Full Disclosure: I'm Not a Trend-Setter

Thought for the day: No man has ever been shot while doing the laundry.

I just came in from hanging a tablecloth on the clothesline. Perfect day for it, too. Wall-to-wall sunshine, and a nice breeze blowing, the kind of day that does a lickety-split job of drying, and leaves everything smelling like the great outdoors. As I hung it, I thought about the tons of clothes I've clipped onto clotheslines over the years...

We lived in a row home when I was a kid, and had a fold-up umbrella type clothesline. In those days, every back yard in the whole congested neighborhood held a clothesline of some sort, and hanging clothes outside wasn't just a necessity; it was a time for bona fide over-the-fence socializing.

I reckon our love affair with computers have changed that scenario quite a bit, eh?




 But anyhow, back then, hanging clothes was a time for gossiping, political opining, recipe swapping, and talking about the latest guest on the Ed Sullivan show. I was a latchkey kid, so most of the time, I was the one out there hanging clothes behind our house, and for some unfathomable reason, the neighbor ladies accepted me as their pint-sized equal.

Now, not all the memories of those times are rosy. Trying to fold frozen clothes with equally frozen fingers wasn't a whole lot of fun.

Wasn't too great when one of our dogs completely shredded everything hanging on the line, or when a flock of mulberry-eating birds selected our humble sheets as a primary bombing target, either. But all-in-all, I remember those days fondly.











The first house Smarticus and I bought boasted a killer clothesline. Big sturdy metal tees with half a dozen long lines stretched between them. (As Tim Allen would say, "R-R-R-R!") The thing was, it was a pretty big yard, so there was never any socializing over the fence while hanging clothes. Then, most everybody got clothes dryers, so it became a rarity to even see anybody outside with a wet basket of laundry.

When we moved here to the sunny South, there were no clothesline to be seen in our neighborhood at all. Zip, zilch, nada. I reckon it was considered "common" or "old-fashioned" to hang clothes on the line in 1971. Anybody who was anybody had the latest, greatest clothes dryer by then. Even me. But I also had a clothesline in the back yard. Something big enough to hang sheets, because, really, is there anything that smells as wonderful as bedclothes filled with the smell of sunshine? Alas, in time, I, too, grew weary of hanging clothes. It's too bloody hot here in the summertime. And well, yeah, a dryer really is convenient.

But I still have ONE line strung out back, and always will. And when I was out there hanging that tablecloth this morning, lo and behold, the man who lives behind us was hanging something on a line in his yard, too! He's a new neighbor, and it's a brand new line. And get this: we exchanged greetings. It wasn't exactly heavy-duty socializing like days of yore, but it sure felt good. And I've noticed that some of the young families moving into our neighborhood are putting up clotheslines, too. Going green, they say. But I say, what's old is new again.

Like lots of other things. Our daughter used to tease me unmercifully because of some of the clothes I wore. Like clam diggers. In fact, she teased me so much, I finally got rid of them. And wouldn't ya know, they're all the rage now. They call 'em capri pants these days, but as far as I'm concerned, they're just good old clam diggers with a fancy name and attitude. So in years to come, if you should happen to see me sporting a suddenly popular pair of bell bottom pants, it won't be because I'm a trend-setter. It'll be because I never got rid of my old ones. And if red patent leather platform shoes ever come back into style, I'm all set. And (shhh) just between you and me, I'm never giving up my slouch socks.

Hmmmm, maybe I should teach my granddaughters how to play jacks. We could be starting a new trend ...

How about you? Are some of the "old things" from your past becoming new again? (Face lifts don't count!)

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other. Think I'll go pull out my old bag of balls and jacks. My skills could use a little brushing up.







P.S. Hanukkah, an eight-day festival celebrating the triumph of light over darkness, of purity over adulteration, and spirituality over materialism, begins this weekend. To all who are Jewish, I wish you a very happy Hanukkah. For the rest of us, I believe we, too, should embrace the ideals of light over darkness.

If you're gonna be lighting a menorah, I bet you won't be doing it quite like THIS:

         

VROOM! VROOM!

Thought for the day: Hey, I'm not old, baby ... I'm classic.

Hot Rod? Yeah ... sleek, classy ... I like it!

Since way back before we were married, my husband called me Hot Rod. Not sure why. Was it my classy chassis? My shiny good looks? Surely, it wasn't my rumbling exhaust system, because I never did that around him until after we were married. And he only wished I was racy ... or fast. 


Maybe it was just because ... he liked me? He sure as heck liked cars. Especially hot rods. Still does, because he's a real deal gearhead. Which means, since we were teenagers, he's been a skilled shade tree mechanic who can pretty much rebuild an engine with his eyes closed and both hands tied behind his back. Slight exaggeration, but not by much.

