The Two Wheeler

 

     Even today kids look forward to having a bike, they don't all like skate boards. They start out as toddlers with three wheeled trikes the some will transfer to little bikes that you sit on, they have a seat but no pedal sort of like a scooter. Then comes the two wheeled bike with shinny fenders, pedals and chains. They come in different sizes, colors, multiple speeds and are designed for riding on roads, racing and mountains. All of this about covers bicycles of today but when I was a kid things were a little different.

     Way back in the late 1940's every kid, boy or girl, had a bicycle. I was still too young so I had a tricycle when I was a toddler but eventually I outgrew it and had to hoof it wherever I wanted to go unless a friend would let me ride their bike. You didn't just go out and buy a bike, most kids didn't have any money or a means to earn any, the average bike cost around $35 which was almost a weeks pay.  Writing letters to Santa Clause  was cheaper so he was the go to guy for most deserving boys and girls. Christmas morning was quite the site when you walked into the room and there was a bright, shinny red new bicycle with tassels hanging from the handlebars, a head light mounted to the bright chrome fender and a squeeze horn attached to the handlebars. Boy what a sight that was, at least that was the sight in the toy catalog, my first bicycle was a little different.

     It was the year I entered the second grade so that would have been Christmas of about 1954. I was 7 years old and I honestly don't remember what I wanted from Santa that year but what I got was a bicycle. Pretty much every kid had a bicycle back then, they were like a right of passage when leaving the toddler age and moving into the young kid age, it was preparation for the teenage years. Bicycles meant a newfound freedom for kids, there was nothing like the feel of wind blowing in your face as you coasted down the road, the known world just got bigger.

     But back to my bike. Like I said, I don't remember asking Santa for a bike that year but there it was standing next to the tree on Christmas morning. It wasn't new but it had a new coat of paint, it wasn't bright red but it was a little darker red, it didn't have a light or horn or even tassels hanging from the handlebars, the shine wasn't as bright but it was mine.

    There was a slight problem. The bike was just a little big for me, I guess Santa figured I would grow into it. I couldn't just step up on a pedal and throw my leg over the center bar and start pedaling, I was too short to just grab it and jump on to the seat and start pedaling, as a matter of fact I couldn't sit on the seat and pedal at all. These were minor issues and there had to be a way to overcome them. I don't remember how it came about but I learned to mount the bike by pulling it next to the porch steps, throw one leg over the frame push off and start pedaling, it worked fine until I had to stop then it was push to the nearest porch step, stump or upside down bucket. None of these issues mattered though because it was my bike.

     I don't remember what happened to that bike, I know I didn't have it too long and I can't say that I think of it a lot as a matter of fact, I haven't thought of that bike since I was a kid. The other day I saw a neighbor boy of about three riding his two wheeled scooter bike and suddenly a mental picture appeared, memories are like that.

     

For Generations To Come

 

     In the early years of the 20th century there was a ritual performed by organizations and businesses and school kids young and older that strangely enough benefited people of the future in an informative way, it was the collection of things from the present placed in a capsule then buried or entombed in building foundations and or under monuments. They were called "Time capsules".

     I don't know how they got started, maybe the idea came from the Egyptians who buried their kings in elaborate tombs decorated with hieroglyphic writings of their reins and filled with various items the king would require in his afterlife, often even their favorite wife. Or maybe this ritual came about because there was no TV,cell phones, video games and computers to occupy the youth so somebody said - I know lets fill a mason jar with stuff and bury it so somebody can dig it up later. However it came about burying time capsules was quite popular in the early century.

     There was no regulated size to the capsule nor any specific items that had to be placed inside it. Some school kids buried toys, letters, poems, all sorts of childish things and the capsule would be opened years later when they were seniors. Civic organizations placed specific things to show the future of a life long forgotten by the time it was opened while governments went further with documents and items of importance to the next generations and news items of events of the day. Whatever was placed in the capsules was an indication of a society from the past, not knowing what the future would hold so generations to come would have insight into the past.

     The capsule location was a known fact as was the date it was to be opened which ranged anywhere from a few years to a few decades. One time capsule of sorts was created to show other worlds about life on earth in various languages, recordings and a form of modern hieroglyphics then placed a board a rocket ship and fired into space. Voyager 1 was launched September 5, 1977 to explore the outer reaches of our solar system, at this writing it is still going and in communication with earth but it has left our solar system and sailed into the next. Maybe someday we will know if we are alone or not.

     Back here on earth. I recently heard about a time capsule here in Georgia that caused me to write this story. Olgelthorpe University in Atlanta put together a time capsule in 1940, it is called the Crypt of Civilization that contains thousands of items, including a Lincoln Log set. The thing that sets this capsule apart from all others is the opening date of 8113 some 6000 years into the future. To me it is an optimistic view of the future of this world, hopefully someone will be around for the opening, hopefully not the Eloi and Morlocks of HG Wells imagination.

History Repeats?

 

     Lately, the weather has been lousy with cold, rain, sleet and snow so there has been a lot of time to think and reminisce, just let thoughts wander around in my idle mind. I got to thinking about different events of my life when suddenly it occurred to me that the events I'm living now I have lived before only they are reversed. It's somewhat of a scary thought and I can't help but wonder if history might be getting ready to repeat itself.

     I am the first born of five siblings, on mom's side I am the first born grandchild, on dad's side I am the first born grandson. On mom's side hierarchy was an unknown word, each grandchild was held with the same reverence as the other, there were no favorites but on dad's side it was a different story. I didn't know it at the time but I was the favorite, all of my free time was spent on the farm with granny and grandpa till I was about twelve, as much mischief as I got into I was never disciplined, I could do no wrong. 

     I loved both sets of my grandparents, the time I spent with them hold some of my most precious  memories. Up until I was about twelve, most of my free time (vacations) was spent with dad's parents with a few trips with mom's parents. If there was some discussion about sharing I was never told. When I was born in 1947, mom's parents were in their 40's while dad's parents were well into their 60's and this brings us to the point of this story.

     As I said in the beginning, I am the first born in my family, my son Danny (as I call him) is my first born and he has my first born grandchild Michaela Judy or MJ for short.  When I was born grandpa Riggan was 66 years old, he passed away at the age of 79 when I was 13, when Danny was born Linda and I had been married for 13 years. When MJ was born I was 66 years old, two months ago she turned 13, in three months I will turn 79. See where this is going? Maybe this is a sign to play the numbers 13 and 79 in the lottery.

       I'm not saying I believe in omens but there does seem to be food for thought here if not for a need to be alarmed. Needless to say I will be on my P's and Q's this year, look over my shoulder a little more often and take notice when the hairs on my neck stand up. So the question is, will history repeat itself, is my demise around the corner, who knows but personally I am confident that I will be around for quite sometime yet, my joints creak and muscles are sore but I still get out of bed with a positive attitude and in my book attitude is everything.

