TheBanyanTree: GONE WITH THE TIMES

[alf at io.com]

whoa! don't ch'yall ferget snow ice cream in the winter and fresh fruit ice
cream on a summer sunday afternoon at grandma's as the whole extended
family gathered after church for the rest of the day.
The adults sittin on the front porch talkin as a yard filled with kids
running and screaming like pirates on a raid of some new found payload.

That was on a black land farm in south central Ok. Land of toronados.

Grandpa had a celler. I loved it. Sometimes us kids would spend the night
in the celler even if it wasn't storming.

During the summer we'd sleep on the porch and giggle and laugh and look at
a sky so packed full of stars it looked like a black velvet sequined gown.
Has anyone seen the stars lately?

I wuz baptized in a river with the rest of the congregation lining the
banks and singing as the preacher warned what the future held for those not
as wise as I. ha ha ha

I was about ten before my grandfather had an indoor toilet.
In the winter time we had a bucket in the corner that we'd have to carry
out and empty the next morning.

Yep, those were the days.

Of course I, like Dee, enjoy the comforts of modernism and that secure
feeling that comes with just knowing when I pull down my pants and sit down
in the dark - I don't worry bout spiders finding my sorry ass.

and about billboards  . . .
remember a song . . ."I'm in love with the girl wearing nothin but a smile
and a towel on the billboard in the field near the old hiway. . . . ."

er sumpin like that?? ha ha ha


love,
alice


At   2:24 PM 01/26/4 -0800, Dee Churchill wrote:>On Mon, 26 Jan 2004
15:40:16 -0500, Sharon Mack wrote:
>> Written to the prompt on 1/12/03  Write to the next generation
>> about things that no longer exist and relate your experiences.
>>
>> See if this doesn't bring back memories for some of you.....ha!
>
>Ah, Sharon. Indeed it does.
>
>Remember the old Saturday Evening Post? The one with the fabulous covers, done
>by the likes of Rockwell, Sargent and Whitcomb? It came in the mail on
>Fridays, an event I awaited eagerly each week. Although I grew to love the
>whole magazine (the *old* version, thank you very much), it was the cover art
>that first entranced me and encouraged my own attempts in the field.
>
>In retrospect, I realize I learned more from those wonderful illustrations
>than appreciation for art. It had to do with the whole tone of the "old" SEP:
>that quality of recognizing the worth of everyday folk. In a
>celebrity-oriented culture, it's good to have reminders about those of us
>considered ordinary. It's good to know our values, our good times and bad, are
>worth recording and even more lasting than the usual celebrity smoke.
>
>Drive-in movies. Lord! Are there any left in the country? As a teenager, they
>were fun for group junk food orgies and necking. As a young parent, they were
>the best option for entertainment while containing a carload of kidlets in
>relative comfort. It got to the point, though, where parents could only pray
>to find either John Wayne or Walt Disney listed in the schedules.
>
>Speaking of movies, remember the old serials that left you with a breathless
>cliffhanger every weekend? Do you know, I never saw a single serial all the
>way through? That had to do with Mom's deduction of crucial pennies from the
>weekly allowance every time I screwed up. Which meant I didn't have enough
>total pennies for admission every single Saturday afternoon. I had a tough
>childhood.
>
>There were butter churns in every home, most often worked by kids who thought
>that cream would never produce those first magical little bits of gold that
>announced you were finally on the home stretch, just before your arms gave
>out. The first margarine (we called it "oleo") came in heavy, clear plastic
>bags, pound sized. The contents were white, like Crisco, but there was a
>deep-orange capsule inside. You squeezed until the capsule broke, then you
>kneaded the bag until the whole mess was butter-colored, at which point you
>could open the bag and plop it in a serving bowl. That was a regular chore Mom
>delegated to us. Tossing the packet like a bean bag was not permitted. *Told*
>you I had a tough childhood.
>
>That young thang, Sharon, mentioned 45 records. Hah! We used to have an old
>upright Brunswick wind-up phonograph that played 78s! Thick, heavy records
>that, if you put them in the oven at a low temperature for a little while,
>would soften enough to fashion into weird-looking fruit bowls with a hole in
>the middle of the bottom. There were songs like: Barney Google With His
>Goo-Goo-Googley Eyes, The Daring Young Man On The Flying Trapeze and, my
>all-time favorite, The Strawberry Roan. Sadly, Dad hauled that wonderful beast
>off to the dump when we got a more characterless *electric* phonograph. We
>didn't know. We thought we were upgrading, for crying out loud. Wonder how
>much that old Brunswick would bring on Ebay today?
>
>I also wore "full circle" skirts, which didn't necessarily have the poodle,
>poofed high with multi-layers of net petticoats. And we had saddle shoes and
>penny loafers with the shiny penny inserted appropriately. And we rolled the
>tops of our white socks. And the older boys of deliciously dangerous
>reputation always had a pack of nonfilter Camels tucked into a rolled up
>teeshirt sleeve (never on school property...they weren't *that* dangerous).
>And the teeshirts were always white. We didn't have the colors and slogans and
>pictures available today.
>
>In those days, we didn't have armed guards in the school hallways, we just had
>the janitor pushing his dust mop along oiled wooden floors. And if we got a
>whupping at school, guaranteed we would get another one when we got home. In
>that first hour after lunch (which was always a hearty meal cooked by some of
>the best "home cooking" experts in the county), the teacher would read a
>chapter out of whatever book was deemed interesting for us. White Fang. My
>Friend Flicka. Anything adventurous and clean and inspiring. Too bad we didn't
>have access to Harry Potter then.
>
>Wringer washing machines, scrub boards that worked oily dirt out of shirt
>collars and scraped your knuckles raw. Fels Naptha soap, which came in dark
>amber-colored bars and, I assure you, I can still taste to this day. Yeah. Mom
>didn't hesitate to wash our mouths out with the dastardly stuff.
>
>Burma Shave signs along the highway. If Crusoe'd/Kept his chin/More tidy/He
>might have found/A lady Friday/Burma-Shave. Or: Drinking drivers-- /Nothing
>worse/They put/The quart /Before the hearse/Burma-Shave. The last of that
>entertaining breed went up in 1963 and they are missed. Neat, unobtrusive
>little messages to break into the boredom of long highway miles and lift a
>tired spirit without despoiling the scenery.
>
>There were ten cent comic books and nickel candy bars. We popped corn in a
>wire basket over fireplace coals. Cider presses were common. Flour came in
>print cotton sacks that were then used to sew clothing on an old Singer
>treadle machine. When you bought a big box of powdered soap, there would be a
>single piece of dinnerware inside. I wonder if anyone ever got a complete set?
>
>I could go on. It's fun to think back and remember. Do I wistfully long for
>"the good old days?" Not really. There is a balance of good and bad in every
>generation. If we didn't need armed guards in schools then, we also didn't
>have vaccinations for diphtheria or whooping cough. I still love a good
>old-fashioned fireplace but I'm grateful as hell for electric heat and lights.
>And computers. And microwaves and automatic coffee pots.
>
>Sure miss that old Saturday Evening Post, though.
>
>Hugs, Dee
>www.mugajava.com

	    ~*~
 	~*~alf~*~
~*~@io.com~*~

"I once tried to save a cat whom the dogs had chased up a tree.
Some of us simply prefer our own hell over someone else's good intentions.
I still have the scars to prove it."
                                                                         alice