Now, as I've explained a few times before,  I come from a long line of wanderers ... y'know, people who possess an inordinate ability to get lost. When we were dating, hubby would entertain himself for hours by driving somewhere, and then letting me direct him home from the middle of that God-only-knows-where nowhere. So, I suppose it's somewhat understandable that my father was, shall we say, dubious when, in the fall of 1968,  I told him my favorite gearhead and I were going to enter a road rally. With him behind the wheel, and ME (har-de-har-har) as the navigator.

This is the car he drove back then. Big Red, we called her. A 1961 Chevy Impala. Not exactly the kind of car one associates with a road rally, is it?

At registration, each team received multiple pages of instructions. In code. Kinda. It might say something like "2 L after circle S." That meant to take the second left turn, and the "circle S" turned out to be a monogrammed screen door on one of the houses at the side of the road. Tricky, huh?

We ran into a teensy bit of trouble with one of the directions. It said RT. Right turn, right? That's what I thought, too. But it wasn't. It was "Right AT THE T." So we lost some time getting back on course. Not to worry. We (ahem) made the time up quite handily. However, when we flew over a covered bridge, we literally FLEW. Pulled a regular yee-HA General Lee kinda maneuver. When Big Red came back to earth, I was sitting under the steering wheel. On his lap. Nice, but not terribly conducive to good driving. (He installed seat belts shortly after that.)





                                                                          Bottom line?

First Place Driver!!!

And if you can believe it, this direction-impaired, can't fold, let alone read a map person?

Holy moly! I won first place, too!!!!

After we moved to Georgia and were raising a family, he was too busy being an engineer at the foreskin of technology, (his words, not mine) to spend much time playing with cars. However, in the seventies, he and a buddy did build an econorail. You know ... a dragster?

That's ME sitting in there. Wow! It felt awesome.

Here's a better look at the champion window-rattler. The only sad thing is, after all the work it took to build her, they never got to race her. Not even once. Turned out the track didn't have proper insurance to cover that class vehicle back then, so they ended up selling her. Bummer!






Now, lo and behold, my better half is once again enjoying life as a gearhead. His three project cars are a gorgeous banana cream El Camino with a black racing stripe, a Corvette,  and my personal favorite, the Rat Rod:

1930 Model A

He put the original Model A body on an S-10 chassis, which facilitated a lot of modern safety features. How do you like that1958 Mercedes grill? We found it at a car show/swap meet when we went to Florida.

Another shot of his baby.

He took her out for a quick test run last week, and couldn't believe how FAST that girl can go. There's a long way to go before she's finished, but she is gonna be one awesome rat rod.

Hmmm, know what? He hasn't called me Hot Rod for quite a while. Shoot, I dunno,  maybe he oughta start calling me Rat Rod, instead.  After all, I may not have much rust, but I could use some extensive body work. And a good paint job. (But I still have plenty of VROOM under my hood!)

Oh, yeah. There IS a moral to my road rally story, if you think about it:

 With the  proper drive(r), you CAN overcome your weaknesses ... and you CAN win.

Still together, after all these years.

                                        Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

2 Good 2 Be 4 Gotten

Thought for the day:  Can't think; too dumb. Inspiration won't come. Bad ink, worse pen. Good luck. Amen.

Just dropping in ...

Today's thought for the day comes straight out of my old autograph book. Remember them? In the late '50s, my friends and I all had them, but we didn't follow famous people around in hopes of snagging a signature; we passed them around our classrooms, or handed them to our favorite relatives. Everyone would scribble a poem or draw a silly picture in the book, sign it, and then either return it or pass it on to the next person.

I have no idea whatever became of my dog-eared autograph book with the red cover and gold lettering, but I still remember some of the words and pictures that were in there. The Can't think; too dumb poem popped into my head this morning when I tried to come up with a topic for today's blog. I considered just dropping in for a quick howdy and then taking off again, but then I remembered something else that was written in my autograph book: 2 Good 2 Be 4 Gotten. 


Ah, HA! Those words epitomize the presentation at last night's amateur radio club meeting!

Have you ever heard of a spark gap generator? In the early 1900s, spark gap was THE technology for amateur radio communications. It was also loud, dangerous, and highly inefficient. In the 1920s, better, safer modes of communications evolved, and spark gap became outlawed in 1927.

But STILL, spark gap is an early building block of radio history. A fascinating part, and something few people today know anything about or have ever experienced. But glory be, we experienced it up close and personal last night.

Blue Lightning in action

Over a period of several years, amateur radio operator Hal Kennedy painstakingly built an honest-to-God spark gap generator, which he brought to our meeting last night. Constructed of vintage 1910 parts and technology, not only is his Blue Lightning historically accurate, but it's also a one-of-a-kind work of art. In the early 1900s, amateurs put these things together as quickly and inexpensively as they could, without giving any thought to their appearance. Hal, on the other hand, not only built it to work like the rigs of 1910, but he also paid close attention to the aesthetics as well, using linseed oil and wax to give the mahogany a deep warm glow, and cleaning and polishing the copper into a fiery beauty. Since the completion of his ambitious project, Hal's been providing countless enthusiasts with the rare opportunity to see history in action.

