Those Were the Days

Once when I was little I spent two weeks at my Grandparents farm in Southern Ohio. I loved it there. I would get up early and head out to the hills, exploring all the caves and hollows in the area. A couple times we got lost, but always ended up on some road that would eventually lead us home. Back then no one worried about us being out on our own for hours on end. The only thing we were told to watch out for was Copperheads. And to be quite honest I never saw a single one in the thirty some years I visited. Oh, we saw our share of Rat snakes, they were huge and Grandpa Blake had killed one that made its way into the cellar. I didn’t travel to the cellar too much after that story.

So I was staying at the farm and when we were out exploring I stepped on a thorn. It was embedded deep under the skin. I made it back to the house, probably owing and oohing along the way to let the cousins know just how much pain I was in. Grandma got out her needle to remove the culprit. The largest portion came out but the tip broke off inside.

“We should take her to the Doctor,” one of the cousins said.

I didn’t want to go to the doctor. I’d recently had stitches in my hand from falling into a bush while jumping in a large box, I know, explains so much. So the doctor was out of the question.

“No,” Grandma Blake said, “we’ll just put some milk bread on it.”

Wait, milk bread?

Everyone gathered round while she soaked a piece of white yeast bread in milk. The she put the bread on my foot and wrapped it in a piece of white cloth. We played a competitive game of 500 Rummy and had a snack of coke and potato chips then off to bed. Grandma had me keep the bandage on overnight.

The next morning I limped down to the kitchen and Grandma lovingly removed the wrapping. There, stuck in the center of the bread was the tip of the thorn. The spot where the dark piece had been lodged was clean and clear.

It was my first look at some of the old fashioned remedies that have been around forever. My other Grandmother, Sally swore by vinegar. We would stop by to visit and there was always a gallon jug by her chair. She explained that it was the only thing that worked on her arthritis so she rubbed it on her joints. She said it always made her feel better, but I always suspected it was the Highball made from Echo Springs and Diet Fresca that made the real difference. But she swore by vinegar with the passion that the father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding swore by Windex.

Some other home remedies I’ve come across through my investigations:

1. Gargle with warm salted water for sore throat.

2. Meat tenderizer for jelly fish stings.

3. Egg White facial.

4. WD40 spray on aching joints…I know but my niece swears it works.

5. To stop bleeding from a cut, put it in flour to act as a clotting agent.

How about you? Do you have any home remedies to share?

I was lost...or was I?

I consider my life an adventure. Those of you that know me well know how much I HATE to fly. I start to panic just thinking about standing in lines, crushed bodies waiting to get on, and after, the rush of people pulling bags down into your space. People trying to maneuver their way off the plane around a line of bodies stacked up in the all too small isle makes me cringe. The seats jammed so close together that the last time I flew I could count the lice nits in the hair of the woman in front of me as she laid the seat back. Who else’s head has lain against that seat in which I am now sitting?

As a result of this disdain, I drive. I have driven from Ohio to Colorado taking the northern route, spending time in the Badlands and at Mt. Rushmore ending in the incredible Rocky Mountains in Winter Park. Daniel actually learned how to drive on South Dakota back roads when he was 15, as his 13 and 11 year old sisters lay down in the back seat yelling, "We’re going to die!!!" We stopped off along the way at a grizzly bear breeding compound that I just happened to come across in Wyoming. The kids and I (Kirk usually flew out and met up with us due to vacation restraints and the fact that he LOVES to fly) stopped at every state park, every free venue, every historic landmark. We had McDonald's French fries for afternoon snacks and whatever crappy fast food was available for dinner. We stayed at the cheapest hotels in rooms with two double beds and a rollaway.

I treasure these memories. Some of the best times we had were when we would go off the beaten path and get lost.

