The Barefoot Kid

 

     Growing up in the 1950's was a lot different than today, the technology of today was still a few decades away. Our parents had a different view of life, they were more frugal in general because of the way they grew up during the depression of the 1920's and 30's. Everything they had back then was shared, hoarded and carefully maintained, shoes, articles of clothes, tools, equipment, even the food that was left over from meals was reheated for a later meal in the form of "leftovers", even bath water shared, nothing went to waste. Money was in short supply so many times the barter system was used to pay for goods and services, this way of life continued on into the 1950's and 60's. Nothing was thrown out, whenever possible items that were no longer needed, worn out or outgrown were repurposed and made useful as something else. Take for instance a pair of shoes, shoes today are a "throw away" item, outgrow them - toss them in the trash, wear them out - throw them in the trash., yet my grandfather's dress shoes were handed down to my father who handed them down to me along with his Sunday church suit, outdated yes but still usable.

     I am the oldest of five kids and dad's paycheck was the only money we had coming in so we didn't have the luxury back then of tossing something we no longer wanted. Let's take shoes for instance, today they are a a throwaway item made from cloth, rubber and very thin or even fake leather. Back in the 50's we had two types of shoes, dress up and play. Dress up shoes were worn to school or any place where you needed to look good. The dress up shoes were all leather including the sole and heel, they required polishing with a shoe polish that made them shine and resisted moisture. Over time the heels and soles would show wear patterns, when this occurred, they could be taken to the shoe repair shop where the heels and soles could be replaced. Being the oldest, when I outgrew shoes they might be handed down to one of my brothers or to a neighbor's boy. Mothers had a network where they swapped items of clothing for growing kids.

     Play shoes were made to play in. often they were tennis shoes with rubber soles and canvas tops. The TV ads of the day said they would make you run faster, they came in two colors - black or white. Mostly they were worn in gym class and maybe when visiting the grandparents or any place where shoes could get dirty, torn or scuffed. Once you reached a certain age, it was not uncommon to outgrow shoes every six months, rather than toss them and if they didn't fit a sibling there would be someone in the neighborhood who could use them.

     Before you get the idea that we wore shoes all the time you have to understand, this was the south and in the summertime we often ran around barefoot. Going barefoot was one way of getting the most out of a pair of shoes, it didn't matter that you probably outgrew them over the summer, soap and water were cheaper than shoes. In Tennessee, barefoot weather started about mid May and continued on through September but to be honest even in the cold of January we could be seen making a quick barefoot run to the mailbox and back.

     As a kid of the times my feet were hardened to the elements and conditions of nature, get me on a dirt path or a grassy lawn and I could run like a deer. It was one thing to be able to run around in the grass, it actually felt good on your feet just be aware of the honey bees in the clover, nothing hurts worse than being stung between the toes. You also needed to be careful of "poop" left behind by cats, dogs, cows and chickens, it wasn't easy cleaning "poop" from between the toes with a twig or green leaf from a tree. Running on dirt wasn't too bad, generally it was smooth but watch out for things that may be embedded in it, when wet it felt different when it oozed between your toes. Running on gravel was not fun, to be blunt about it, gravel hurt and if stepped on the wrong way you could get what we called a stone bruise on the bottom of your feet. Paved roads were only a problem when they were hot, it added a whole new meaning to the term "hotfoot", crossing a paved road when it was hot required a quick step, hop or jump.

     Probably the main problem with going barefoot was when you got in a hurry and stubbed your toe, that results because you failed to pick your feet up particularly when running. The results of stubbing your toe meant that the big toe on either foot (sometimes both feet) had the skin removed on the end of the toe and a scab would cover the injured area for weeks. Often a barefooter would have a continuous scab all summer, before the first injury could heel you could stub it again and forget about putting on a pair of shoes with scabs on your big toe. 

     I'm 77 years old now, I can't walk from one room to another without putting on house slippers and my feet are paying the price for my youth but I would give anything to walk barefoot through a lawn of clover again.

     Growing up in the 1950's was an experience you had to live, I can tell you all about it here and kids today will have a hard time believing me, how in the world did I survive. I look back on those days with fond memories, we didn't know how bad we had it because we had it so good.

     

     

Be Happy

 

     I can't remember if I have previously written about this but I love this memory and want to be sure it's in the blog.

