Posts filed under ‘Memory Lane’

This isn’t clutter — its my collectables

 

Home sweet home and in some cases it can be home clutter home. I have a cousin that saves just about everything and anything.  I often wonder if her closets and drawers were searched right now, how much “junk” would be found.

My cousin Kathy needs to de-junk her life.  Maybe she can’t help it.  Was this trait inherited?  Our Aunt Jean was known to be a pack-rat.  Often we would visit her house and I can’t recall ever once seeing the top of her coffee table.  We always had to clear a space on the couch just to sit down.

Why did my Aunt Jean have more than one stack of year old magazines lying around.  If she had to move suddenly, how much stuff would end up in the alley?  More than likely she would pack up and move everything. Only to collect more stuff in her new home.

I hope my cousin doesn’t end up like Aunt Jean.  But in her closet she has old uniforms and maternity clothes that she will never need again.  Not to mention the clothes that won’t fit or are ugly and hopelessly out of style.  She has shoes she doesn’t like and refuses to wear.  Yet she can’t get rid of them. 

I tell her that there is hope.  If she can clean up and come to terms with those few problems areas, clutter won’t have a chance to spread.  I hate to mention a garage sale. How much stuff would the customers get to look over?  We might have to borrow fifteen or twenty tables….

True, clutter makes the home look lived in.  A happy home does not have to be immaculate.  However; why hold on to old curtains or blinds stashed away.. 

I asked Kathy if someone gave her a dollar for each piece of junk she has, how much money would she have?  She had to agree, she could take a cruise to Hawaii….when she could buy a lot of memorabilia and mementos to put on table tops. 

She mentions the plaque that hangs in my Aunt Martha sewing room.  The few words written in a frame sums it all up.  “This isn’t clutter  —  its my collectables.”     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 19, 2020 at 12:16 pm 1 comment

Saran Wrap It Up …….

 

Saran wrap, at times when I see it, I am reminded of my Aunt Mona.

When we were kids, my sisters and I yammered and argued when we sat in the back seat, on the way to visit our dear Aunty Mona. “There’s nothing to do there,” I’d say.

“She’s family,” my father would say.

Her fruit and scroll garland printed settee, chair and ottoman were all covered with plastic. Even the accent ruffled pillows were wrapped in plastic. The lamp shades were covered with yellowing plastic wrap.

In all the years of visiting, our family never touched anything directly but plastic.

I never once felt comfortable in her house.

There was an unspoken rule about visitors and fingerprints. I never once touched her coffee table. Even our parents arranged their bodies on the couch so that they never touched anything!

When she opened the door, we were hit in the face by the scent of moth balls. It lingered in the air making our little eyes water. We could even smell it on our clothes on the way home. Mother would shoot “that look” in our direction, so us girls knew not to blink our eyes or even mention the odor.

We visited in the heat of summer we knew it would be torture. “Have a seat,” she would say. Sweating away inside her non-air-conditioned house was terrible. We couldn’t even squirm around on the plastic. In this heat, once your legs were planted – they stuck.

In the living room, I was worried about my legs being permanently attached to her plastic covered chairs. My sisters and I always left the house thankful that we still had skin.

Life was never cleaner or quieter than at Aunt Mona’s house. My sisters and I sat there on the couch until Daddy would finally say, “We should get going.”

Earlier today, in my kitchen, I watched my nephew Doug poke holes in saran wrap. He had already made a mess of things in the den.

I’m just grateful that my nephew feels comfortable in my house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 12, 2020 at 11:03 am Leave a comment

Pumpkin Carving Opinions !

 

As Halloween approaches, the most single visible and popular symbol is the pumpkin. Or more commonly called – the jack-o-lantern.

Pumpkins are plucked from the vine then spark into flaming life with leering faces, while leaves die on their branches in bursts of red and gold.

I took my nephew to a local produce stand looking for the perfect pumpkin. Later at home we washed and dried it. A slippery pumpkin would be hard to work with. We then spread newspapers under the pumpkin.

We decided to save the pumpkin seeds. No, we didn’t want to get ahead of next summer’s crop. My mother has a recipe for roasted pumpkin seeds. She uses these toasted pumpkin seeds in breads or muffins, or just to eat as a snack.

The afternoon was turning out to be enjoyable up to this point. Other adults stopped by to visit. The little guy now had way too much help!

Uncle Bob thought I was silly that we carve out the jack-o-lantern. Why cut and clean out the pumpkin. He always painted faces on his pumpkins. “Oh no” says Aunt Linda. First you must decide on the face. Should it be scary? Happy? Silly? She made the little guy draw several rough drafts of his carving on paper first. Aunt Linda went inside and my nephew opted to draw on the pumpkin itself.

I always cut my jack-o-lanterns at the top. We begin to carve a circle around the stem to make a lid. My neighbor had stopped by. He always makes his cut on the pumpkin from the bottom. The neighbor leaves and we continue to carve from the top.

Suggestions were still flowing when my husband drove up and mentioned that we cut a hole in the center of the back of the pumpkin for ventilation.

Hopefully, next year we won’t have so much help. There was more to carving this pumpkin than first met the eye.