     And just to set the record straight, I have two grandchildren - MJ and Matthew, MJ may be the first born but I love them both equally. Even though they are two distinctly different individuals, they each in their own way make me to be a happy and proud grandpa.

     

Getting Old

 

     I have come to the conclusion that getting old is only a matter of mind over matter. If you spend your days sitting in a rocker on the front porch waiting to meet your maker then it doesn't matter that you're getting old but if you find a good reason to get out of bed every morning then you don't mind getting old. I choose to find reasons for getting out of bed every morning. Having reached the age of 78 years and several months, I don't think I'm bragging but, I have come to consider myself somewhat of an expert on getting old. For one thing it's not what I thought it was going to be like. Upon looking around I'm better off than a lot of guys my age and a damn sight better than some who are younger and I still have my hair though it is a distinctive shade of grey but then it makes me look very distinctive.

     Now don't misunderstand, in addition to the grey hair, I'm a little overweight, have one bad knee, lots of arthritis, tend to get up slowly at times and my skin has the consistency of crepe paper but I have a heart that some fifty year olds would love to have. While my body seems to have getting old down to a science my brain is still trying to figure out what is happening. I can remember things from when I was barely out of diapers but often can't remember what I had for lunch until sometime the next day. It's like I have been around for so long that my brain is filled with every thing I have ever known and it's filled with the memories of every day of my life so that it is clogged up and operating slower than it did years ago. I have plenty of "senior moments" yet I'm still quite sharp, I think that's because I keep it busy doing things. Here's the thing about the aging brain, if you are one of those that don't mind getting old then the mind stays young. My brain tells me all the time that I'm still in my twenties, "go ahead, you can do that, you've done this plenty of times, no guts no glory", in the mean time my body is laughing at me.

     The culprit for all for all the issues with the body and brain are the eyes. No matter what the brain and body are feeling it's the eyes that see the things that each require as substance to keep them going.It's like the eyes see a double decker cheese burger with fries, the brain says "wow that looks delicious" and the body says 'I'm starving, let's eat" then the body gets stuffed and gas and the brain says you're the one who ate it all and the argument starts. The eyes see things the way they once were and trick the brain into believing what they see then the brain tricks the body into believing it's all possible and when everything goes wrong because the body and brain bought into the charade the eyes play the innocent part. I still see the world through youthful eyes, blue skies, warm summer breezes, sunshine and lollipops, it doesn't matter that it's cold and rainy outside, I look for the good things because I am an optimist.

     Nobody prepares you for getting old, not that you would listen when you're in your twenties. There  are instruction books about aging but few ever read them because they are in denial even when they really are old. I never dreamed I would get this old I thought somewhere in my sixties would be the max for me but as you can see I'm pushing 80 and looking forward to getting there. Actually, I have decided that if my uncle Paul can make it well into his 90's then I might have a chance myself so now the race is on, 95 here I come. 

     Back in 1959 a TV program called "The Twilight Zone" aired and ran for a few years. It was a science fiction type show dealing with life in a different reality, sometimes it was scary, sometimes just weird and sometimes thought provoking. Most of all it beat watching Lawrence Welk so I liked it. All this talk about getting old made me remember a couple of particular episodes. In one episode people were born old and aged young, it was great being born retired and able to do all the things you want to do. Another episode took place in an old folks home, it was visited by a man who told the residents they could be young again and convinced them it could happen so most followed him. They went off to play a game called "kick the can", eventually only the laughter and cries of young children could be heard as they ran off in the darkness. Those two episodes have stood out in my memory banks for years but I really should watch them again as a refresher. 

     So when you get to the age that your body aches and makes noises when you move, when you walk a little bent over or shuffle your feet, when you have several doctors and a drawer full of pills just remember it's all in your mind and how you see life will determine how you're going to spend the rest of it. The desire to stay young is in all of us, feed it, you'll get old soon enough.

     

More Short Memories

 

     It's time to start another place to write short memories that are so easy to forget unless they are quickly written down. It's also a place to write short memories that I may have already written down previously and I forget if, when or where I have written them, so if you happen to read something here and then see it in a previous story just remember that I'm 78 + years old, very forgetful and I ain't gonna get any better so just do like I do, learn to live with it because it doesn't help getting mad.

     

                                                            -----------------------------------

     When I turned 18, I was able to make decisions without having to ask permission from my parents and what I was going to do after high school was the first big decision I had to make. I knew that I wanted to join the service and the Air Force recruiter had come to our school and given us a test that I did really well on and he wanted me real bad, then I went down to sign up for the draft with a friend who wanted to stop by and see the Navy recruiter while he was in town and low and behold they wanted me also. 

     Now I had another decision to make that determination was to invite the recruiters over to talk with me and my parents. The night the Air Force recruiter came dad didn't come home till real late. The night the Navy recruiter came dad was home early. When the recruiter left dad looked at me and said " if you needed to jump out of the airplane how far can you fly, I said I can't fly" then he said " if the ship sinks how far can you swim and I said a long ways" - I joined the Navy.

                                                             -------------------------------------

     We didn't walk ten miles both ways in three feet of snow but walk we did. When I was in the third grade, we lived maybe three quarters of a mile from school and therefore didn't qualify to ride the school bus. Pat and I usually had to walk to and from school and do so in all kinds of weather. Spring and fall were not too bad but winter could be brutal, luckily it didn't snow often in Nashville.

     Tennessee had four seasons of weather, spring time could be warm and sunny today and freezing cold and snow flurries the next, summer was hot and sweaty. From September till mid November the temperature was generally mild but there was usually frost on the grass when we left the house. January through the first of April was a mixture of snow, rain, freezing temperatures and every now and then a howling wind that would make forty degrees fill like twenty five. Regardless of the weather we had to walk to school except on rare occasions when dad would take pity on us and give us a ride but they were rare occasions.

     Consequently our wardrobes had to be four seasons. Bluejeans were a standard often complete with iron on patches covering well worn knees. Long or short sleeve shirts depending on the season, flannel shirts for the cold days, 100% cotton for the warm ones. Grandpa Wade kept us in cowboy / engineer boots until I got into junior high. Heavy winter coats and gloves kept us warm but some days it would be so cold with the wind blowing that there was nothing we could do but grin and bear it.

     Rain required another piece to our wardrobe - rain suits. Rain suits of the 1950's were standard in design and color, style was not optional, the main concern was durability and visibility. The standard rain suit color was a bright yellow and consisted of three pieces - pants, hat and coat. The style was taken from rain suits sailors and sea faring fishermen had been wearing for eons.The pants were a standard fair, loose fitting to slide over the jeans and held in place with suspenders. The coat was long and covered the body from the neck to below the knees and sleeves that sometimes hung below the hand, buckles or big buttons ran down the front.