     When I went back to California in 1986, there was an older guy who had a business next door making top of the line office furniture. His name was Norm and at the time I was still in my 30's, Norm was retired from 25 years with and aerospace company so he was at least in his 60's. He had a heart condition but didn't let it stop him from anything he wanted to do. We became good friends and spent a good deal of time solving the world's problems.

     I was a workaholic back then but Norm put me to shame, when I got to work at 7:00 am he had been there since 5:30am. When I went home at 5:30 or 6:00 he was still at work and when I would come in to check on something on a Saturday Norm would be at his desk.

     One of the things Norm Talked about was the fact that he was retired, after hearing him say this on several occasions I finally pointed out all of the hours and days that I found him at work. I told him it didn't seem to me that he was retired. It was at this time that Norm gave me an education on the meaning of retirement.

     He went on to explain to me that he worked 25 years for Aerojet and hated every minute but it paid the bills.  and allowed him to raise a family and put a few dollars in the bank. When he finally got to the point that he could retire he found something that he wanted to do, something that gave him a reason for getting out of bed every morning, building office furniture was it and he enjoyed it.

     So, according to Norm, the true meaning of retirement was that you quit doing something you didn't like doing and started doing something that you liked.

     I got laid off from a job back in 2007 or 8, I searched for a new job but the economy was not very good and jobs were hard to find so Linda told me to just retire - I did. I stumbled around for a time looking for something to keep me interested. I work in my shop making things from wood, sometimes I just make sawdust. Linda and I would take day trips now and again till she got sick. Kay and I shoot pool and take trips, go fishing and generally do things that make us want to get out of bed in the morning. We are doing something that makes us happy.

Getting Old Ain't For Sissies

 

 

     Recently, I heard that the average life span of a white male in this country was 76 years of age, being that I recently turned 77 I am feeling quite proud that I am finally above average in something. 

     I woke up one morning back last November and decided that I was a little out of shape and needed to do something about it so I joined a gym. Turns out I was more out of shape than I thought but I put my shoulder to the grindstone and pushed on. Before I knew it I was walking on the treadmill at a good clip then I was doing a modified pushup and other exercises. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday found me sweating , huffing and puffing at the gym, I was religious with my efforts and quite proud of the results. My routine got all fouled up last month due to several out of town trips and I have yet to get back on schedule but I'm working on it.

     To be honest, I have not really felt as if I was getting old, I can't function as I did twenty years ago but I function pretty good. My doctors seemed to be happy with my health, I am only on five prescriptions and have been subjected to exrays, MRI's, stress test, nuclear stress test and CAT scanned like crazy. Sure, I have a few minor issues, arthritis in several key places around my body, loss of some muscle tone, a little shortness of breath and not near the stamina I once had. I have some minor balance problems that require me to sit on the side of the bed before standing else I will slam into every wall, doorjamb and piece of furniture on my way to the bathroom but there is nothing debilitating, in my mind I'm on track to be around another twenty years.

     The key phrase in that last sentence is "in my mind", like a lot of elderly people, especially men, we are in a state of denial about our ageing, how we feel and what we are capable of doing. You see, we think (in my mind) we can still do everything we used to do before we stopped doing them, our ego won't let us get old. That's the way the mind works, it is the controlling factor for the whole body therefore the body must do the minds bidding, this is when the body says "OK, go ahead and try".

     Over the last couple of years, some minor issues have come up, normal things that come with the ageing process. While any issue at my age shouldn't be ignored, ignoring a lot of things is often my way of dealing with them, I know they won't go away but just maybe they won't hurt as much if I don't pay them no mind. This train of thought is proved to be wrong on pretty much a daily basis. My mind says "oh, go ahead, you can do that" then after a futile attempt my body comes back with " I told you so".

     Kay and I just returned from a six day vacation exploring the Blue Ridge Parkway. The days were long and filled with a lot of driving, sitting in one spot and feeling the vibrations of the road for long periods coupled with the occasional long walk up a hill or a bunch of steps can play havocs on your body, mine was no different. Have you ever seen an old person get up from a chair or get out of a car? They do it slowly and for a short time they just stand, holding on to something to steady themselves. They are slightly bent over, a little unsteady on their feet and weak in the knees, it takes more than a few moments for them to straighten and start walking. If you are close to them, you may be able to hear their joints pop or snap, a low groan might slip from their lips. Well, I'm here to tell you that old man was me all over this week, if there were any doubts that I'm getting old they for sure are gone now. 

