And that is what I woke up with, stuck in my head, this morning! I did the online search and nothing turned up. Does anyone else remember this poem? Oh, crap! I am the oldest one here and this is all I remember, so what are the odds that you can tell me the name of this? Probably two; slim and none. I can remember cross stitching this, but that is about as far as the memory goes. I think I probably did it when Debbie was a wee one, but it could have been last week. No, not last weeks since the fingers no longer curl around those teensy, tinesy needles which would make no difference since I can't see to thread the damn needle anyway!
Life certainly does throw us a hardball towards the end of the whole mess, doesn't it? When we finally get our crap together and know what we want out of life and have a pretty good idea of how to get it, we are too late and the need to do the "bucket list" thing takes over. While my mind is remembering winning dance contests at the sock hops back in high school, my reality is searching for something to loosen my joints up enough so I can tie my shoes! While my mind is grooving to Gene Vincent, Fats Domino and Elvis Presley, my reality is singing "Shall we gather at the river?"
I am becoming better at checking expiration dates because I do so want to outlive the gallon of milk in the refrigerator. Back in the mind, we called them "ice boxes" because that is what they were. They did not get plugged into a socket some where. We had a card that had 25 on the top and 10 on the bottom. It was designed so that if we wanted 25 pounds of ice Mother placed it in the window which reflected the 25 right side up and the 10 would be upside down. The ice man pulled up on the chosen day, looked at the sign, got his ice picker upper (which I have of course forgotten the correct name for [TONGS!!!!! I remembered when I reread this!]) and picked up the block of ice and brought it into the house, through the door which was never locked, and put it in the ice box, picked up his money from the top of the ice box, and went back out the door which did not lock behind him, and left.
The reason the door was not locked was because if some poor soul was in need of a drink of water, or shelter from the rain, or cold out of the heat, or was very tired and needed to rest they could get in the house. If they could find something to eat, they were welcome to it. See, back in those days, people trusted each other and crime was almost non-existent. Horses were protected more that personal property. And guess what happened if you stole a horse? The towns folk would catch you and hang you, or so I heard. Never really saw it happen. Horse thieves were the most horrible kind of despot! Wonder what my grandma would think about what goes on today?
The fact that the pump was out on the porch gave them access to a drink of water. There was also a pump at the stock tank, so they really did not need to go in the house for water, but it was being hospitable, and that is what we did back then.
Bet you are wondering why I never said "use the facilities" aren't you? Well there were none in the house. They were "out back." Stands to reason that if we had no running water, we had no use for a toilet that flushed. The school and the people in town had them and they were really nice.
Try to remember that we were the poor people outside of town, growing up. I preferred to think of us as just like every one else, dirt poor. I learned later that I was "white trash", but no one ever called me that. It was after all, just a term they used. I often wondered at the term and I am sure it was racist. That was another thing; Nickerson, Kansas, to my recollection, never had anyone except very white people. Oh, there was the family that lived in the boxcar up on the curve, but they were Indians. I loved to go to thier house. The mother was very clean and even swept the dirt in front of the door. Since we had a step and 2 feet of sidewalk, we were considered rich.
But I have once more digressed from my purpose. If you remember this poem share this post on facebook and I will see it. Or contact me over there on the left. I will probably not remember what I asked, but that, friends, is how it goes in my world!
Life certainly does throw us a hardball towards the end of the whole mess, doesn't it? When we finally get our crap together and know what we want out of life and have a pretty good idea of how to get it, we are too late and the need to do the "bucket list" thing takes over. While my mind is remembering winning dance contests at the sock hops back in high school, my reality is searching for something to loosen my joints up enough so I can tie my shoes! While my mind is grooving to Gene Vincent, Fats Domino and Elvis Presley, my reality is singing "Shall we gather at the river?"
I am becoming better at checking expiration dates because I do so want to outlive the gallon of milk in the refrigerator. Back in the mind, we called them "ice boxes" because that is what they were. They did not get plugged into a socket some where. We had a card that had 25 on the top and 10 on the bottom. It was designed so that if we wanted 25 pounds of ice Mother placed it in the window which reflected the 25 right side up and the 10 would be upside down. The ice man pulled up on the chosen day, looked at the sign, got his ice picker upper (which I have of course forgotten the correct name for [TONGS!!!!! I remembered when I reread this!]) and picked up the block of ice and brought it into the house, through the door which was never locked, and put it in the ice box, picked up his money from the top of the ice box, and went back out the door which did not lock behind him, and left.
The reason the door was not locked was because if some poor soul was in need of a drink of water, or shelter from the rain, or cold out of the heat, or was very tired and needed to rest they could get in the house. If they could find something to eat, they were welcome to it. See, back in those days, people trusted each other and crime was almost non-existent. Horses were protected more that personal property. And guess what happened if you stole a horse? The towns folk would catch you and hang you, or so I heard. Never really saw it happen. Horse thieves were the most horrible kind of despot! Wonder what my grandma would think about what goes on today?
The fact that the pump was out on the porch gave them access to a drink of water. There was also a pump at the stock tank, so they really did not need to go in the house for water, but it was being hospitable, and that is what we did back then.
Bet you are wondering why I never said "use the facilities" aren't you? Well there were none in the house. They were "out back." Stands to reason that if we had no running water, we had no use for a toilet that flushed. The school and the people in town had them and they were really nice.
Try to remember that we were the poor people outside of town, growing up. I preferred to think of us as just like every one else, dirt poor. I learned later that I was "white trash", but no one ever called me that. It was after all, just a term they used. I often wondered at the term and I am sure it was racist. That was another thing; Nickerson, Kansas, to my recollection, never had anyone except very white people. Oh, there was the family that lived in the boxcar up on the curve, but they were Indians. I loved to go to thier house. The mother was very clean and even swept the dirt in front of the door. Since we had a step and 2 feet of sidewalk, we were considered rich.
But I have once more digressed from my purpose. If you remember this poem share this post on facebook and I will see it. Or contact me over there on the left. I will probably not remember what I asked, but that, friends, is how it goes in my world!
People who forget the past tend to repeat it. ;)
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