Good Old Days

In the last few days, there have been a rash of "the good old days" posts on various Facebook walls. You know the ones about playing outside until the street lights came on and so forth. Like all things we view through the nostalgic prism of time, we choose to remember the good and forget the bad.

I don't think that's selective memory. It's just a yearning for a time when things were simpler. At least that's our perception. But if you take a man or woman out of their familiar surroundings and place them back...oh about fifty years, most wouldn't have a clue how to accomplish some of the most basic tasks.

Then food preparation took place in the kitchen--on a stove. The proliferation of kitchen appliances was barely beginning. A few kitchens had mixers, big heavy machines you used to make cake and cookie batters. The overall machine was durable enough for my two year old daughter to use it when she need a stepping stone from the kitchen counter to the top of the refrigerator. You don't want to know the rest of that story...

Other than the mixer, there were no other appliances. No microwave. No George Foreman grill. Nothing. We (the hunk and I) acquired our first microwave when our oldest child was ten. He's forty-one now. You do the math. It was a tiny little box we didn't really use much for another five years. And dishes? Dishes were washed by hand.

Laundry...laundry was an all day process--usually performed on Monday. We had a wringer washer. The process went something like this: Fill the washer with the hottest water you could get. Add bluing. Wash the "white" clothes. Run them through the wringer. Soak in a big washtub/sink to rinse. Run them through the wringer again one piece at a time. Hang on the line outside to dry. Wash the sheets. Repeat the wringer/rinse process. Wash the "colored" clothes. Repeat. Wash the towels. Wash the "dark" clothes. Wash the "dirty/muddy" clothes. Empty washer and sink. Clean any residue from washer. Repeat next week.

Notice. You used the same water for the entire washing process. By the time you reached the last load, the water was cool and...dirty.

Tuesday. Ironing day. Some of you probably don't know what an iron is, but when I was growing up, everything was ironed. Everything, including the sheets and pillowcases. You got a free pass on the underwear and bras, but not slips. (That's probably another item most women don't remember.) All the clothes were sprinkled with starch water, rolled up in little logs to keep them damp, and if you didn't plan to iron them immediately, they were kept in the vegetable drawer in the refrigerator.

Ironing was an art. A woman (or man) who ironed well could actually make a living at it. It was also hot (no air conditioners back then), rough on your back and legs, and if you were careless, you could end up with singed fingers.

In the summer, you prayed for a cool rainy day when you had to iron. There were no air conditioners. If you were fortunate your family owned a couple "box" fans. They were set in the window (blowing out) on the sunny side of the house/apartment to draw in the supposedly cool breezes from the shady side of the house. Sometimes it even worked.

Cars didn't have seat belts or door locks. I know. I opened the back door the Easter I was about five and rolled my oldest brother (who was around two) out the back door. While we were moving. He ended up in an irrigation ditch by the side of the road.

When I brought my first baby home from the hospital, I held him in my arms--in the front seat. We didn't have car seats until my third child was born. Try traveling anywhere with a bunch of little kids riding unrestrained in the back seat.

Of course we weren't distracted by telephones or texting. When I was small, we had a "wind-up" box on the wall. First you cranked the box. Then you asked the operator to connect you to the person you wanted. It was a party-line (which just means more that one family shared the line). Any one could listen in to the conversation at anytime--and did so frequently. The operator knew everybody's business in the entire town.

By the time I was around ten, you could pay extra to have a private line. It was easy for others to determine your financial state simply by knowing whether or not you had a party-line.

The phone was generally on the wall in the kitchen. When I was engaged I was permitted to speak to the hunk for twenty minutes twice a week. While my parents listened to the conversation.

Yep. Those were the good old days.

anny

When I was a kid...

My grandkids absolutely hate to hear about how things were when I was a kid. The minute they hear "When I was your age..." you see their eyes roll.

I suspect it's because they can't quite imagine me ever being a kid. It just doesn't compute--even though they've seen pictures of me when I was a girl.

When I was a kid, I fell on a galvanized metal bucket and cut my lower lip. I was three. That was nearly sixty years ago and I still have the scar. The accident delayed our camping vacation by several hours while the doctor patched me up.

When I was a kid, I turned over my little red wagon, dumping my baby brother out on the sidewalk. Nope, I didn't do it on purpose. In the way of all sidewalks everywhere, one section tilted because of a tree root underneath it. When my wagon hit that tilt, it naturally turned over. My baby brother was lying in the wagon on a bed pillow. Hmmm. Maybe I did permanent damage or...

When I was a kid, I opened the car door on Easter Sunday as we were driving down the road. My brother (same one as above!) rolled out of the car and down in a ditch. I still remember my father pulling over on the shoulder and running back down the road. The Easter egg hunt was delayed while he was checked out by the doctor.

When I was a kid, my older brother and I convinced my middle brother to eat the food in the dog bowl. He seemed to like it and as far as I can remember he didn't get sick. I have noooo idea why my mom felt compelled to us that willow switch on us. No idea at all.

When I was a kid, I went hunting for a gila monster with my boyfriend. He was nine and I was eight. That probably wouldn't have been toooo bad except we were supposed to be watching our younger brothers and sisters. Naturally, that didn't stop us--we simply dragged them along with us. And when our parents caught us, we ate our dinner standing up.

When I was a kid, that same boyfriend and I went hunting for firewood when our families went to a cookout. Instead, we found a snake...and brought it back to the picnic. Oh, man, the stupid things you do for love.

When I was a kid, I rode my bicycle off a cliff. It was a small cliff. We lived on a steep hill. I rode the bike down the hill to the "end" of our street. Ooooops! The brakes didn't work so I went sailing down, down, down about fourteen feet to the yard below. And though there were no broken bones...it hurt.

When I was a kid, I was watching my brothers while my parents made a quick trip to the store. My youngest brother had a seizure. Since he was prone to seizures, we had a bottle of medicine (a red colored syrup) in the medicine cabinet. I believe it might have been phenobarbital. Anyway, I couldn't get him to be still enough to give him a spoonful so I pried his mouth open and poured some in. And he didn't have another seizure for like...forty years.

When I was a kid, I caught a family of scorpions on my parents' bedroom wall, scooped them into an old mayonnaise jar and carted them off to school. I got into big trouble for bringing them to school--not because anyone was in danger from the scorpions. No, the school authorities were upset because I brought a glass jar to school. They were afraid it might break and someone could get a cut from the glass. Ah, for the old days...

anny