Tale of the Three A.M. Blog Post

A marvelous idea for a blog post slapped me upside my mind at three o'clock in the morning.  This happens.  All too frequently.  I lay abed and composed it.  This is good stuff.  So l edited and polished it, refined it, perfected it.  Four-fifteen I make a trip to the little room next door, return to bed.  Shiver a bit to get warm again, run the post through my head one more time.  It is perfect!

I slept.

After I showered and dressed, eight o'clock, I went to the computer and logged on.  Brought up blogger to write my post.

I could not remember. One. Single. Word. Of that perfect gem.

I wrestled with this throughout the day, convinced that ere nightfall I would recover my work.  Not so.  Not one inkling.  But I do remember that it was an absolutely wisdom-of-the-ages, polished and perfected, ready for the world

One-liner!

The Good Old Days #T

The Good Old Days

How often we wax euphoric over the "simple, gentle country of our childhood."

Let's discuss that simple, gentle time a bit.   I have written numerous nostalgic pieces about my own childhood.  They are often filled with the joys of kidhood, the games, the friends, the loving care of the parents, experiences that may be had only by the young.  And the key is that we were children not yet saddled with the burdens and responsibilities of making a livelihood for ourselves or a family; not yet aware of the onus of political self-determination; and fully too young to be directly involved in the martial conflicts that eternally rage somewhere in this world.

The simple, gentle country of my own time was a place where I had the freedom to roam our town so long as I was home by suppertime.  It was a time in which I did not have to concern myself with the intense struggle and long hours of hard work and worry that accompanied the parents' efforts to keep the family fed and clothed on an erratic and unstable income much too small to gain more than the rudimentary survival necessities.  And yet my memories are of an abundant table laden with good things that Dad acquired, and Mother prepared for our consumption.  It was only as an adult that I came to understand the intensity of that struggle.

In that simple, gentle time when a child suffered illness, as I often did, the burden of doctor bills was borne by extra work, more stinting of their own needs by the parents.  The doctor's advice to the parents to have pictures of the child made because he may not be long for this world was of no comfort to the parents and did nothing to alleviate the suffering of the child.  The still-extant pictures that resulted, though, are a treasure even after eight more decades added to the child's life.

In that simple, gentle time it was a given that your financial problems were your responsibility.

Since the War to End All Wars which occurred in the generation immediately prior to my own had failed spectacularly to end mankind's proclivity to belligerence, during my own time as a child there raged a second world-consuming conflict now known as WW II.  I had acquaintances and relatives a mere seven or eight years older than I who were off fighting in that conflict.  Yet I could still play marbles, stomp in the mud puddles and generally create personal memories of a childhood, one in which the subject but barely understood the concern and worry and sacrifices his elders were making to provide him with the potential for a life of his own.

Next time you hear someone longing for the "good old days," smack him upside the head.

May the world treat you and your offspring in a kindly and gentle manner.

Thingamabob

Ever need one of these?  Do you know what to ask for?  I have known the correct terminology for many years, yet I can never remember it when I need to ask for one so I have to resort to "I need four large thin washers with a small hole."  Then the hardware person says, "Sure.  We have a large assortment of fender washers on aisle three."

How hard can it be to remember "fender washer"?

By writing this the author hopes to amuse you, but more importantly he hopes to be able to ask for the item by name the next time he needs one.