the Arizona Republic. On June 2, 1976, while following a lead on a story, he was the victim of a car bombing. Word got around the mafia was involved.

The Mafia! In Phoenix!

Cool!

Brother’s idea was that we would reenact the crime to solve it. Because that’s how they do it on television. We learned everything by television.

It was Bugs Bunny who taught us that a line of gun powder, leading to a larger pile of gun powder, would cause an explosion. An explosion just like like a car bomb!

Some imagination required.

Fortunately, Older Brother once did a little hunting and some of his things were still at the house. It was while digging through it that Brother found a nice stash of gun powder. Hence, his glorious plan was hatched.

Brother had a snap together model car we’d use — it wasn’t a Datsun like the car Don Bolles drove, but it would do. He asked me if I had a small doll I wouldn’t mind blowing up?

I didn’t have to think twice. Kimberly was the one.

Kimberly was one of those little dolls that came in a pendant necklace. I think they were called Liddle Kiddles. I had several and of them all, Kimberly was the most stuck up.

Even the way she insisted on being called Kimberly. What a snob.

None of my other dolls liked her.

We had an area in the backyard perfect for a small car bombing. Brother positioned the car in our chalk-drawn parking lot and carefully led a small line of gun powder to the doomed vehicle, leaving a larger pile under the car.

I walked Kimberly, intrepid investigative reporter, to the car. Brother took the top off the car (the car doors didn’t open), and I plopped her in the seat. We stood at a safe distance, about three feet, and Brother lit the end of the gunpowder.

Bang!

It worked! A line of gunpowder burns, just as it did for Wile E Coyote. It ended with a little poof under the car.

The next time we put more under the car. And then more. And juuuust a bit more. And then more. The next day required more. And yes, more. The car came apart so many times, we had to use rubber bands to keep it together. Kimberly’s hair was singed.

We decided to use more.

I’m sure you have moments in your life that stand out as memorable. Maybe it’s the day your parents took the whole family to the circus. Or maybe it was when they brought home your new baby brother.

For me, it was The Great Backyard Explosion of 1976.

I can still see my brother stamping out the flames. He looked at me and said, “Maybe that was too much.”

Now that, my friends, was a glorious summer. We never did solve the case — frankly, I think we forgot there was a case. But Lord, we did have fun.

Also, on a side note, Kimberly was a changed person after her complete loss of hair. More humble, less stand-offish. The other dolls and I found her much more agreeable. And we had to give her credit for being so brave. It was inspiring.

Okay, enough reminiscing. Time to think about dinner.

Look what I found! These are little recipe pamphlets from the Arizona Beef Council in the 70s. No kidding!

The recipe I’m sharing with you is one we enjoyed as a family and that we firmly believed was refined and elegant. Which should tell you a lot about my family.

I’m tweaking it just a bit to make it more healthy; feel free to make it as fatty or lean as you like.