Tag: families

2020 Happy Holidays

Christmas 2020, for reasons not necessary to explain, had none of the usual anticipation. I’m waiting for others in the household to awaken. There are plenty of things about which to reflect on from this past year.

I’m alive and doing well. With the global pandemic, it has been difficult to remain positive. The old adage, “If you couldn’t think of anything good to say, it was better to say nothing at all.”

Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, for 2020! I believe better days are ahead.

Life During the 2020 Panic

There were not many people at our usual Sunday morning breakfast spot. “Are people panicked into staying home?” I asked the waitress. “Yes, it’s been very slow. Wait till you go to the grocery store.”

At our local biggest grocery mart, shelves were bare. No bread, except rye. I happened to like rye, so not a problem. My wife likes English muffins. No English muffins were available.

It was a continuing story of missing merchandise. No Polish sausages. No hot dogs. No bratwurst. No chicken. No hamburger. Hamburger buns were available. However, there were smoked sausages.

The toilet tissue shortage has been well publicized. Merchandise hoarding is similar to that before hurricanes and other disasters. Since schools are closed for about three weeks, it probably has something to do with parents contemplating being sheltered at home with their kids.

Some items were available with 100% mark-ups. There was no excuse for that. Plain and simple price gouging.  There are two other major supermarkets nearby.  Traditionally their prices were higher.  Better to have merchandise for a few cents more, than nothing at all.  At least gasoline prices were lower than they’ve been in recent history. 



Little Spies

It must have been a challenge for parents to hide Christmas presents. Some things were more difficult than others–for example new bicycles, sleds.

As adults, our children confessed to finding hidden Christmas presents, unwrapping, and carefully rewrapping them. My parents several decades before, had different options.

They hid presents at grandma and grandpa’s large, two-story house. The most sneaky, was when mom hid presents at one of her teacher friend’s homes, ten miles away.

Mother’s sense of humor came through one Christmas. Our family had a tradition of letting us kids break the wishbone of turkeys or chickens. We happened to raise chickens.

Gathering eggs from setting hens could be hazardous. They guarded their eggs, at all costs, and pecked anything that came their direction.

Freshly killed frying chickens were a real treat in summer. It was crowning point of a home-grown feast, presented when the local pastor came for a visit.

Wishbone breaking rules: The participant with the shortest piece, after both sides of the wishbone bent to the breaking point, was the loser. My older brother incessantly protested his lack of participation opportunities in the contests

It must have tried mother’s patience one too many times that summer. That Christmas, carefully wrapped, box within a box, within a box was a wishbone, marked with my older brother’s name. It was all in good fun, but my brother missed the point.

Where Have You Been?

I’ve been away from home for two weeks, that’s where. Visited the state of Tennessee for two days, the rest of the time in Illinois.

Visited friends and family. Always enjoy visiting the Great Smoky Mountains.

There are many retail outlets across the country offering classic cars for sale. Not all at reasonable prices. Nevertheless, one such outlet, is Country Classic Cars, near old Hwy 66 and Staunton, Illinois.

I’ve passed by this place many times without stopping to look. This time, my brother, my nephew, great-nephew and I, took time to visit for a couple of hours.

There were several vehicles of interest. Some offered nothing. Especially, the vintage Cadillac Eldorado car body, mounted atop a four-wheel drive truck chassis. All I could ask, was why?

A ’54 Ford Crestline sedan, and a ’67 Ford Custom sedan, reminded my brother and I of our parent’s cars during childhood. There were “wars” over who rode “shotgun”–which was rare, because mom and pop usually occupied the front seat.   Losers sat between two brothers in the back seat.  Mom and dad intervened, if the struggle went too far astray.

The rest of the trip was taken up with carrying a friend, and daughter back-and-forth to the hospital on two different days. One for a routine cat scan, the other for elective surgery.

As I age, 765 mile trips each way, to our former home territory, become more difficult. Health may not allow this in the future? Changes may have to be made?

Wouldn’t it have been nice to have the vintage ’57 Ford pickup, just to tinker with, and drive around the neighborhood?  Like myself, it seemed to be in good shape for its age.

Black Friday & Anti-Locavorianism

Himalayan bath oil… New Mexican firewood… Contemptuousness for all things local.

Acceptability achieved for brief awkward moments when narrow confines of passions intertwined.  In ancient times, called establishing commonality.

Same actors, same roles, encore performances.  No conversation topics off limits.  Everyone knew where they fit on the political, social spectrum–no boundaries were crossed.  What would have been the point?

Bargains perused, for participants in post-holiday shopping frenzy.

After a satisfying breakfast together, content to be left behind.

 

The Good Old Days (A Clear Path to the Outhouse)

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.

Why Can’t I Get An Answer?

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.

 

Taking It Easy

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.

Old People’s Houses

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.