Regardless of the different opinions, we transformed an ordinary pumpkin into a magical, seasonal decoration with a frightful design. It should delight the neighborhood with Boo-tiful decoration for Halloween.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

September 25, 2019 at 1:05 pm Leave a comment

Livin’ the Dream with Green Stamps

 

My nephew Doug, was helping me search the attic for a particular box. Naturally, he did more looking around than being actual help. He came over with a book of what he called funny looking postage stamps. No, they were not postage stamps; they were trading stamps I told him.
A few of us remember the day of “trading stamps” from Gold Bond, Eagle,
S & H Green, Top Value and others. They were given out by grocers, gas stations and some department stores with each purchase.
The stamps had to be put in books, which usually meant my sister or I would sit around the kitchen table, licking stamps. Although my mother used a sponge to wet the stamps, my sister and I would resolve to lick the stamps till our mouths went dry.
At different stores, you would get fulfillment books to put your trading stamps in. The pages of each book outlined that enabled you to paste your stamps in the proper place.
Each page required a total of fifty stamps. Stamps came in point system: singles, ten, and fifty. You couldn’t mix the points. If you wanted a page of singles you had to press fifty singles. If you wanted a page of tens you needed to press five tens. With the fifty point stamp you need to press only one on a page.
Several books full of stamps could be redeemed for all sorts of merchandise . . . small kitchen appliances, sporting goods, children swing sets, radios, televisions — you name it.
I remember vividly my family planned to save trading stamps for a blender. Only after mother explained that we could make milk shakes did my sister and I agree with her plan. My father simply went along with the program. He would just bring home the stamps. We only needed 10,000 stamps to get the blender.
Saving up 10,000 stamps seemed like a daunting task. There was a Osterizer at the end of that rainbow, so we patiently filled up stamp books until we reached our goal.
Eventually, a few stores discontinued the stamps and cut their prices accordingly. Trading stamps vanished from most places. “So you got things from just saving these stamps and stuff?” Doug asks.
I tell my nephew, “You know the silverware you use at grandmother’s house came from Betty Crocker/General Mills box tops.”
Condescending, Nine year old Doug rolled his eyes, “No Way” he said shrugging his shoulders. I shook his little shoulder. “Yes Way.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

June 19, 2019 at 2:14 pm 1 comment

“Graduation is not the end; it’s the beginning”

 

The Senior Class of Greenwood Community High School will hold commencement exercises Sunday afternoon.

As seniors, marching to get their diplomas, they will remember many things. They will always remember graduation night, the Senior Prom, the high school song, and the various clubs.

Memories of football and basketball games, the many band trips, the pep-sessions, and the chorus and band contests will linger. As well as the cafeteria line, the trips on school buses to different school functions along with the different sport teams. All will be remembered, down to signing each other’s senior memory book.

Will they miss their school companions? Will they miss the school life? Do you think you might see a tear in their eyes as they play the processional and recessional? Do you think they will miss the halls so noisy and crowded? Do you think one might hold back his/her emotions with diploma in hand?

Do you think they know they will miss the faculty whom they sometimes doubted? Do you wonder if the tears will start so flow at the last note of the band? Can you imagine you see a little sadness as each senior shakes a hand and takes a final bow? If you think there will be, then I guess you are right.

More than one photograph or video will be taken at the commencement and various parties in honor of the graduates. A few pictures will be taken with smiles and a few taken with tears.

At graduation there are hugs, tears, kisses, laughter and cheers. Everyone one of the emotions was grasped by someone different. For each graduate the essential memory would remain the same.

They were the graduation class of 2019.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May 14, 2019 at 11:11 am 1 comment

Happy Holidays

The fascination of the holiday season is that Christmas is a time to treasure all the magical events of the past and hope for the joy of the future.
For my family, the most favorable memories that relate with the holiday are childhood memories. We also share the memories of our loved ones no longer with us.
There was great uncle Mount, who would come for Christmas dinner and then give each of the children a two dollar bill. My Aunt Edith would always stop by soon after we had finished our meal. She would say she didn’t come to eat but she filled the plate that my mother would get her. She would then tell of how many other houses she had visited that day.
Remembering the holiday season of past years, we clearly shared happy times. Our family gathered around the dinner table. A snowman stood outside the living room window. Giggles coming from the back room as the young children were busy playing games. Happy voices filled each room. The scent of the fresh evergreen tree blended in with the kitchen smell of freshly baked pecan pie.
I will always have the memory of the holidays with my parents. They knew the spirit of love and goodwill. There was the Christmas morning I ran to see my easy bake oven on which there was a typed note. It said simply: “Have your daddy finish putting this together … Santa is in a hurry.”
In our house, we will make this holiday season another joyous year–one to join the memories of holidays past.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

November 30, 2018 at 1:50 pm Leave a comment

Not a Good Day In Indiana

 

Greenwood Indiana residents have capitalized on the mild weather this past weekend. There was a lady out sun bathing. Although it was nice weather I wondered if she would get more of a wind burn than a sun burn. There were children out playing and riding bikes. Residents opted to wash automobiles or go for a walk. Sunday, you could hear the lawn mowers throughout the different neighborhoods.
All this and I opted to stay home for I have a visit from the flu bug.
The flu bug–you know what illness I speak of. The traditional flu symptoms: loss of appetite, fever, achiness. Then there is the terrible fatigue.
I have no desire to work or play and want to nap repeatedly. I’ve looked at every magazine in the house. The television volume hurts my head and now my eyes hurt so I can’t read the newspaper. Going outside is out of the question. Any near future of energy is impossible. I simply remain under the afghan in a prone position on the couch.
The hubby being healthy around me is irritating. How can he have escaped this dreaded bug? His smile makes me aggravated. He suggests a visit to the clinic. I snarl. It takes no medical degree to know that I should get plenty of rest and drink lots of fluids. He smiles, leaves the room with a bounce that I find a tad annoying. He could at least fake a slight cough.
Any amount of effort leaves me exhausted. No hot tea or sports drink have any effect. I feel more sapped than before.
Tomorrow I will set forth to work. Not so much because of dedication but rather I’m tired of simply being with myself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

November 10, 2018 at 1:47 pm 2 comments

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