Babes In Toyland

The Old Man still loves his toys. Thinking about them reminded me that I used some of my current ones this past Monday. It was golf day. It occurs to me that I have not released an update on the types of shots I encountered in some time. I had several Oprahs (fat) and more than a few Santa Clauses (got much better than I deserved). I also had a rarity for me, a couple of Lindsay Lohans (too thin and way out of control). "Playing" opened up a chain of thought for me, though, that encourages me to give you a rundown on various toys I got for Christmas through the years.

I got a Mickey Mouse watch one year. It was neat, especially when I took it apart to see how it worked. The last time I saw it, all of the parts were in a box of stuff in an old chest. That was probably 55 or so years ago. Wish I had that box.

How about the ViewMaster? You'd insert these disks with little color slides embedded in them into the machine and when you looked through the binocular-like instrument, there was the Cisco Kid and Pancho in 3-D. I had one with Hopalong Cassidy as well. I think his horse was named Topper. For some reason, Santa had included a disk with scenes from Tampico, Mexico. I remember wondering the childish equivalent of the adult, "Where the hell is that?"

Ahhhhh, my Erector Set. Developed by A. C. Gilbert, I believe, this was a fiendish mix of metal strips with holes along their entire length. You also had packs of small bolts and nuts. The concept was great, but in reality, I kept losing the nuts and bolts, the metal strips were kind of flimsy, and the electric motor blasted out so much ozone that dogs would howl and moan. I did manage to make what passed for a Ferris Wheel complete with the metal seats that came in the kit. Unfortunately, my engineering skill gene skipped a generation or two and the seats would never pivot as the wheel turned. They remained locked in position. Must have killed a bunch of imaginary carnival goers. Believe it or not, I still have the remains of that Erector Set. It's in a blue metal box that still latches about as poorly as it did then. Wouldn't take a million bucks for it, though. Well maybe a million.

One year brought the Lionel Electric Train. I recall Santa had it mounted on a 4 x 8 sheet of plywood. It ran in a big oval. You would put these little pills called "Smoke Pellets" in the engine and acrid, smelly white smoke would pour out for a few turns around the track. The smoke generators on these old Lionels generally lasted about a month and then never worked again. With my permission, my mom sold that train when I went off to college . What an idiot I was.

Of course there were the normal tricycles, wagons, and later bicycles, but the big daddy was when I got my first car. Notice the pride of ownership and sheer joy at my new-found independence.

Interestingly enough, this racy looking number was made in the U.S.A. Both the boy and the car.

In the spirit of reflection, spend a bit of time in the land over your shoulder. The innocence of a childhood Christmas will bring peace and quiet the bustle. Tell you what.....I'm going out to the garage and look at that Erector Set. I'll see you later.

Rocking Around The Christmas Tree

The Old Man has a long history with Christmas trees. There has been one in my life since I was 2 months old. We've had our tree up and decorated since Thanksgiving weekend. The train is clickety-clacking it's way around under there and tooting it's whistle as it passes through the symbolic town of Bedford. Miss Martha has again outdone herself with the exact, almost clinically scientific placement of the ornaments. I'm pretty much relegated (out of choice) to dragging the tree in and getting it set up as the pallet for her artistry. My role at that point, becomes to serve in an advisory capacity. It's a good arrangement that has stood the 45 year test of time. In the "dark age" years before pre-lits, my responsibility extended to putting the lights on the tree. I can personally attest to falling victim to every malfunction electrically possible on Christmas lights. These temporary setbacks resulted in some very colorful linguistics that I can still call on when the situation merits.