    So my body has spoken, the body won and now reigns king but I figure I can learn to live with it or plop my tush in front of the TV and wait for the Grim Reaper. Well, I refuse to go willingly into the darkness of old age, I will moan, groan and ache my way to my last days, I will pop another aspirin or take another pill but I won't give in because "I'm no sissy".

     Gotta end this now and order a ski rope, the lake has warmed up and ready for me to try out that water ski I bought a few months back.

     

     

Fishing The Old Way

 

     When I first started fishing, I was a young boy of about six years old. Back then there were no big tournaments, bass boats with trolling motors and depth finders. The rods and reels were archaic by today's standards as were the lines and other paraphernalia. There wasn't even a big lake, Old Hickory Lake in Nashville hadn't been completed so the fishing holes were farm ponds, creeks and a few slow moving rivers. There were well worn dirt paths leading to the best spots, if you were lucky there would be a big rock or rotting log to sit on.

     When I went fishing it was with Dad. Brother Pat and I were taxed with getting the bait, we would dig up red wriggler worms in the back yard or from around Grandpa's barn and put them in a tin can with dirt, sometimes we would catch grasshoppers and put them in a jar with holes punched in the lid. Dad's fishing equipment consisted of several cane poles and a small tin tackle box that held plastic bobbers, hooks and weights (we couldn't always afford lead weights so there was a supply of substitutes consisting of flat washers or rusty hex nuts). The cane poles would be as long as ten to twelve feet in length, they had fishing line tied to the end and then wrapped down the length of the pole. Dad must have had eight or nine poles and he fished with every one of them at the same time. Dad would stick the cane poles in the rear side window of the car and away we would go.

     The line on the poles was longer than the poles, if a pole was ten feet long there might be fifteen or more feet tied to the pole, this was so you could get the bait far out into the water. After unwinding the line and checking that the hook was properly tied, you then put a worm on the hook hopefully without sticking the hook in your finger. Then you would set the bobber / cork to the desired depth and extend the pole far above your head and swing the bait out away from the bank, a long pole could get the bait a good eighteen feet out. Then it was set back and watch the bobber bounce up and down until eventually a fish would take the bait and pull the bobber under the surface.

     We did a fair amount of "bank" fishing when I was a kid, but it always seemed to be rather boring watching that bobber bounce around. Then in 1960 we moved to Mt. Juliet and Dad had a carpenter friend build him a 12 foot john boat that he mounted a 12 h.p. outboard motor too. It allowed us to get into another world of fishing from a boat. We used shorter cane poles to work the banks for crappie and I learned about fishing with a spinning rod and lures. Dad traded the boat for a runabout with a 35h.p. motor, you couldn't work the banks for crappie from it but you could anchor down and catch them by the boat load. 

     In 1965 I went into the Navy, fishing was put on hold for four years, when I came home, I slowly got back into it. I bought an 18 foot runabout with a 125 h.p. motor, while I did some fishing from it mostly it was used for water skiing.

     I hate to say it but life got in the way, fishing was hit or miss till just a few years ago. In 2005 I bought a 19 foot center console bay boat with 150 h.p. motor, that was two boats ago. I now have an older center console with 115 h.p. motor, it's equipped with two depth/fish finders with lake maps, a remotely operated trolling motor that has capabilities I will never use. I have three spinning rods and a whole grocery bag full of lures, plastic baits, hooks and sinkers and I go fishing a couple of times a week.     

     Sometimes I catch fish and sometimes I don't, I get aggravated and enthused, I come back frustrated or proud but love every minute of it. With all of the modern technology and equipment that I have, I sometimes think the best fishing was when I sat on a slick rock on a creek bank with my Dad, holding a cane pole and watching a bobber bounce up and down on the water.

The 49ers

 

     We lived in Sacramento, California back in the late 80's, Danny was just starting school and I worked long hours. Danny and Clay were Cub Scouts and Linda was a den mother, I was a backup for when they needed something. Weekends often found us looking for something to do as a family and in that respect there was a lot to do in California. Sacramento was centrally located between the Pacific Ocean and the Sierra Mountains and for the five years we were there we took the boys places that they would most likely not see again.

     I supported Danny's Cub Scout activity, after all I was once one. Through my manager position for work, I kept the Scouts well stocked with craft supplies. Every Memorial Day weekend I used the company box truck to haul supplies 7000 feet up in the mountains and we all spent the weekend making repairs to the scout camp, then we would go back on Labor Day weekend to close it down. There were also several day trips Linda would sometimes need help with.

