I'll admit...

I like Spam!  I know not everyone likes it; in fact I've read that some think it's nasty.  The ingredients say it's made from pork, with ham and chicken.  My biggest concern is the amount of sodium it contains.  But give me a day of working past lunch time, with nothing cooked, and a Spam sandwich hits the spot, of course with a serving of cold pork and beans.  Yuck! you say?

I guess my taste for these two things goes all the way back to when our family worked in the peach orchards and packing shed.  We had no electricity, therefore no refrigeration to keep anything cold.  Mama would get up very early, milk the cow, cook breakfast and then hurry to fix something for our lunch to take with us.  Sometimes she fried potatoes which were cold by noon, but they were so good; I still like cold fried potatoes.  The Spam and pork and beans were something that could be packed and opened at mealtime.  Back in those days, Spam didn't come in an aluminum can with a pop off lid, but rather a tin can that was opened with a little key which was attached to the bottom of the can.  There was a small tab on the upper side of the can and the key was used to wind around the can so the lid could be removed.  My cousin and I had quite a collection of those keys to play with.  If work in the packing shed ran into the night, my cousin and I were sent down the hill to the little country store to buy some bologna or some such sandwich meat.

I've thought a lot about the kinds of meat we had to eat back then.  There was always ham, sausage, bacon and tenderloin to eat in the winter, but by spring what was left was beginning to taste rancid.  Mama canned some of the fresh meat using her pressure cooker, so that must have been what carried us over until we could have chicken.  She always put eggs under setting hens, but it took several weeks before any of the chickens were large enough to eat.  Now we grow chickens in seven weeks that can weigh over seven pounds, but they have feed before them all the time; hillside chicks were only fed once a day and then had to scratch for whatever they could find. The pulley bone was always my favorite piece and I can remember how small it was. 

We never had beef, with the exception of an occasional hamburger in town.  Now and then we might have fish caught from the creek, but were always warned of the danger of getting bones in our throats.  If there was a special get-together of Mama's folks, she would buy a can of mackerel (fish) and make fried patties from it.

But you know, I don't ever remember going hungry.

Think about it,

Charlotte  

Newspaper Clipping

There were several newspaper clippings in box I brought home with me after my mother's death in 1987.  Most were about her grand children's 4-H activities, wedding stories, etc.  A few days ago I took another look into the box and came across this small article about my Aunt Marie and her laying hen:

Our local paper has always been small, and women from different communities used to gather up news from their neighbors and have them printed each week.  I'm sure that's how this came to be printed; someone thought it was news worthy.

 

Charlotte

 

(Click on the article to enlarge it)

Interesting Ads ~ My! How Times Have Changed!

I had a nice visit by telephone with Auntie L yesterday afternoon.  You might remember that I gave her one of my dolls, Mattie Louise, last year just before she had surgery.  She had cancer on the side of her tongue and I'm so thankful to be able to tell you it has been a year now, and so far everything is o.k.

In our conversation, she told me she had gone to Dollar General on Friday, without her walker, and by leaning on the cart she was able to buy things she needed in the retirement center.  She had first intended to take only $20 but then decided if she took $40 she would get back change to have for unexpected little things.  With her items in the cart, she went to the check-out, and after things were scanned, the bill came to $39 plus; she got back  forty five cents in change.  This worried her a great deal, wondering what she would have done, had the bill gone over the amount she took with her, for you see, she hasn't been out much in the past few years, and doesn't realize just how much prices have gone up. 

I'm afraid I'd be in the same position since the farmer does the grocery shopping here.  The following ads, from a paper published in the 1970s, tell us just how much times have changed:

See anything on there that you buy?  If so, compare the prices, now and then.  Some things that I took notice of were the prices of bananas, toilet tissue, shortening, potato chips...WOW!!  But, there is another thing we have to take into consideration: wages were much less in the 70s too.  

Charlotte

Baby Bed

Primitive?  Maybe ordinary you'll say.  Seventy eight years ago, Daddy made this little bed for my sister, and then 6 1/2 years later, I slept in it.  He made it with hand tools, splitting the cedar and gluing the posts and rails together.  Of course the bed wouldn't meet today's safety standards because the rails are too far apart; but we didn't fall out or get our heads caught between them. 

I don't know where the bed was during my growing up years; perhaps it was loaned out.  But sometime it came back to my parents house, and with a shortage of space there, Daddy tried to take the bed apart; it refused to be taken down.  It finally came to live  with me.  I made bumper pads and fitted sheets for it, and grandchildren slept in it.  After there were no more babies to use the bed, it became a place to pile stuffed toys and extra pillows, etc.

Last week I decided to give it new purpose, so I moved it into my bedroom and put some of my new quilts in it.

 

I like the way it looks!

 

Charlotte

Communicating By Postcard

Other than a postcard reminding you of a dental or doctor's appointment, when was the last time you received one of these little notes of communication in the mail? With the growing popularity of cell phones and email messages, I doubt there are many postcards bought today. A photo can be sent immediately from a vacation spot or a family gathering without going through the delay of the postal service.

Old postcards are interesting to me, especially when there's a message on the back like this one has, sent to a little girl from her grandma, dated 5/10/09:

"Dear, I am coming to see you before long, when Homer comes...We are all well.

This card is very special since it was sent by my mother to her niece:

"Dear Little Robbie Marie, How are you? Did you get a lot of valentines? I haven't got any yet... Did you eat lots of snow? I took one bite from some Junior had..."

These postcards are examples of greeting cards.