Most nights, I wander in the living room and just sit and admire. I'll run the train for a bit and just let my mind open up the vault and allow some new memories to escape. While each Christmas we share is special, I firmly believe that the reflection on those past brings the deepest comfort and peace. During my reverie and with the discovery of the forgotten box of pictures, I began to remember clear details about the Christmas trees of my childhood.
Virtually every tree in those days was a cedar tree. They were prolific in the fields around our town. Fact of the matter is....they were one notch above weeds in the agricultural food chain. The grocery stores would buy a few from the farmers who were happy to get about 50 cents each. We would then buy our tree for $1.00. Dad would nail cross braces across the stump of the trunk and then set the whole business down in a bucket, weighting the genuine, hand built tree stand with several rocks. When filled with water, the deal proved pretty stable.
Strung with the lights of the day, it's a wonder of wonders that we did not go up in a swirl of flame and smoke. When you factor in the heat from those bulbs, you can't put enough water in a bucket to retard drying of a cedar tree. Mom would put a few ornaments and some tinsel on the tree. The exciting part to me was always the adorning with the silver "icicles". That's when the tree became magic. I recall Mom's excitement when she finally bought some plastic icicles that would glow in the dark. I still have 3 of those. They've been on every tree in our house since we got them from Mom when she decided to get out of the Christmas decorating business. A lot of her decision was probably driven by the fact that you could no longer buy a cedar tree for $1.00.

So, I encourage you to find time during the busyness of the season to simply gaze on your own Christmas tree....and pay tribute to Christmas Past. You'll find comfort and warmth there.

Rudolph The What?

The Old Man was born long before Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Ruddy didn't come along as the popular Gene Autry song until 1949. We had to somehow manage to make it through Christmas without either him or his buddy Frosty the Snowman, who drifted into the scene in 1950. We hung on for dear life to the classic 'Twas The Night Before Christmas as our touchstone to the magic. In our house, we walked down both sides of the street.....the birth of Jesus on one side, and the excitement of Santa Claus on the other. As a family, we happily diddy-bopped back and forth with abandon; sometimes quiet and introspective, other times wound as tight as 10 # test line with a 4 ounce sinker.

I noticed on a recent trip to mecca (WalMart), the variety of Christmas lights available bends my mind. They blink, chase, twinkle, dim, brighten, mark time to music, and probably will one day put themselves up and then take themselves down while doing laundry and cleaning out the gutters. "Twernt that way back in the day".

The outdoor lights were strung on rubber coated wire and sockets that held 3 inch long colored bulbs. Today we would probably say, "Candelabra base" but back then most folks referred to them as "porch lights". Now, my dad was a wonderful man, but his mechanical skills were not his strong point. So with great clatter and fits and starts, the light hanging project began. Dad would plug the string in to check for burned out bulbs and then begin to hang them. Just about each year, he would mis-figure and drive a staple through the wire, thus blowing a fuse and putting a halt to the project while he trekked to the fuse box and replaced the offender. Then, back to the operation. Other years, he would get the string all the way across the porch, and then plug them in. Now the fuse would blow and he would have to scamper up and down his rickety ladder trying to find his mis-aimed staple. Over the years, the rubber wire developed a number of holes, and consequently, sometimes when testing before hanging, there would be a light show like a meteor shower. While Dad was a kind and mild-mannered man, the porch light project always tested his patience. My girls will tell you that I inherited my father's great love of Christmas lights.

The tree lights were a microcosm of the porch lights. The bulbs were a bit smaller, but only a bit. Over the years, the wire had hardened and cracked and once in a while, it was back to the fuse box. Considering that the only tree ever used in most homes was a cedar tree, it's a wonder we didn't all suffer the same ultimate fate as Joan of Arc. More about the tree in a later post.

I ended up with those porch lights for a time. The last time I saw them, we had used them for decorations at a Christmas tree lot when I spent some time in the Lions Club. They were strung across a little trailer we were using as our base of operations. As the tree sale began to wind down, suddenly there came a popping and snapping accompanied by the smell of ozone and a shower of sparks, followed by darkness. Seems the rubber had finally departed this world and the metal trailer added insult to injury, sending the lights out in a blaze of glory.

Makes one wonder if Rudolph ever short circuits?

Count On It

The Old Man can't write much of a blog post today. I'm busy buying pretzels and cream cheese.

Some day you'll understand.