     I don't know who designed the hat but it was unique. The hat was designed to have water roll off the back, it turned up in the front and down the sides to create a bill and water channeled down the long tail of the back. The hat sloped towards the back covering the neck and a part of the shoulders so that when water rolled off it wouldn't blow back against the neck, a cloth strap that tied around the chin held it on you head. When not in use the hat would neatly lay flat and fold up for storage in the coat pocket.

     It was a good rain suit although it was a bit cumbersome. Looking back, the thing that strikes me as funny was the way we must have looked. Imagine a bunch of little kids of all sizes running around in bright yellow fisherman's rain suits stomping in every mud puddle, what a sight it must have been nobody could tell us apart.

                                                 

     

Itchy Feet

 

     Not long after Kay and I were married or maybe it was a little before, my memory not being what it used to be, Kay gave me what appeared to be a large coin. It was to be used for marking the pocket when shooting pool, many players carried and used something similar but this one was different. It was round, double sided and each side had it's own design, one side was of a clock face with no hands, the other was a compass. When she gave it to me she explained the meaning of the designs, the compass meant that we could go in anywhere we wanted, the clock face with no hands meant that we had all the time to get there.

     We celebrated 9 years together earlier this year and we have taken the coin seriously. We don't sit around waiting for our final day to pop up, we are constantly doing things, we are constantly on the go. Monday is shopping day Tuesday is our date day, we shoot pool every Wednesday, most Saturdays we spend with MJ and Matthew, Sunday is our day of rest although most of the time we go for long rides traveling the back roads in three states, we have been on every two lane backroad in Georgia. The rest of the week we make up as we go along, if the weather is good we hook up the boat and go fishing, if the weather is not great we find some project to work on or visit her family or just watch an old movie.

     Every now and then we get a wild hair and go somewhere and I'm not talking local. We got into the habit of going to Tennessee on Uncle Paul's birthday every September, this year he turned 95. While there we get together with family and friends. Kay wanted to meet my whole family so we have been to Tennessee and Kentucky visiting cousins and friends. A few years ago we took a ride on the Amtrack train to Arizona to see brother Pat, what an experience. We have pulled the boat to Tennessee, south Georgia, South Carolina, Florida and Louisianna to fish. We traveled the Blue Ridge Parkway  from Ashville to it's end in Virginia. Every now and then we just go some place for a few days to some destination that struck our fancy.

     As long as we are both in good health, I expect we will continue with our somewhat vagabond life style and why not, we earned it. With more time behind us than there is in front of us we don't intend to waste it. 

     

      

They Don't Make Em Like They Used To

 

     Anybody of my generation will tell you that consumer goods being produced today are not nearly as good as those produced 60 years ago. We have become a throwaway society, from automobiles to appliances, computers and cell phones, everything is made to be tossed in the recycling bin when it's life is done, I think it's called "planned obsolescence". Personally, I find it aggravating when making a purchase knowing that at my age I may well out live the product I'm buying but it hasn't always been like this. 

     The automobile came about in the late 1800's, for a time most were built by hand one at a time, it wasn't until Henry Ford invented the production line that they were mass produced. They were built like tanks with parts that could be repaired rather than replaced, it had to be one hell of an accident to cause a car to be "junked out". Today's cars are designed with parts made from thin metal and even plastic, just be careful not to sneeze on one as that may cause a dent. There are cars and trucks built in the 50's, 60's and 70's that are still running today.

     In the early 70's Linda and I bought a washing machine for $150, it didn't have all of the technology of today's models but it did a great job of cleaning our clothes. We moved that machine from state to state and coast to coast for over the next 30 years before it finally bit the dust in the early 2000's. At the same time we purchased the washer, Eileen had a "used" dryer that she gave us when she moved back to Florida, it was already several years old but lasted until the washer bit the dust.

     When we bought the washer we also purchased a side by side refrigerator / freezer. It too was carted around the country for years, when we sold our house in 2005 it was still working like new but I decided I was tired of moving it and left it with the house. Kay and I bought a new one when we moved in our home about 6 years ago and had to call a repairman twice before it was six months old.

     The telephone I grew up with was an ugly black plastic thing bolted into the wall, it never broke down and worked as long as the lines were still up. You couldn't carry it around in your pocket, they had to be used within ten to fifteen feet of where they were mounted (hence the term - land line) and the only change in the first 70 years were to the style and color. It's only lately that the phone company has decided to no longer service them. Their replacement, the cell phone, is a throw away mainly due to constantly changing technology and style. Their ability to be constantly carried on your person means you are constantly connected to the world around you to the point that some people seem to be constantly talking on it as long as they are awake. The cell phone does so much more than it's predecessor but at the cost of taking over the lives of so many people and constantly changing technology means that a new and improved model comes out every year and cost a couple of thousand dollars.

     Computers are another thing, they made their debut before cell phones but rapid advances in technology changed the world we live in. With their advent, any piece of information you needed was at your fingertips, no waiting. They started out very big and repairable now everything is available on your cell phone, the lap top and desk top computers are no longer fixable, if it breaks - get a new one.

     There was a time when shoes were made from real leather and the soles could be replaced when they were worn down, today most shoes are made from a combination of leather and rubber when they wear out toss them in the garbage. They are cheap to make especially since most are made in China and southeast Asia. 

     Kay and I have a nice set of dinner ware and silverware but we rarely use them. Paper plates, bowls, cups, plastic forks, knives and spoons are so much easier because cleanup requires only a garbage can. Most of our drinks come in plastic bottles so why dirty a glass when a red Solo cup will do just fine or why dirty a coffee cup when a styrofoam cup only needs to be tossed in the trash.

     There are antique stores everywhere, they sell everything that has survived decades of use going back for a hundred years but sadly they only bring back memories to us old people they once served, the youth of today don't want them to the point that many things at estate sales wind up being tossed.

     In today's world we have so much that enriches our lives but society has changed to the point that it never shuts down, we run 7 / 24, we don't have the time to worry about making repairs and no one seems to be concerned about passing things along because no one wants them. It's all about information, technology and staying connected. Of course, those of us who lived in an age where things were repaired thinks the world is going to hell in a hand basket but then I seem to remember that my parents said the same thing about my generation, I would wonder what my grand kids will be saying to their kids but they don't make kids the same any more either.

      

    

Family

 

     

     Nine years ago Kay and I were married, on that day our lives changed in many ways. Each of us had been married before, we lost our spouses within a week of each other, together we had been married 82 years. We had a lot of memories and a lot of things from our past but more important we acquired a new future full of new memories and things.

     One of the most important things I gained was a new family. Three new brothers and sister-in-laws, nieces, nephews, and cousins by the bunches. One niece has seven kids, after nine years I finally remember their names, maybe in another nine years I will be able to put the proper name to the right face, I'm trying.