Going through Georgia one year on the way to Ohio (I’d like to have a dollar for every mile I’ve driven from Florida to Ohio and back), we were going up I-75 and there was a huge wreck. A prefabricated home had slid off its trailer. Half of a house was sitting in the middle of the interstate. I see this and exit, taking the next road hoping for a route around the standstill. I headed east towards the middle of the state.

The two lane roads seemed to get smaller as I headed deeper into Georgia. We’d packed a lunch and I was looking for a park to pull over and enjoy a break from the road. I kept driving. We passed through some small towns, but none offered a place to stop. As we came out of a town and made the turn northward,(at least I thought it was north as this was before GPS and my car didn’t even have a compass like most have now) I spied a huge pecan plantation. There out by the road were four picnic tables. Whether they were for workers or had been placed by the road for travelers to enjoy I had no idea, but we stopped and had our picnic under the enormous trees. My eldest daughter kept saying we were trespassing and would probably get shot. But no one came by to shoo us away so we spent an hour eating and talking about plantations and farming. It is one of my favorite memories. I picture a young mother and her three kids on an amazingly beautiful summer day. They are just sitting and talking spending those precious moments together that are so fleeting that when you look back it seems that their childhood was just a dream.

Over the years, we’ve found off the road dives that had fantastic food at 1950’s prices. We’ve discovered antique shops and barn sales. My youngest daughter collects teapots and many were found on one of our off the beaten path excursions.

Once, I was alone as I drove down back roads from Columbus, Ohio to Parkersburg, West Virginia. The road became so narrow that you had to pull over when another car was approaching in order to let them pass. I came to an enormous horse farm surrounded by miles of white fence. Out in the field were a horse and three men standing back watching as a colt took its first steps. I pulled the car over, grabbed my camera and started snapping pictures. There, in the mist of morning, I experienced a miracle that I would never encounter dodging trucks on the interstate or from a 10 by 15 inch window at 35,000 feet.

It always reminds me of my favorite Robert Frost poem;

I shall be telling this with a sigh,

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Who Was On Your Wall?

One of the interesting aspects of growing older is that you have more time to reminisce with friends and family. The kids we shuttled around are out on their own and we are able to reach out to friends that have somehow fallen by the wayside. We have time to chat and most times we are pulled back into our younger days.

Recently, we were all talking about posters we hung on our walls in High school. Everybody did it. Our parents came from a time when money was tight so there was no extra money for frivolous wall decorations in the kid’s bedroom. Whenever you went into a friend’s room you were greeted with David Cassidy, any member of the Monkees, Bobby Sherman, or Barry Mannilow.

I was a little different. I loved sports figures. I had Roman Gabriel, quarterback for the LA Rams. I had Pete Maravich, (Pistol Pete to you) when he was with the New Orleans Jazz, and one of my all time favorite was Mark Spitz on the cover of Sports Illustrated. I can still picture him there on my wall with all those gold medals hanging around his neck.

I was weird. I didn’t really understand how my friends all thought the Monkee’s deserved a space on the wall when my boys had really accomplished something.

Except my friend Cathy. She had a life-size cutout of John Wayne in the corner of her room. That I could get behind.

I wondered about the pictures we hung. Did they somehow represent the man we would someday select as a mate? My husband was an athlete. My friends would joke that I could pick Kirk out on the practice field just by how he looked from the back in those wonderful football and baseball pants. He was competitive, but fair and as most of the guys on my walls he also was one of the “Good Guys”. Perhaps those posters were a young girl’s way to express those attributes that would be important later in life.
My daughter had the Muppets on her wall.

That explains a lot!!!!

Oldies but goodies

It happened. Just the other day, I was driving down the road, hit the search button on the radio and it stopped on an oldies but goodies station. Steve Miller Band blared from the speakers. “Fly like an eagle…” and I was jamming. My radio is usually set to the country station. If you’ve read my blog, you know I can’t get enough of Brad, Kenny, Martina, Faith, or Tim, to name a few. On this particular day I was in the mood for change. (Even though we’re old we still like the occasional change up). So, I’m listening. They are all there. Harry Chapin, Jim Croce, Dan Fogelberg, John Denver and the Beach Boys. I sing along. I know every word and each one takes me back to a special time.