     Weekends and vacation days were family time, from boat shows on lake Tahoe to visits to watch kites fly at San Francisco's Pier 39 or play in the snow in the Sierra mountains.

     There was a place up in the foothills called Apple Hill, it was full of fruit orchards and every fall the weekends  would be to celebrate the apple harvest. Some of the farms went all out with entertainment, fresh baked pies, cakes and sweets of all kinds, if it could be made with apples they sold it. You could also pick your own apples. They also had times for cherries and peaches but the apple was king. At any rate we made several trips each year to Apple Hill.

     Going west on I-80 there was the Nut Tree in Vacaville. It was a huge grove of walnut trees that had been selling their products since the early 1920's. By the time we got there, it had evolved into a place that drew crowds from far away, they even had their own landing strip for private planes. Every Halloween they had a huge Pumpkin Patch and invited local groups/organizations and I guess individuals to participate in a Scare Crow competition, there would be hundreds of Scare Crows and rows upon rows of pumpkins. Halloween was a big thing for them and we never missed it. 

     California weather was somewhat strange, temperatures through out the year varied according to elevation and location. We lived in Sacramento which was the center of the Sacramento Valley, the winters were mild and the summers were hot, triple digit temps started in May, low humidity was the saving grace. To escape the high temperatures, we would often go into the mountains where Linda and I would pan for gold while the boys played in the American River, the amount of gold we found wouldn't buy a tank of gas but the boys had fun.

     I traveled a good bit in the last couple of years but we still managed to do things on the weekend. It had been a particularly hot week when I came home one Friday night, Linda had decided that a beach trip was in order so we got up the next morning and headed out to Reyes Point National Seashore just north of San Francisco. We didn't get 10 miles down the road, Clay was sitting behind me kicking the back of my seat, I told him to stop several times but he didn't so I pulled off the interstate and turned returned home. The next weekend we tried again, neither of the boys gave me any problem. It was really hot in Sacramento so we dressed in shorts and T-shirts and packed a picnic lunch. When we arrived the fog was so thick we couldn't see the waves, it was a little breezy and the temperature was maybe 50 degrees, locals were running around in parkas. Our picnic lunch was held in the back seat with the heater running then we went home to triple digit temps two hours away.

     We made it to many amusement parks like Sea World, Knott's Berry Farm, Giardelli Square, Napa Valley, gold mines and Lassen Volcano park and festivals in Lake Tahoe and surrounding foothill towns.

     One memorable trip involved only Danny and I. The company had an order for a small phone booth that needed to get to Cresent City which was a coastal town on the Oregon border. I loaded the booth in my company car and Danny and I set off up interstate 5 cutting cross country at Redding. The sights were beautiful especially when we got to the coast. After making the delivery, we headed south on the coast road stopping at various sights of interest, one place claimed Bigfoot sightings and the remains of the tallest Redwood tree (used to be), lighting had hit a few years back and blown off the top leaving a stump somewhere short of a couple hundred feet tall. We passed through several Redwood groves and at one point I stopped so we could walk around, Danny was fascinated as he walked around trying to see the top of the tree. At one point he stopped and looked up, almost falling over backwards, then he said "that's one big tree dad".

     Including time in the Navy, Linda and I lived in California four times, we mostly enjoyed our stays but the last time coming home to the south was the best. Danny was beside me in the rental truck as I drove across the Mississippi River in Memphis, I had the window down and could smell Honeysuckle on the air, I looked at Danny and told him we were through with California and we wouldn't be going back. That was 1991 and I have kept my promise.

     

Bob

 

     Over the years, both Kay and I have had pets, for me it was always a dog while Kay had dogs and cats. When we married, we each had a dog that our late spouses favored, we couldn't give them up so we took care of them until the time came for us to put them down. At this point we decided pets were not fitting into our lifestyle as we are often gone for hours and days at a time so we decided to not to have any more pets.

     Things went along fine for a couple of years until Kay discovered a young cat under the steps of our deck. He was a Domestic Short Hair Tabby kitten, with a bobbed tail maybe three inches long, he appeared to be feral because he was skittish and not accustomed to people. Taking pity on the poor thing, she put out food and over a couple of weeks the cat would come out and eat in her presence, not long after that it would allow her to pet it and not long after that it would curl up in her lap and purr as she sat on the deck. We discovered that the cat actually slept in one of the four culverts around our house but after a while Kay had gained its confidence and the cat came into our house. His visits were a short duration at first but that didn't last long. 