     Like me, the immediate family is aging, changing daily as we all grow older. Kay has lost two for her brothers, most recently her oldest brother Bob passed away. In these short nine years I have grown to love my extended family, I have laughed with them and cried with them, I have watched them suffer and watched them grow. I love them all.

     I have four families now, my own two sons, daughter in law and two wonderful grand kids. Linda's sister and niece and cousins. My two brothers and sister and a whole bunch of cousins and one uncle and now Kay's family. Turns out they are, in my eyes, all alike, some one is always needing something, someone always has a problem and someone is always there to help. They are my family and I love them.

     

It's Been A Helluva Year

 

     This has been a helluva year for Kay and I, it started out in July of 2024 when we both came down with Covid. We had all of the vaccinations to prevent getting the Covid but we may have waited too long to recharge the system. I got it first and had a difficult time, Kay was not as infected as me but we both survived although not without some dreaded side effects. Kay really didn't have any lasting side effects but I had difficulty catching my breath that seems to have finally gone away but has been replaced with exhaustion and low energy after exhertion

     Fifteen months, four doctors, two cat scans, one nuclear stress test and a heart catherization later and my breathing problems are still with me but have changed to a shortness of breath / fatigue. Through all of this I have found out that my lungs are clear and I have a heart that a lot of fifty year olds would love to have. I do have what is now called "Long Covid", the side effects have a name now. I have no doubt that I will survive and the side effects will disappear but after 15 months I'm getting a little tired of it.

     During all my health problems, Kay's life has been upside down. In addition to worrying that I was going to drop dead from a heart attack, her brother Bob was diagnosed with an inoperable tumor last fall and given a short time to live. He found a doctor who gave him hope and underwent an extreme radiation therapy schedule. It worked out for a short time but then he was taken to the ER and had an operation to repair a hole in his stomach. Things didn't go as well as expected, Bob remained in the hospital for the next ten weeks, he never went home. 

     The day after Bob's funeral I underwent my heart catherization, the stress test had revealed that I three arteries blocked and may need open heart surgery, needless to say Kay was worried. As it turned out I have no blocked arteries serious enough to warrant stints much less surgery. I consider this a very good outcome in that it has taken me 78 years to get one artery clogged to 50%, in my way of thinking it's going to take another 78 years to finish me off with heart trouble.

     At the suggestion of my doctor we joined a gym and exercise three days a week, so far that's going well but I still have the dreaded "side effects". It's a very nice gym with a helpful staff and a mixture of young and old people. Going to the gym has made me wonder why I do it, three of my grandparents were born in the late 1800's and the other about 1901, they never exercised, they cooked with lard and used bacon grease and yet they lived in to their 80's. A high school classmate would run for miles every day and ran road races one day he went for a run and never came back, he was in his late fifties so I have to wonder if all this exercising is really necessary.

     As we checked in the other night I saw two notices on the counter, they had pictures of two members who had recently passed away, one man was 74 the other was 76. All of this got me to thinking. I'm about halfway through my 78th year and in pretty fair condition, my family history indicates the possibility of a long life at least in to my eighties, there are more years behind me than in front of me so what is all of this exercise going to get me, damned if I know. I wouldn't mind being around to see my grand kids go out into the world, I wouldn't mind being around a little longer as long as I'm not a burden on.

     The older I get the signs of my aging become more prominent as the days pass, I moan and groan when I move and there seems to be an ache or pain somewhere on my body all the time but I refuse to give in old age. I push myself because I feel like if I accept my plight then then all is lost, I have goals that I have set and intend to at least try to achieve them. I don't know when my last breath is going to come or what will bring it about but I intend to fight for it.

     PS, I bought a water ski last year and was going to ride it but Covid got in my way and now winter is coming on so I'll have to wait until next summer, there will be a video.

     

  

     

     

     

Aces and Eights

 

     One of the things that dad picked up in the Navy was a desire to gamble. I say that he picked it up in the Navy but it could have been something he already was familiar with and just refined his skills in the Navy, at any rate, dad liked to gamble. It wasn't until I turned 13 and went to work at the grocery store where he was the butcher. Up until then I thought those times when mom was ticked because there was very little money were due to his drinking.

     There are many forms of gambling, i.e. cards, dice, horse races and dog races, then there are the lesser known local forms of pitching coins, side bets and pulling Coke bottles. Dad didn't bet the horses or dogs and I'm not sure he ever got into a dice game but beyond that he was ready, willing and able.

     When I went to work with him I would often find him and a couple of the younger guys passing their break time in some form of gambling. We called it pitching pennies in school mainly because pennies were all we could afford to loose, dad and his cohorts were usually good for dimes and quarters. The game was played when two or more participants would toss a coin against a wall or any straight edge, the coin had to hit the wall then flop back , the coin that landed closest to the wall won and the other participating coins would be forfeited. The amount of the initial bets didn't add up to a lot but over 15 - 20 minutes you could loose a couple of dollars and in 1960 two dollars was a tidy sum.

     Every grocery store sold soft drinks just as they do today and all overstock was stacked in the backroom. This was before aluminum cans and plastic bottles, all soft drinks came in glass bottles, we sold the standard Coca Cola, RC, Pepsi and several other brands of the era. The bottles came in cardboard "six pack" containers, four containers to a wooden case with the brand logo, there were also 24 individual bottles in a case and the cases were stacked about 15 high against a wall in the stockroom. For reasons known only to Coca Cola, their bottles were made in various cities around the nation and the name of the city and state of origin was embossed on the bottom of the bottle. Over the years the bottles found their way around the country as they were used over and over again and again so that there might be bottles from several states and cities in a case and that presented an opportunity for gambling.

     The game was called "pulling Coke bottles". It was played when two or more opponents randomly selected a case of cokes, empty or full bottles didn't matter. A bet was established, usually a quarter but sometimes higher. Each player would select a bottle and look on the bottom for the place of manufactor, the bottle that was made the farthest away won. There were 12 pulls in each case and should there be a doubt as to the exact mileage a call was made to the local AAA office.

     Side bets occurred when a bet was already in place and another individual would bet on who would win. Dad liked to do side bets when we would go to turkey shoots.

     When Linda and I came home on leave as I was shipping out to Vietnam the first time, it was in November of 1967. The local VFW or American Legion would have "turkey shoots" where participants would shoot at targets with shotguns, the person closest to the bullseye won a prize. Prizes would be cash money, bourbon whiskey, frozen turkeys and baked hams. Money and bourbon were the general prize and usually cost about two dollars to shoot, up to 15 shooters would shoot at the same time. Frozen turkeys and baked hams were special shots and usually cost double the regular shoot.

