by I would love to hear the rain on the window on a cold rainy night in our old house; I would love to be home in a living room full of family. With something sizzling on the electric fry pan that has been in our family for so many years, I could be the caretaker of days. It would sure be nice to feel the warmth and safety of a time gone by that is impossible to sketch out in words. There was a sense of reality back then, a sense of living in a truly dependable world. I never thought I’d miss the sound of Mom’s voice giving me stern reminders to do my homeork, or Dad telling me to get out there and mow the lawn. They provided me with safety and the reminder that there were things I was accountable for. When late spring rolled around the smells of freshly mown lawns and distant whiffs of lilac and honeysuckle floated past. I took it all in from behind an old screen door looking out upon a world of wonder.
I miss the days of being in the kitchen watching mom cook dinner and listening to her old stories about growing up during world war II. “Combat!” was my favorite show, so the tales of that era truly fascinated me. She told me about the rationing and how they had to do without certain things. I remember Mom telling me that women had to draw a line up the backs of their legs with an eyebrow pencil to simulate wearing nylons. Nylon was in short supply, and made parachute silk for the war effort. When I think back on that time certain things come to mind: the sight of a plaid hand towel hanging on a white utility cart; the smell of cinnamon that I sprinkled on toast. I think back on the sounds of 101 strings or mantovani playing on our living room stereo which provided a soundtrack to my life. I miss talking with my brother and coming up with all sorts of crazy schemes and plans that were going to truly enrich our lives.
My life was spent on an old scratchy sofa with some kind of pattern etched into it. I was forced to eat my vegetables, and was dangerously exposed to cathode ray tubes as I watched cartoons on afternoon TV. Now I reflect on the times we were gathered around in our living room together as a family watching shows. Each night we had our own favorites and our own heroes. My mom and dad both loved watching “The Virginian”, and Mom loved “The Fugitive”. No matter what the season life was beautiful. I popped caps with a rock and drank water from a hose. I downed Kool-Aid by the gallon, rode in the backs of pick up trucks, and lived to tell this tale. There were songs that played on the radio, so powerful, and so moving that they broke my heart even when I was far too young to know what a broken heart was. Those were the days of old, truly missed, and never to be forgotten.
This story was provided by Jeff Owenby. The Retro network is proud to be able to share these stories with all of you each week, but if you just can’t wait, you can visit Jeff’s Facebook page for more fun stories here.