At Least It Wasn't Liver Loaf

The Old Man will eat just about anything. There are only two things that are forever banned from crossing my lips; Cottage Cheese and Buttermilk. Not now, not then, not ever. Most everything else is fair game, so I don't pose many dietary challenges. Grew up that way....ate what was served.
Christmas when I was a child brought all sorts of wondrous adventures into the land of Bedford gourmet dining. We were always at home on Christmas day and relatives came for lunch and celebration, so, a week or so before Christmas, Mom would begin her assault on the Christmas menu.

First order of business was to drive a nail into the coconut "eyes" to drain the milk. Then, while I stood around looking up at her like a blue-tic hound in a butcher shop, the coconut meat was grated and she would slip me a little chunk. What I didn't get, she used to make the finest coconut cake on earth. Mom was legend for her coconut cake. Even though it's been 50 years since she made one, I can still taste it in my mind.

Another "must" was a delightful concoction they refered to as "Ambrosia". As I recall, it had orange sections, grated coconut, and maybe a cherry or two thrown in for color. Certainly in the custom of the day, it was heavily laced with sugar. That was before sugar became bad for you.

Of course fruit cake, hermit cake, nuts, and ham and turkey filled out the groaning board. There was, however, one food that I could never figure out. It was some sort of evil, slimey mess they called "Tapioca Puddin". I don't know what tapioca is, but when she sat it down in front of me, it looked like a thousand eyes staring at me. Translucent little orbs that reminded me of fish roe given off when Dad and I cleaned our catch. Wave some at me today and I might run.

The star of the Christmas Lunch Show were the oysters. Fried up just right and piled high on the plate, these were the Jewels of the Orient and the Hope Diamond of the food world. In that day, oysters were a little harder to come-by inland than they are today, so they were reserved for special occasions. I still love them and will jump through hoops of fire for good ones. I'll take them any way you serve them......straight from the water, fried, grilled, steamed, you name it. I'm the Bubba-Gump of oysters.

Once at a social event, roasted oysters were being served in a casual setting. I was in my bliss-state just eating away. One woman became quite vocal in her editorializing to me.....lots of "Euww, how can you eat those things?" sort of comments. I took it for a while and then decided to counterattack. "Well," I said, "We were really poor when I was a child and our meals were pretty plain. Once a year, though at Christmas time, Dad would buy an oyster...just one. Mom would tie a string around it and Dad would go first. He would swallow the oyster, then pull the string to get it back out and pass it over to Mom. I got third try." Now by this time, this lady was beginning to pale. I continued, "I'd come home the next day from school and ask Mom 'What's for dinner?'. She'd answer, 'Well, we're gonna eat the oyster again."

No more problem with the lady. I could dine in peace.

God willing, we'll have oysters again this year on Christmas day, but we shouldn't need any string. There will be bounty as always, and as always, I'll have a moment where I take a mental moment to savor Miss Alma's coconut cake.

Infamy

The Old Man is taking a little break from humor today. See in your mind's eye a bright morning 67 years ago today. See people going about their Sunday morning activities as usual. See children getting dressed for church, some folks sleeping in, some recovering from last night's hilarity, and others just enjoying the beautiful south Pacific sunshine. Now see an angry black cloud approaching and hear the even angrier drone of engines. In the midst of this quiet Lord's day, watch in your mind as the skies erupt and hell itself rains on Pearl Harbor. Before the Japanese attack ends, over 2,000 will die and many more will suffer horribly.

In Bedford, I'm guessing that my parents were enjoying the fact that on that day, I was "celebrating" my one month birthday. Based on what they later told me, they could never forget that day. They could remember even the slightest detail. 60 years later on September 11, 2001, I truly understood what they meant. From the time of my cognizance, I've had an interest in all matters from the World War II years. First hand experience as a child, coupled with an adult interest in history has led me to spend much time in research and discovery. I've stood on the USS Arizona Memorial and watched the slow bubble of oil from her tanks drift to the surface. I've proudly and unashamedly let tears fall when I thought of those entombed with their shipmates. But more than this, I've had the distinct honor of knowing two men who were there, both of whom have now achieved final victory.