     Dad had a 12 gauge shotgun but it didn't hold a good shot pattern but a friend / customer had one that held a much tighter pattern so they would swap guns for the season that ran weekends from early October till the week before Christmas. 

     Drinking and guns, as a rule, don't mix but they were different times then. Dad couldn't go too long without a drink but when I was with him he at least let me do the shooting and that's when the side bets would start. Shells were furnished for every shoot and as we were loading dad would tap the guy next to me and bet him that I would come closer to the bullseye. The first weekend we were shooting we came home with one ham, two turkeys, a couple of half gallon bottles of Henry Mckenna bourbon and around $50 cash.

     While there are many card games in the world of gamblers, in dad's world it was poker. Coming from Southern Baptist background I would say that this was something he picked up while in the Navy.

     Growing up, I always knew dad had a drinking problem but I didn't know about the gambling till I became a teenager. There had always been times when he stayed out till the early morning hours and I remember times that he would come home and tell mom she had to tighten the belt but I didn't know why. I later learned that I saw a lot of things through rose colored glasses.

      The parents of my generation were a different breed, they grew up during the "great depression" and jumped right in to a world war. Dad was just a kid when he went to war, the things he did and saw most likely set the tone for the life he lived. 

      I've said it before, I loved my parents in spite of their character flaws. I miss them.

     

The Papermate

 

     When Linda died she left behind more than memories, more than her legacy of two sons and two grandchildren, she left behind things. We all have an accumulation of things, things that are important to us, things that are important to other people and things that hold no value to anyone. Linda left behind hand made quilts, embroided pictures, scraps of cloth and little rolled up balls of yarn. Just things to most people, they represented the beauty she made from them, surprisingly many of the things she made went to people she didn't know but they were things those people needed, that was the way she lived her life.I gave most of these things to Danny and Clay who would hopefully hold them as keepsakes to be passed down through generations. I kept very little for myself.

     There was one thing that I hung on to, it was nothing of any great value but it was something she used on a regular basis. It was an inexpensive ballpoint pen made by a company called Papermate, a company that has been in business for several generations. She was very particular about her writing instruments, Papermate, she said was the only pen that felt good in her fingers, the ink didn't glunk up and the ball moved smoothly across the paper. Papermate had been her choice of writing instruments for years for years.

     Writing letters used to be her way of keeping up with people who lived far away but E-mail replaced that form years ago so her writing was regulated to writing checks for the payment of bills and that's where I found it - wrapped inside the checkbook.

     I kept the pen just as I found it, it was hers and somehow this inexpensive pen became a piece of Linda that I could still touch so I have been using it since she passed away. Last week the pen wrote for the last time. I might could find a refill for it but somehow that just doesn't seem right, I'll hang on to it for a while longer maybe even till I'm gone, I'll have to give it some thought.

     The biggest issue for me is that this was one of the last pieces of Linda that I had, now it's only another of many memories.

Granny Was Not A Sissy

 

     Linda was not only beautiful, she was smart and strong willed. She knew what she wanted and she found a way to get it, I was probably the only thing she wasn't sure about wanting but I won her over. When faced with adversity she came up with a plan then put it into play, I think the Army called it "adapt and overcome".

     The instance that came to mind and caused me to write this piece came about in the summer of 1968, Linda had just turned 19 a few months earlier. I hadn't been back from Vietnam very long when we realized the cost of living was higher than the paycheck could cover. I decided that returning for another tour in Vietnam where my check would not be taxed and would increase another $65 a month was the thing to do so off I went.The object of this move was that Linda would receive the extra money and everything would be OK but she came to a different conclusion. About a month into my tour, I got a letter telling me she was back in Florida and working at her old job. 

     I have to admit that I was upset at first after all this was something that most young girls would not do back then but most girls were not Linda. The car we had was a stick shift, she was alone and her destination  in Florida was a hair under 2500 miles. She made the trip with a couple of problems but she was lucky enough to have found some very nice people who helped her out.

     When I got out of the Navy, we had been married 2 years but we had only spent about 10 months together. It didn't take too long for me understand that I should never tell Linda she couldn't do something, it was like waving a red flag at a bull. 

     This streak of tenacity served her well over the years, many was the time she dug her heels in. I hope MJ developes some of the strength of her grandmother, it's in her genes.

    

Saturday With The Grandkids

 

     Normally I will pick up MJ and Matthew on a Saturday morning and Kay and I will spend time with them doing various things. Hopefully we are creating memories.

     When I arrived a few weeks back, Matthew was playing a game on the TV and wouldn't stop so MJ and I went off without him. Kay had something going with her Master Gardening group so it was just MJ and I. The first stop was the botanical Gardens where we walked around looking at plants and I watched her play in the kids area, sometimes we talked to each other. 

     After a while we took off looking for the remains of and old settlement, we wound up bypassing it and went to Greensboro instead. We wanted to have lunch there but MJ couldn't find a suitable eatery on her phone so we went to Madison in search of a Dairy Queen, she and her phone took me right to it. After lunch it was time to head for home.

     It was a fairly long drive from Madison to Jefferson. Along the way I tried to have a conversation with MJ and while she would answer my questions that was about it, mostly she was involved in her phone. The more I thought about it the more I was getting perturbed, MJ was a child of her times and I expected her to be interested in her old grandpa - what was I thinking.

     A couple of miles from home, I decided to say something so I pulled off the road.  As I put the truck in park I told MJ that I wanted to talk to her so she needed to put her phone down. I asked her if she had read any of my blog and she said dad had read a couple of stories to her. I asked if she knew why I wrote my blog, she said "so you will remember", I said no I remembered everything I wrote. I went on to say that one day I wanted to know something about my grandparents but there was nobody alive to tell me what I wanted to know. I told her that I wrote my memories down because I knew that some day she, her children and maybe even later generations would have questions that only I could answer and me writing down my memories would be the only way for them to get their answers.

     It was about this time that she started to cry, when I asked why she was crying she told me that some things just made her cry. I gave her a hug and told her that I loved her and told that I would like it if she would put her phone down and talk to me when we were out and about. MJ told me she didn't know what to ask about so I promised to work on that part. She asked if I would teach her how to fish and I said I would which takes me to the next part of this memory.

     Fast forward a couple of weeks. I called Danny to ask if the kids were doing anything that Saturday, he told me MJ had a school function but Matthew was available so I asked if Matthew would want to spend time with me. He called back and said Matthew said yes.

     So, Saturday morning I picked up Matthew and away we went, I had no idea what I was going to do to hold Matthew's interest. Then I remembered that I had two spinning rods in the truck so I asked Matthew if he wanted to go to the lake and fish, I told him I would teach him to cast a spinning rod. We got to the lake and I put lures on the rods and started showing him how to hold the rod and cast it then retrieve the lure. I taught him how to untangle the lure without getting stuck with a sharp hook. Matthew hasn't had a growth spurt recently and I noticed his small hands trying to grip the rod and just knew he would get frustrated but be surprised me, in no time he was doing a two hand cast and getting good distance.