The Beach Boys came to the Ohio State Fair my junior year in High School and we all went to see them. Floral shirts dotted the stadium as we sang along and danced the night away. Dan Fogelberg did an acoustic tour my freshman year in college at an outdoor venue where we sipped wine under the stars and munched on cheese and crackers.

My husband was into the louder venues. These were the bands that played the huge auditoriums. People pressed in so tightly that when one person jumped up they took the people on either side along for the ride. The Doobie Brothers, Boston, Journey, and other ear splitting bands all played accompanied by the sweet smelling smoke that filled our lungs and saturated our clothing.

On this day, as I drove around with the windows down and the “oldies” music blaring, I was taken back to that simpler time. And when I pulled up to a light and got an angry look from the “older” people in the car next to me, I just smiled and waved. Because for that moment I was seventeen and kicking back, just enjoying some tunes.

I guess I am an oldie but a goodie!!!

On Task

My husband came in from work yesterday and noticed that there were boxes in the living room, a sweeper in the entry way and some of the kitchen drawers were on the kitchen table. The day started like this. I was cleaning out the closet under the stairs. It has been a catch all for anything that comes through the front door and doesn’t find its way up the steps. Coats, (which are supposed to be there) boxes of old bills, (Kirk keeps receipts from 1979), boxes of old record albums, (they might be worth something someday, especially the John Travolta/Olivia Newton John unopened one) and boxes of family pictures (mine never make it into albums). I’m cleaning the closet and think, I should sweep it out. I get out the vacuum and set it up. But I notice the whole downstairs needs vacuumed so I stop cleaning the closet and sweep. Done. Back to the closet. Wait, I think I saw some stray pictures in the kitchen junk drawer that should be in the picture box. I walk into the kitchen; pull out the drawer, which sticks from being overfull. And the one next to it is just as bad. I pull out the drawers and set them on the table to clean out after I’m done with the closet. I pull the pics from the drawer and head back to the closet. What’s that I hear? The dryer has shut off. I go upstairs to fold clothes and move the wet ones into the now empty dryer. I sit on the bed and fold the clothes. I won’t put them away, I hate putting away clothes. It’s weird, I love to wash and dry and even fold, but a wall always comes up when it comes to putting the clean clothes away. (I will eventually put them away, just not yet.) I get down off the four foot high bed and remember I have a box of old family pictures under the bed from the time we cleaned out Kirk’s mom’s house after she had passed away. I get down on the floor and reach under for the special box. I set the box on the bed and start going through the pictures. Two hours later, my husband is home wondering why the vacuum is in the entry, the contents of the closet strewn around the living room, kitchen drawers sitting on the table, folded clothes on the bed, where I sit surrounded by pictures. He looks at me in his Kirk way and says, “You need to learn to stay on task.” Oh, how boring my life would be if I stayed on task.

Google It

You’re sitting at the table with the family, trying to remember what actor starred in what movie, and five iPhones come out. (Well, 4 iPhones and one Android…my son doesn’t do Apple.) It’s a race to see who can google the information the quickest.

I personally miss the old days. The days where you would play the "guessing game." Throwing the names and movies back and forth until someone, anyone would come up with the answer. It went like this.

"You know, that guy...the one with the mustache."
“He was in the movie with Nicolas Cage where he was a ghost guy.”

“Ghost rider.”

“Yeah. He played the ghost from the Old West.”

“And he was in the reindeer movie.”

“Rudolph?”

“No, the other reindeer.”

“Dasher, Dancer, Prancer…”

“That’s it. Prancer.”

"Is he married to the lady that was in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?”

“I think so, what was her name?”

“Something Ross.”

“Katherine.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Is it Sam Ellison?”

“No, but I think that’s close.”

“Elliott, Sam Elliott.”