This is an example of a photo card. These became available whenever Kodak developed cards that allowed pictures to be made directly from negatives onto a pre-printed back. This card was sent to Mama by her daddy; can you imagine how thrilled she was to get a card of her very own from her daddy?

Even though the message was brief, it was so special to her that it's still with us today. Notice the one cent stamp and the 1928 postmark.

The photo cards also made it possible to send family pictures to folks living far away, who might not have seen the new baby.

And of course there were the scenic cards, probably the ones we're most familiar with, sent from vacation spots or bought as a souvenir, and carrying messages like,

"Well, we made it okay. Everyone is fine and wish you were here with us. Will see you soon." or "We are still driving on our way...It has been a lovely day." And, "Dear Mother and Father,

We've been running around over the park all day.

Tomorrow we're just going to sit and read."

Cards sent from places none of the home folks could ever see any other way, were always welcomed.

Do you have a postcard collection, or do you send postcards? If you're interested in the history of postcards, this is an interesting website to visit:

www.emotionscards.com/museum/historyofpostcards.htm

The Borrowed Toothbrush

For some reason, a visit to the dentist is usually not an experience a person enjoys. I was told once, by my dentist, if my husband had looked in my mouth before we were married, he wouldn't have married me. I didn't take it too personal and continued going to him for treatment until, at the age of 46, I took the big plunge and got braces. Now when I go to the dentist, I only see him once a year; the cleaning, x-rays, etc. are done by a dental hygienist. We talk and have even become friends in some cases.
There is no reason now to have dirty teeth. After each visit, the hygienist gives me a "goody" bag containing a new brush, toothpaste, and dental floss. Over time I've accumulated quite a collection of brushes.
Brushes have not always been available, or maybe affordable, for all children. As a child, I knew how to break off a little stem from a sassafras bush, chew one end until it was frayed, and then use it as a toothbrush. Of course it was pretty stiff and rough on my gums. I had a store-bought toothbrush; the sassafras brush was just something to try and I liked its taste.
I'd think all children have access to a toothbrush now and most probably complain about the chore of cleaning their teeth. This brings to mind a little story about my mother when she was a child:
Mama wanted a toothbrush; a real one with soft bristles and a celluloid handle.
She was tired of the rough, sassafras brushes she made and used on her walk to school each day. Two girls in the school had store-bought brushes and she was sure her teeth never looked as bright and shiny as their teeth. She looked with envy at the real brush someone had given to her baby brother. He didn't use it much; why couldn't she borrow it? So without anyone knowing it, she slipped the brush out of the house and brushed her teeth. How clean they felt! She ran her tongue over and around every tooth, savoring their sleekness. She went inside and looked into the mirror; how pretty and white her teeth were! But now she must put the brush back before someone missed it. First she would wash it good. There was a pan of hot water on the heater; she could use it to scald the brush. So she took the pan to the porch and poured the water over the brush. To her surprise, the bristles began falling out of the celluloid handle and in a jiffy they were all out. The brush was ruined.
Now I don't know what kind of trouble she was in, she didn't tell me that. However, it made such an impression on her that she remembered it for the rest of her life.
How spoiled we are!

Do You Remember These?

A repost:

Now I'm sure most of you have never used a rub board or flat irons, but you may remember your grandmother having them. Washday was a time of hard labor for women in days gone by, and it had to be done whether the weather was hot or cold. This is how washday was for my mother in the 40's:

First of all, water had to be carried up the hill from the well, and the big black iron wash pot was filled. Daddy built a fire under the pot to heat the water and then went back down the hill to carry more water to fill the galvanized wash tub; it took several trips to fill the tub. Sometimes, while he was at the well, the horses came and drank part of the water; that's when his temper might flare. With his part of the washday work finished, he went off to the field to plow. Mama brought out the white clothes first and put them into the hot water with some slivers of lye soap. She let the clothes stay in the hot water and simmer for a while before she began taking things out, one piece at a time, and rubbing them on the rub board. When the piece looked clean enough to suit her, she dropped it into the tub of clean water and rinsed it. With all the pieces washed, and the water rung out of them, she made up a batch of Faultless starch; dresses and the Sunday shirt were dipped into the starch and then squeezed out. No matter if the wind was blowing cold, or the sun was blazing, she hung each piece of clothing on the clothesline to dry.

The clothing, sheets, towels, etc. were brought inside after they had dried. Mama took the dresses and Sunday shirt and sprinkled water from her fingers over them, rolled them up into a ball, and let them sit a while before she ironed them the next day. The heavy irons were heated on the stove; to test them, to see when they were hot enough, she dampened her finger and quickly tapped the bottom of the iron. A sizzle from the moisture meant the iron was ready to use. She had learned through the years not to use an iron that was too hot; a scorched iron print on a Sunday shirt was not a good thing!

As the years passed, laundromats came into town, and occasionally Daddy would take us there to do the laundry. It was much easier on Mama. All the machines with their rollers for pressing the water out of the clothes were a wonder to me. But I was afraid to put an article through the rollers; maybe my fingers would get caught and pull me through! We always took the clothes home to dry them on the line.

We should never complain about doing the laundry; the water is as close as a faucet on the wall, it's already hot or cold, detergents are in a box and we don't have to touch them to chafe our hands. The dryer is sitting right next to the washing machine; if there's rain we can still wash things, and most fabrics come out of the dryer not needing to be ironed much at all, and if they do, the iron reaches a perfect temperature and shuts down. But, it would be nice if the clothes went to the closet and drawers by themselves.