     After a couple of failed cast that didn't go too far he was starting to get the hang of it but most importantly he didn't give up. It wasn't long that he was making some pretty decent cast, every time he did I made sure to compliment him and encourage him to try again. After a while we stopped for lunch at Dairy Queen, for whatever reason Matthew went into one of his moods but once the meal was done I asked if he wanted to go home or do some more fishing.

     We went to three different spots that afternoon. At the last place my back was starting to ache from all the standing so I found a place to sit and just watched Matthew making cast after cast. We were both disappointed that the fish didn't cooperate but I explained that some days were like that. Matthew was quiet on the drive home, when we got there he pushed past mom and dad and went upstairs. I told Danny what we did and asked him to tell Matthew how proud I was of him.

     Several days later, I talked to Danny. He told me how much Matthew had enjoyed our outing, it was all he talked about later that night. Danny said he told Matthew that he would dig out one of his rods and let Matthew show him what I had taught him then he would teach Matthew how to do it right. In no uncertain terms, Matthew informed Danny that "grandpa knew what he was doing".

      This was not the first time MJ and Matthew had gone fishing with me but they were younger then, maybe now is a better time. I hope they learn to enjoy fishing, I hope they remember who got them started.

     

     

Older By The Minute

 

     Sometime in my earlier years I figured out that the day you are born is the day you start die. This line of reasoning defines the phrase "getting older by the minute".

     Looking back, I never gave getting older much thought, I mean, after all you don't think much about getting old when you are starting first grade but if you really think about it you did a lot of thinking about being older. when you were maybe four you watched other kids head off to school every morning and you wanted to go also but mom said you weren't old enough so you thought - I can't wait till I'm old enough to go to school. There were also the times you wished you were old enough for a bike, walk to school by yourself, can't wait till I'm a teenager - the list of think you wished you were old enough to do at that age is endless. During the whole process you never once thought about the reality that you were in fact getting older by the minute. Those years between birth and adulthood were the greatest times of your life and you won't even realize it for a several decades.

     One of the drawbacks of being a kid is that old age relates to anybody you have to look up to, I mean really bend your head back and look up, when you are five being old is somewhere around fifteen, old age is over thirty and everything else is just antiquated. 

     I couldn't wait till I turned eighteen, at eighteen I would be an adult and could do anything I wanted to do but I quickly learned that I could do those things only as long as someone older had the same ideas. Turns out that "Uncle Sam" wanted me to join one of the Armed Forces, four years later the real world in general said I had to get a earning a living - no more free rides, it didn't sound fair but then nobody said life was fair.

     Turning thirty for most people was a major setback, personally I never understood that but some people went into a major midlife crisis mode becoming moody and crying a lot. Sure it was a milestone, one of life's many but for me it was just another birthday just like all of those that followed. I kept doing what I thought was expected of me, providing for my family, making the boss happy and all the while I was getting older by the minute but still getting older was not something I gave much thought about, when I did I just joked about it.

     I guess I finally started giving my age some thought somewhere in my fifties not that I was slowing down any but it was more that I was tired of having to deal with people younger than me who hadn't lived half the life I had but thought they knew everything, youth is wasted on the young. I made it to retirement age, it felt good not to have to get up and go to work. Linda and I were footloose and fancy free, no one to answer to except each other. Life was great, for a while, anyway.

     I retired in my sixties, older? yeah but I didn't really feel it, there was still that layer of old age above me that I had yet to reach. I qualified as a senior citizen and was moving into "old fogey" status, "older than dirt" is the ultimate goal. I had yet to admit I was old, I didn't feel old and was fairly active but it was only a matter of time as I was getting older by the minute.

     Reality finally reared it's ugly head a few short years later. Linda had been ill for sometime, I assumed the role of caregiver, where ever she needed to go, I took her, whatever she needed ,I got it for her, she could no longer do the simplest things. She could sit up on the edge of the bed and rest for a few minutes before standing, one night she slipped to the floor, when I tried to help her I found I didn't have the strength to help her because she couldn't help me. Luckily there was a young neighbor next door who came to our rescue. This incident was the turning point for me, at that time I felt really old, I could no longer care for the person I loved more than life itself.

     That was more than ten years ago, in many ways I have maintained my individuality but I'm afraid I'm about to cross the threshold into the "old fogey" status. The brain wants to maintain the status quo but the body declines to cooperate on a regular basis. Before I get down on one knee, I make sure there is something nearby to help me back up, the day to day aches and pains accompanied by moans and groans serve to let me know that I'm not only alive but also older than I was the day before. There's not much I can do about getting older, it sort of goes with the territory and while I'm happy to still be in an upright position I know there are many who never made it this far.

     So here I am about to turn 78 in a couple of months, I got arthritis in most of my joints, my left knee is on it's way out. I now see at least six doctors annually and I good nights sleep consist of five or six hour and not consecutively but I wake up each day and find something to do, even if it hurts.

     While I don't dwell on how much longer I will be around, the thought does cross my mind. There is so much more I want to do and see, most importantly, wanting see my grandchildren turn into young adults is high on the list but somewhere there is another list with my name on it and a date, in the mean time I'm getting older by the minute.

Fishermen Make Good Friends

 

     Last week, I was talking to my brother Clint, we must have been talking about fishing because he told me a fishing story about dad that I never knew. 

     Let me preface the story by saying that dad was an old school fisherman extraordinaire. My earliest memories was of him driving away with half a dozen cane poles sticking out the back window of the car, somewhere in the back seat was a can of earthworms he had dug up the night before. His tacklebox was a small metal box filled with bobbers (plastic and cork) some hooks and lead weights although old spark plugs or rusty nuts worked in a pinch. He fished rivers, creeks and farm ponds, a rock, tree stump or maybe a bucket served as a chair. Usually, bream and catfish were the catch of the day.

     Pat and I got to go along with him about the time I started school. Old Hickory Lake was still in the creation stage so dad would seek out a favorite spot along Spencer Creek back when he could drive along a dirt path beside the creek until he found a suitable spot to stop, the banks of Stones River had many good spots when we moved closer to town. Pat and I were still a bit young and had short attention spans, dad spent a lot of time telling us to stop throwing rocks in the water or sit down and be quiet as we were scaring the fish away but somehow we learned to fish.

     It was quite a few years before dad acquired a cheap casting reel that would get his bait further out. He spent a fair amount of time unraveling the back lash in the line until he got a nice spincast reel that eliminated the back lash but the cane poles were ever-present for years to come.