No one would argue that a spark gap generator should have a place in today's modern world, but its place in history is too good to forget. No doubt, it's still loud, still inefficient, and still dangerous, but despite all the labor-intensive work involved, it was also a labor of love, and I'm extremely grateful to have had the opportunity to see it dim the lights with my own eyes.

Spun any good yarns lately?

There was an article in last night's paper about a young lady who uses yesterday's technologies to make blankets. She does it all, from the initial planting of cotton seeds to the finishing work at the spinning wheel. My sister-in-law has a spinning wheel, too, and recently won several blue ribbons for some of the items she's created with it. 

Me, I have a cow horn. Yep, a genuine cow horn, that I use to make kielbasa by hand. And when I was studying for one of my amateur radio exams, I was rather enjoying working out the square roots longhand, until my hubby laughed and handed me a calculator. And even though I know it would've been much easier to mass produce post cards and labels, for the eight years I served as our state's section manager, I still chose to handwrite as many as 75 post cards every month to congratulate our state's newly-licensed amateur radio operators and welcome them to the hobby. 

Sure, the modern ways make life easier, more efficient, and less labor intensive, but sometimes, there's nothing more satisfying than doing something by hand. Sewing, crocheting and knitting, building, painting, writing, cooking from scratch. Nothing like it.

How about you? Is there anything you still enjoy doing the "old-fashioned" way? After all, the old ways may be gone, but they are also much 2 Good 2 Be 4 Gotten. 

If you aren't into any of that, did you have an autograph book? Remember any of the entries? (As I remember, my dear husband's poem compared my shape to a B-52 ...)

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

What's Old is New Again

Thought for the day: No man has ever been shot while doing the laundry.

I just came in from hanging a tablecloth on the clothesline. Perfect day for it, too. Wall to wall sunshine, and a nice breeze blowing, the kind of day that does a lickety-split job of drying, and leaves everything smelling like the great outdoors. As I hung it, I thought about all of the clothes I've clipped onto clotheslines over the years.

We lived in a row home when I was a kid, and had a fold-up umbrella type clothesline. In those days, every back yard in the whole neighborhood held a clothesline of some sort, and hanging clothes outside wasn't just a necessity; it was a time for bona fide over-the-fencetop socializing. It was a time for gossiping, political opining, recipe swapping, and talking about the latest guest on the Ed Sullivan show. I was a latchkey kid, so most of the time, I was the one out there hanging clothes behind our house, and for some unfathomable reason, the neighbor ladies accepted me as their pint-sized equal. Now, not all the memories of those times are rosy. Trying to fold frozen clothes with equally frozen fingers wasn't a whole lot of fun. Wasn't too great when one of our dogs shredded all of the clothes, or when a flock of mulberry-eating birds selected our humble sheets as a primary bombing target, either. But all-in-all, I remember those days fondly.

The first house my husband and I bought boasted a killer clothesline. Big sturdy metal tees with half a dozen long lines stretched between them. (As Tim Allen would say, "R-R-R-R!") The thing was, it was a pretty big yard, so there was never any socializing over the fence while hanging clothes. Then, most everybody got clothes dryers, so it became a rarety to even see anybody outside with a wet basket of laundry anymore.

When we moved here to the sunny South, there were no clothesline to be seen in our neighborhood. Zip, zilch, nada. I reckon it was considered "common" or "old-fashioned" to hang clothes on the line in 1971. Anybody who was anybody had the latest, greatest clothes dryer by then. Even me. But I also had a clothesline in the back yard. Something big enough to hang sheets, because, really, is there anything that smells as wonderful as bedclothes filled with the smell of sunshine? Alas, in time, I too, grew weary of hanging clothes. It's too bloody hot here in the summertime. And well, yeah, a dryer really is convenient.

But I still have ONE line strung out back, and always will. And when I was out there hanging that tablecloth this morning, lo and behold, the man who lives behind us was hanging something on a line in his yard, too! He's a new neighbor, and it's a brand new line. And get this: we exchanged greetings. It wasn't exactly heavy-duty socializing like days of yore, but it sure felt good. And I've noticed that some of the young familes moving into our neighborhood are putting up clotheslines, too. Going green, they say. But I say, what's old is new again.

Like lots of other things. My daughter used to tease me unmercifully because of the old out-of-fashion clothes I liked to wear. Like clam diggers. She teased me so much, I finally got rid of them. And wouldn't ya know, they're all the rage now. They call 'em capri pants these days, but as far as I'm concerned, they're just good old clam diggers with a fancy name and attitude.

Hmmmm, maybe I should teach my granddaughters how to play jacks. We could be starting a new trend ...

How about you? Are some of the "old things" from your past becoming new again? (Face lifts don't count!)

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other. Think I'll go pull out my old bag of balls and jacks. My skills could use a little brushing up.