A post, based on one from five years ago, to mark the beginning of this blog’s sixth year. Most early posts, in my opinion, were quite dreadful.
Were the “good old days” really that good? There were fewer creature comforts. No one had air-conditioning. Half the town had outdoor plumbing.
Imagine the joys of trotting to the outhouse on cold, snowy, winter nights. Summers were worse, with flies, stinging insects, and the horrible stench. You became accustomed to the sounds of mud daubers building their nests; knew not to disturb them.
Nobody knew any different. Somehow we survived. Keeping perspective–gasoline was 20 cents per gallon, unless there were gas wars. A sack of candy could be had for a quarter. Consumer goods were cheaper. Wages were considerably less than today.
Would I want to go back? The answer would be a resounding, NO! I like my creature comforts too much. There is no way I’d want to revisit years of teenage angst. I wouldn’t want to restart this blog–either.
I would like, however, to recover time wasted worrying over things, I now know weren’t important. That, and a renewed appreciation for the things I have–that could be taken away should times take a bad turn.
Knots that held
Knots that slipped
Present, held back future
Truthful time told
Whether these were
Mere vagaries of youth
After being gone for an extended period of time, I tend to get reflective.
Elvis Presley’s “Why Can’t I Get An Answer?” still plays in the background of my head.
What was important to remember from the last three weeks?
Perhaps most important, is that, there aren’t always answers–only more questions.
Dignity can’t be taken away unless we allow it to be.
Confidence in one’s self goes a long way. I learned the hard way.
I hadn’t been around little ones for a long time. Young children’s minds were like little sponges. They watched everyone and everything around them.
Things will never again be like they were in my youth. And, some of that’s a good thing.
Someone, once said, there is more work done before and after vacation, than at any other time. I can attest to that.
Out to breakfast at my favorite diner. There seemed to be a lot on this blog about dining.
That should come as no surprise to those who know me. I like to eat–it’s a challenge to enjoy fine dining and stay healthy.
Preparations need to be made for an extended trip out of town. There’s still plenty of time.
This Father’s Day, I’m content to take a back seat–watch children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews. If they attain success, then I’m happy.
Remember going to old people’s houses when you were a kid? They were dark and dreary, smelled musty. There was no reading material for kids. Worst of all, there were no toys to play with.
Lace curtains covered the windows–which were never opened. Something to do with bad air. Hand crocheted lace doilies covered stuffed chair arms and headrests. They always fell down when kids got restless. What good were doilies–anyway? Playing with them always got you in trouble.
Old people liked to sit around and talk. Talked about boring stuff and the good old days. When a dollar bought something, and people knew the value of hard work.
Fidgeting didn’t work. Neither did the sad-eyed, “can we go now, mom?” Too much fidgeting brought the rapier-sharp “death stare” and the excuse, “you didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
Their pets were old–too. Old dogs or cats, half-blind or deaf. They sat on their owner’s laps and didn’t do much. Old people seemed to know if they needed something.
The truth–old people were tired. Tired of being sick. Tired of being taken for granted. Tired of disrespect. Tired of being thought of as just being old.
An updated re-blog from last January about kid logic.
Taking the last of anything held special significance. An infraction among kids that deserved special punishment.
“Mom, Billy took the last chocolate chip cookie.” It was even worse, if your sibling cried, and added, “I didn’t even get one cookie.”
“Sherry ate the last of the ice cream and didn’t tell anybody.”
How could the last of something be more important than the first of something? It was a mystery of kid logic–like riding shotgun in the family sedan. Window seats were also held in high esteem.
The proper procedure was to “call it” before anyone else. “I got the window seat.”
“Bobby always gets the window seat. It isn’t fair. I don’t mind taking turns–but Bobby’s a cheater.”
Middle seat losers were subjected to pummeling from both sides, which led to parental intervention.
The worst was rearranged seating, with the complainer stigmatized by being forced to sit up front between both parents.
This could explain kid logic behind putting things away with micro-crumbs left in the package. Being found out was too high a price to pay.
Getting depressed at Christmas is a real thing for some folks.
Secret Santa’s didn’t visit my house, again–there’s always next year.
This is the time of year when imperfections become endearing qualities.
Grandchildren complain about Grandma’s “iffy” internet service.
My dogs check the mailbox everyday, not for Christmas cards or letters, but rather, for scents from other dogs. I suppose that’s what the Holidays mean to them–and all other days.
It’s the most wonderful time of year–as you’ve already heard many times.
I’m offering the following free advice to everyone this Christmas. You don’t have to believe everything you read, see, and hear.
While my thoughts circle further round the drain–who or what the heck is Eddie Redmayne?
Have a Holly Jolly, non-gender specific, carbon-neutral, appropriately proportioned Christmas this year!