     Bank fishing was the order of the day until about 1960, that's when he had a carpenter friend build him a John boat. All of a sudden there was no place he couldn't get to on the lake. Now dad started planning his vacation around crappie season, imagine fishing every day for two weeks straight. The boat allowed him to do another type of fishing - trot-lining.

      Trot-lining is when you tie a long line (75- 100 feet) to a point on the shore and run it out into the lake or river, one end would be anchored down so the line would be submerged several feet. Hooks were tied to lengths of line maybe 10 inches long and attached to the trot-line about every 18 inches and baited with small bream or old meat. The aim was to attract and catch catfish and dad was very good at it. The line had to be checked and baited every day, the fish were cleaned and put in a freezer waiting for a fish fry cookout later in the summer.

     Now that you understand that dad was a fisherman, I'll tell you the story Clint told me.

     I'm still unclear of the year but at some point in time dad had put out a trot-line, I guess he was not on vacation as he couldn't get to check it but every few days, Clint would check it for him when he could. Clint discovered that when he checked and baited the line and came back later to check it the hooks were all empty of bait and fish which was unusual. He told dad what he found and dad determined he had a trot-line thief running his line so he set out to catch the thief. 

     Dad went out and baited the line one day and went home but he got up before sunrise the next morning and laid in wait in view of the line. It didn't take long after sun rise before a boat approached his line and a stranger started removing fish.

     At this point dad approached the stranger and confronted him. He told the man that the line belonged to him and he was lucky dad didn't have a gun. The stranger looked at dad and said I guess you have caught me. The stranger told dad that he had watched him and knew what days dad would check the line and on the days he didn't the stranger would remove and rebait the line and check it the next day before dad or Clint got there. 

     Normally the stranger would say he was sorry, promise not to do it again and leave but this time things took a different turn of events. The stranger told dad he would like to make a deal with him, he would see to it the line was baited every day and whenever dad ran the line all he had to do was remove the fish and the stranger would do the rebaiting that way they would both benefit. In addition, if dad needed more fish all he had to do was look in the freezer on the stranger's dock and take what he wanted.

     Strangely enough the two of them became fishing buddies and good friends till the day dad died, the man showed up for his funeral, had I known I would have shook his hand.

     That was more than 40 years ago, I have a lot of memories about fishing with dad and although I didn't know about this one until a few weeks ago it will now be among the best of them. Wherever dad is, I hope the fish are biting.

Happy Holidays

 

     The holiday season in the 1950's were the best for a young kid to experience, I know because I was there. 

     In 1956 dad moved us to Donelson, a suburb of Nashville. The family at that time consisted of mom, dad, me, my brother Pat and brother Clint and sister Vickie who was just a baby. We lived in a small four room house, five if you counted the bath. I was nine years old then, young enough that I still believed in Santa Clause.

     The holiday season, for us, started back in September, it was about that time that the Sears Christmas catalogue came out. It contained all sorts of ideas for Christmas gifts of all ages, clothing, furniture, sports equipment and toys. The day the catalogue arrived we tore into it with a vengeance, we went straight to the toy section and started the difficult task of choosing the toys we wanted for Christmas. The task was indeed difficult for Sears offered every toy available at that time, from tinker toys to fire trucks that squirted water.

     Over the next few months right up until just days before Christmas our choices would change, the pages were dogeared and wrinkled from constant use. Mom and dad were harassed daily with our latest decision and the reasons for why it had to be that particular toy.

     Thanksgiving was the next stop on the holiday circuit, we were out of school for two days and the weekend. The first thing after breakfast on Thanksgiving Day we turned on the TV and spent the next two plus hours watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on our small black and white TV. It was fascinating to see all of the floats, bands and balloons. Later we would pack up the car and head out to see the family. First stop was grandpa / granny Riggan then later on to grandpa / granny Wade. Back then family holiday gatherings were traditional, we maintained that tradition until the 1970's when Linda and I moved out of state. This was a time when we would see all of our aunts, uncles and cousins, it was not the only time but it was a time made special because it was a holiday.

     The day after Thanksgiving started the Christmas movie and Christmas specials season on TV. Miracle On 34th Street was a favorite along with A Christmas Carole. Everything was in black and white, color TV was still a few years away. Meanwhile there local parades, I marched in one as a Cub Scout, carolers everywhere you went. The department store windows were decorated with a Christmas theme, they were works of art. Everywhere you went people were saying Merry Christmas as they had done all their life. Christmas decorations abounded everywhere.

     Now we get to the big day, Christmas Eve, the day the big guy comes sliding down the chimney but we didn't have a chimney so Santa had to wait until we were asleep or out of the house so he could sneak in. This had to be the longest day of the year, by dinner time mom was exhausted, first it was us kids who were filled with the excitement of the day then dad would come home with a friend or two and maybe another friend or two would just stop by. On rare occasions Uncle Paul and family stopped in and one year Grandpa and granny Wade came for a visit.

     It was a magical time, the smell of our cedar tree filled our nostrils, the bright lights and colored ornaments and tinsel lit up the living room. There were packages for each of us wrapped in Christmas paper and colorful ribbons and bows, our minds constantly wondered what was in them, we must have asked mom a dozen times if we could open just one.

     It was tradition in our house that after we ate dinner that each of us could choose one gift from under the tree and open it, that would usually calm us down some. Later on, one of two things would happen, dad would either load us up in the car and take us on a ride around the neighborhood to see all the colorful decorations or send us off to bed. If we went for a ride, when we came back mom would be standing in the door and as we got out of the car she would tell us that Santa Clause just left. Sure enough, when we went inside there would be new toys under and around the Christmas tree.

     If we were sent to bed, we were expected to go to sleep, the younger ones did but I was to high on the excitement of the moment so I would lay there and pretend. At the age of nine there was doubt in my mind - just how did Santa get in a house with no chimney? At any rate, after a while dad would come in and wake us up, Santa Clause had arrived. Now the fun begins, torn wrapping paper and empty boxes littered the floor of our small living room. As the clock rushed to midnight we kids were still at it  even the little one were to excited to sleep but dad was another story so he would go to bed, mom would have to sit up with us till the wee hours of the morning. Eventually the little ones would tire and mom would shuffle them off to bed. Pat and I being the oldest would stay up sometimes all night.

     Christmas day, we would load up the car and again head off to see the grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. It was a day filled with more presents, lots of food and candy and cakes galore, talk about a sugar high. Aunts would catch us as we walked past and pull us into their laps and hug and kiss us, uncles would comment on how tall we were getting. It was exhausting, the ride home was pretty quiet dad had to carry us inside when we got home.

     The next few days were toned down, the anticipation was over, now was the time to start wearing off the new of the toys. I wish I could say that toys were all that we got but that didn't happen, we also got new shirts, socks, jeans, and underwear.