     At this point I need to say that I'm really not a cat person, never have been but Kay at times has been a cat person and watching her and this feral cat get to know each other I realized things were about to change. The relationship between Kay and the cat quickly grew, the cat needed a name and I suggested Bob, he was, after all, a male and he had a bobbed tail so Bob it is. After getting checked out by a vet and getting downgraded from a "he" to an "it" Bob became the newest member to the family.

     We really didn't want Bob in the house all that much and we didn't want him sleeping in a culvert so I built him a house which Kay filled with straw and an old towel. Bob now has a place to sleep out of the weather on our screened porch which means we leave the storm door cracked open so he can come and go at his leisure, sort of defeats the purpose of a screened porch with a storm door.

     It has been sometime since Bob showed up, he has the run of the place and two human servants to feed him and let him in or out the door as he often as he wants - quite often. He still is a feral cat and roams around the yard during the day but at night he chooses to sleep in the comfort of the indoors where he has several spots he has chosen for sleeping depending on his mood. He frequently cuddles up to Kay where he turns on his motor and purrs, allowing her to scratch his ears until he tires of that then he turns around and nips at her hand which now is spotted with small scabs. When we go away for a few hours or days he reverts back to being feral, Kay leaves him food and water and when we return home he's waiting for us, he knows when he has a good thing. He is Kay's companion as she works or walks around the yard, he has come in my workshop but quickly disappears when I turn on a machine.

     Often at night he will crawl in bed with us, sometimes he will cuddle next to Kay or he may get between us, his purring will be loud but comforting. Sometimes he will get in a playful mood and attack our toes, whenever we have a twitch he will jump at the movement and bite through the quilt which gets him a kneejerk reaction that may send him flying through the air. Kay has bought several toys that he will chase around the house and sometimes, after a little catnip, he will go bonkers and run like crazy all over the house.

     I must reiterate that I'm not a cat person, never have been and make no bones about it. I think Bob may have sensed that and he reasonably goes to Kay first but in the middle of the night; when I can't sleep he will come sit next to me as I scroll Facebook and allow me to scratch his ears as he purrs away, maybe we are growing on each other but still I sense that my position as master of the house is being usurped. Knowing that cats have a long lifespan and my ambition to be around for many more years, it is going to be a race to see who will outlive the other.

Fading Memories

 

     Memories are portals to the past, a culmination of events experienced by a younger you. They belong to only you because even though someone else was there they will remember the event with their own twist. This is not to say that your memory is exactly as the event happened, memories have a tendency to fade out over long periods of time. You may even find several memories intermingling with each other but that's OK, it's your memory. 

     I have been writing this blog since 2012, some 12 years ago. It started out as a place to put in writing all of my memories, every experience and happening in my life. It is also to be a means by which my sons, grandkids and future generations to know they are a part of a family they never met or knew. Now there will be no need for them to guess about their ancestry (at least not those of the last hundred years or so). I have written more than 164 stories to date, some only a few paragraphs, others pages and pages. They are all meant to inform and entertain the reader, if I did my job right you will be in awe, laugh your butt off and cry rivers of tears.

     I have now written so many stories that I have lost the ability to remember if the subject I'm about to write I have already written about it. I sometimes think that old age has finally overcome me, I often forget things at the moment only to remember them hours later, it's an annoying part of life endured by many my age. I thought about cataloging each story according to its subject matter, like a table of contents, I even set out to do it but quickly lost interest, you'll just have to bear with me.  

     I often wonder if maybe I have depleted all of my memories as my writing seems to have slowed down, maybe I have said all that is worth saying, I don't know. Every once in a while, something will pop into my head and I say oh oh I need to write about this and I do, all the while there is a nagging thought that I have previously covered the subject - maybe I did or maybe I didn't.

      I have spent my whole life making memories and often wonder if this blog might be an effort in futility, are the younger generations going to be interested in the ramblings of an old man. When I start to feel like this, I remember how just a few years ago I found myself wishing I had listened harder to the stories I overheard as a child, I find myself wishing I had asked more questions of my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, so I keep writing. For sure a large portion of my life took place before Linda and I started our family, many of the people and places are no longer around. I think I have about recalled everything worth recalling, it's probable that I have already written about it or maybe not. 

     Kay and I are making our own memories now and from time to time I will add those to my writings. In the meantime, I will continue to write about something from long ago. If I repeat myself just think about the stories told again and again at family gatherings, you know you've heard them before but you listen anyway because it's worth hearing again, I would rather repeat myself than forget it altogether.