Mr. Lloyd Gordon was an Army private. I've listened as he told of taking cover in a drainage ditch as chunks of metal, concrete, and who knows what else slammed into the ground around him. He made it a point to always wear a tie on Pearl Harbor Day. He said it was out of respect for those he left behind. A kind and generous friend to all, he was so very typical of what has been called The Greatest Generation.

Mr. Henry Pitts served in the Navy. In the attack, his ship was the first to be able to return fire on the invading aircraft. Henry made a career of the Navy and then went on after retirement to have a full career at the Post Office. Henry at the ripe old age of 89 could still shoot a par round of golf. Henry asked me once, "When can you and I play a round of golf? I need someone I can beat." I simply said, "I'm your man."

In his request to Congress for a declaration of war, President Franklin D Roosevelt referred to the "day that will live in infamy", and it did. But in our remembering, I believe it behooves us to focus less on the attackers, and more on those who kept us free. So to all of those who served, both then and since then, I salute you and I thank you.

God Bless America

A Rum Pa Pum Pum

The Old Man is sort of a sap about Christmas. I've always been a mix of Currier, Ives, Kodak, and little Ralphie of "shoot your eye out" fame. Pull off the lid and look in my pot and you'll find the ubiquitous Christmas stew. As you may have noted, I recently found a treasure trove of pictures from my childhood. They were in an unexamined box of my mother's "stuff" relegated to a seldom used closet after we cleaned out her room. Many of them dealt with Christmas and in so doing, opened the vault door to my memory banks.

Each generation makes an honest and worthwhile effort to create a more elaborate and richer world for its children. We want to give them more than we had, and we had more than our parents. I'll not debate the wisdom of this progression because opinions are varied and many, all with merit. What I will do, is give you a glance at Christmas Past.

My mother's generation grew up in a time when things were scarce and dear. She told me many times of how they would be awakened on Christmas morning by her father stepping out the back door and letting loose with both barrels of his shotgun into the air. Imagine that happening where you live now. The SWAT team, snipers, the Action News Team, helicopters, and Geraldo would pounce within minutes. After awakening, Mom and her siblings, all 6 of them, would dash to the fireplace where literal stockings were hung. In them would be a few nuts, an orange, and some things called "sugar plums" (dried grapes much like a raisin). Sometimes there might be a small doll or other toy. Not quite Nintendo, but just as well loved. It's my belief that they were in love with the concept of Santa Claus, more than with what he might have brought them.

Time-travel a bit. The Old Man has made the scene and Christmas has come to Bedford.
Things got started about 3 weeks before Christmas. Town decorations consisted of colored lights running across the two main streets at each light pole. At the crossroads of these two streets there was a big display over the traffic light. It consisted of three red bells that blinked in sequence to simulate ringing. Next came the big event....the Christmas Parade.

All of the town merchants would cover their windows with paper about one week before the parade. Tension built and great speculation was afoot about what the window decorations would look like when the unveiling occurred. The parade would step off with the Bedford Firemen's Band leading the way, followed by several convertibles and a few open wagons pulled by tractors. Town dignitaries would be riding and waving. Sometimes they would throw candy. The high school cheerleaders were always there. It must have been tough to high kick while lurching along on a flat bed pulled by a Massey-Ferguson. Santa himself brought up the rear, riding high on the town fire engine. It's probably a safe bet that no one from Macy's Dept. Store ever scouted the Bedford parade for hidden talent.
During the parade, magic had happened. The windows had been unveiled! Just about the whole town made its way around ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the creative efforts. The Park Street Battalion pressed our snotty noses against the glass of the stores that sold toys. Wonder of wonders......bikes, Lionel trains, and Slinkeys beckoned and called.

I must have seen "The Christmas Story" a hundred times. My whole family can pretty much recite the dialog. I think the bond I feel with that movie speaks directly to an inner part of me. Ralphie and his quest for the Red Ryder Daisy Air Rifle more accurately reflects the culture of my childhood than I could ever relate here. The clothing, attitudes, reactions, and all the surrounding events are as close to time-travel as it is possible to experience.

During the season, I will describe more of the "way it was", and I trust you will find value there. The Old Man still plays with trains, has a Red Ryder, and finally, last year, found "sugar plums". And it is good.