     New Years rounded out the season, at nine years old I was not concerned with the staying up all night to ring in the new year nor was I concerned with the football games the next day.  There was though the Rose Parade from Pasadena, California where all the floats were made from flowers, we spent a couple of hours in front of the TV watching the floats and marching bands.

     On this day we usually went to see grandpa / granny Wade, Grandpa and our uncles were big sports fans and the TV would be ready for the game. In the meantime grandpa held court with his stories and tall tales that made us all laugh and granny just reveled in her children and grandchildren, a constant smile on her face. At the end of the day the season like the old year was over, for the adults it was back to the old grind, for us kids it was like every other day- a new adventure in the waiting.

     They say you never know how much you miss something until it's gone, over the years those days turned to memories something for this old man, on a cold drizzly day, to reflect on. 

The Hierarchy

 

     Growing up with a father who was a butcher you would think we ate a lot of good meat but the reality was that with five kids dad could hardly afford steak for himself. Many times we didn't even have meat for dinner. Often just having a ham hock cooked in with the Navy beans was a bonus but then we were kids who would eat pretty much anything and anything was what we got. 

     Back in the 50's, kids were treated differently, we were supposed to be seen but not heard and when it came to food we ate what was put before us except for me, as for me all food had to look good, smell good and taste good in that order. I admit that I was a picky eater and therefore I had my old standby's of mashed potatoes, Navy beans and cornbread for dinner meals and bologna sandwiches for lunch and Cherrios for breakfast. But every now and then dad would bring home a roast which if it wasn't consumed in one meal it was turned into leftovers in the form of "hash". 

     While we had our old standbys we did eat other things like green beans, peas, cornbread cooked in an iron skillet and cut into triangles, cornbread paddies that looked like small pancakes and sometimes cornbread muffins. We also ate chicken that was fried in the same skillet as the cornbread, in fact the cornbread often had a taste of chicken because some of the leftover grease was used in the making of the cornbread, the rest of the grease was poured into a special can to be used again later to cook something else, nothing was wasted.

     There was a hierarchy for eating and another for the food itself. As for the act of eating the hierarchy started with dad going first then the oldest child, that was me, then on down the line with mom being the last to eat. Moms were the last to sit down at the table after having finished the cooking and getting the food from the pot into a bowl and on the table, then she would prepare a plate for the little ones and spoon feed the baby, I was 13 before there were no babies to feed. By the time I was nine I was mom's assistant with the cooking, washing, ironing and setting the table.

     Then there was the hierarchy for the food itself, generally speaking that meant there was adult food and kid food. Dad, and sometimes mom, got to eat steak and baked potatoes or shrimp and fries. When mom and dad got to eat shrimp we kids had leftover hash and were sent to bed early.

     One food that was popular back then was chicken, it was cheap, quick and easy to prepare. Chicken was usually eaten on Sunday and almost always it was fried, any leftovers were put on a plate, covered with a dishcloth and left on the table so anyone could come in and grab a piece for their "midnight snack". Chicken was one of those foods that involved a hierarchy for the various parts. there were seven different parts to a chicken, four of them were in pairs, then there was the dark meat / light meat factor. Chicken also held an eating order hierarchy, in other words, the adults got the pick of the best pieces. I think I was in my late teens before I got to eat a chicken breast.

     In my opinion, the best part of the chicken was the breast and wish bone, the meat was all white, more tender and therefore more delicious. Because of this, the breast was considered "adult food" but the kids did get the wish bone after a small argument. The other parts contained the dark meat, the thigh, leg and wings were therefore they were considered kid food, the adults started indoctrinating us at an early age that these parts were the best and that we were lucky to have them. That leaves the neck bone and gizzard, I have never eaten either of them, they didn't meet my standards for looks, smell and taste.

     There is an irony about chicken, where as back in the 1950's it was generally served for Sunday meals, it has today become one of the most popular foods. It is served baked, grilled and fried, covered in gravy, filled with various stuffings and consumed any meal of the day or night, it is served in strips (fingers), on buns with fries and purchased by the bucketful for the whole family. There are whole establishments serving nothing but chicken. 

     When I was in Vietnam and aboard ship, chicken seemed to be a staple. When food supplies ran low we always had chicken to the point that when I came home I forbade Linda to serve me chicken, I finally got over my disdain for chicken and it is once again a staple for me, Kay and I have it several times a week.

     I have finally reached the age where I am the oldest of most tables I sit down too so I can pull the first served status if I want but most of the time it's women and children first. My palate has improved a little over the years but I'm still a picky eater, Linda and Kay will both attest to that.

     Another irony is that the wings have become the most popular of all the parts, to me it is the most aggravating.  of the parts as a lot of time and trouble is spent trying to get at the little bit of meat there is but Buffalo wings as they are called are eaten by the dozens. It is not uncommon for one individual to eat twenty or more at a time then wash them down with a cold beer.

     

The Six "P's" of Life

 

     Back in the 1980's, I did a stint as a salesman and as a salesman attended several annual sales meetings. On the whole the meetings were both raucous and boring at the same time, you wound up drinking and eating too much and sleeping was something you did on the flight home. Anything that may or may not have happened during that week was never spoken about in mixed company. Every now and then you would get something from the meetings that would stick with you and hopefully improve your sales if not your life. The meetings lasted four days starting on Monday and ending Thursday night, every day held a different subject and one of those days was the highlight subject of the week. 

     I attended several sales meetings, most of them are faded memories but there was this one that stood out above the rest. I couldn't tell you who was there what year it was held or where but the highlight subject of the week has visited my memory banks often over the years. Don't ask me why it stands out so much it just does. The narrator started the meeting by writing the letter "P" six times on the dry erase board and asked what they meant, we all scratched our heads and came up clueless. The six "P,s" stood for a formula which when applied to our sales tactics would improve our sales, at least that was the general idea. Turns out that I needed more than application of an idea to improve my sales, my sales position didn't last long. I remembered those six "P's" over the years, the principal was sound but the practice left me wanting.

     So just what was the theory of the six "P's", they stood for " Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance". It's one of those little things that is so easy to understand and you would think so easy to put into practice but everybody is not wired the same. Seems that I can't slow down long enough to develop a plan much less put one into practice.

      It took me a long time to understand what the six "P's" meant, they had little to do with sales but everything to do with managing life but they were one of those things that I learned too late. Doing things in a smooth practical way was never my style, still isn't. I always thought that I didn't have time to make a plan especially since most plans were subject to change the moment they were stamped for approval.

     I never again heard of the six "P'S" but I never forgot them, I think that somehow they were being held in probate waiting for this moment when I would share this tidbit of wisdom in the hopes that maybe it would help a future offspring to live a better life. So whoever is reading this I hope you have a good life even if you don't use the theory of the "P's".

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.