By now the conversation has hit frenzy. Names and words flying through the air like Nic Cage on the bike in Ghost Rider. I loved it. Getting from point A to point B, everyone getting involved in the chase.

But, now, in two pushes of a button we get Sam Elliott.

Where’s the fun? I remember once we couldn’t come up with the answer and I woke up at two in the morning and yelled “Yentl!!” Kirk didn’t even wake up. But I knew that I had come up with the answer. It was as if I’d won an Olympic Race. Smiling to myself, I rolled over and tried to sleep. But the joy was almost too much to let me sink back into slumber.

Soon, we won’t even need to utilize what little part of the brain we operate on. We’ll merely push a button. But I guarantee the feeling that comes with finding the answer hidden in the recess of your mind will never be replaced by any device. So put them away. Use that brain. Expand that knowledge, because eventually you’ll turn fifty and won’t remember... wait, where was I?

(FYI..I would never forget who Sam Elliott is, it was just an example.)

Everything Old is New Again

Bazooka Bubble Gum, Twizzlers, Dots, Candy Necklaces, Pixie Sticks, Neccos, Bull’s Eyes, Chico Sticks, Candy Buttons, and Rock Candy on a stick. If you are my age, you will recognize these as the piece de resistance from any little league stand throughout the nation. You remember...little league, Saturday afternoons, downtown ball fields? The parents would give us a quarter and we would head to the stand and pick out our favorites. Hours later, the stickiness of left over red licorice shoelaces outlined our lips, we’d head home for dinner and bed, knowing full well that the next week we would do the whole thing over again.

I came from a small town. Every Saturday, the fields behind Jefferson Elementary would be overrun with little leaguers, decked out in their official team colors, running the grounds like ants poked in a nest. Constantly moving, they would warm up in preparation for battle.

The parents and siblings would haul chairs and blankets out from the back of the family station wagon. Coolers with drinks and sandwiches were placed on the corner of the blanket, marking the spot where the family would spend the afternoon. Extended family members would show up as smoke from the hamburgers and hotdogs at the concession stand would waft through the grounds, reminding the kids that it was quarter time.

We would all converge. Even though it was the same candy every week, we would stand there like pirates looking over their bounty. We all tried to ensure that we got as much bang for our bucks as possible. One time, I thought getting ten fireballs for a nickel was a great buy. Then I ate the first one; let’s just say fireball was an appropriate name for the candy. My face turned red and tears ran down my face. Lucky for me I had a Dad who always said, “The hotter the food the better.” He bought the fireballs and I headed to the stand for a Snow cone to tame the heat. I got what we called a "suicide cone," covered in every color and flavor, a perfect cure for the intense heat that was burning my taste buds. To this day if someone is eating a Fireball the smell will cause my eyes and mouth to water.

The ball field was also located right next to Dairy Queen. If you were smart enough or had the ability to hold back a nickel from the concession stand, you could get a junior vanilla, chocolate or swirl cone. Most of my friends went with the swirl, but I have always been a vanilla girl and still am to this day.

With the whole world talking about childhood obesity, I find it interesting that we would scarf down all that candy and ice cream and still stay healthy. Maybe it was because we were allowed to eat the bad things that one day only. Soda was a special treat we got on Friday night when we had pizza. Candy was allowed only on Saturday at the park. We also spent most of our free time riding bikes around town, hanging at the pool in summer, playing tag or hide and seek. We were constantly in motion, not sitting in front of a computer where our only friend is the avatar we have created in our image to fight the battle looming on the set in front of us.

Maybe that’s what made the Saturday concession stand so special. We weren’t permitted candy during the week. It was the one day we were allowed to travel outside the rules and fill up with the abundance of sugary sweets. It made us appreciate the moments even more. As for the mathematical implications...when you’re trying to get as much of the sugary treasure as possible you learn to budget accordingly. It was a lesson learned early in life, and the best tasting lesson ever.