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What I remember...
Of late, several things have come to mind with regard to how things have changed since the days of growing up in the 60's. I thought it might serve as a reminder of simpler times to make mention of a few of those memories.
I remember Saturday nights being very special, although I certainly didn't realize it at the time. There was a degree of anticipation, but it would be years later before I realized its worth. On Saturday nights, we were all gathered in front of the one and only television, a black and white console with its rabbit ears atop, to view Gunsmoke, and many of those evenings would include a plate of hot, homemade chocolate chip cookies, or some spamoni (sp?) ice cream (don't ask…somehow a pint was split among ten people). Lawrence Welk either preceded Gunsmoke or took up the rear, can't exactly recall, but I believe Lawrence came first, because I can recall bedding down on a cold winter's night to the memory of Miss Kittie and that distinguishable facial mole that these days would be whacked off by a plastic surgeon upon its first emergence. Miss Kitty's saloon (not to be confused with "salon") was the site of some injustice having taken place, for which Matt Dillon, with the aid of Chester, came to Kitty's rescue and, although as the song says, he "never hung his hat at Kittly's place," you knew all was well with the world at each Saturday night's conclusion.
Somewhere in that schedule there was also Alfred Hitchcock's weekly mystery (although that may have been Sundays) that began with the very recognizable music that was his and his alone. As Alfred himself walked into the silhouette that was his distinction, the program would begin. It was always a mystery, but with underlying humor and suspense that was classic Hitchcock. And Twilight Zone fell in there somewhere, not sure where exactly.
All the while as the black and white programming commenced, my mother would be using bobby pins…. yes, bobby pins, kept in a bin of some kind, to make individual spiral curls on our wet hair, having just been shampooed with Prell and conditioned with "Tame."…it was Saturday night, remember! If she finished curling all of our hair for Sunday morning Mass with time left to spare during Gunsmoke, she would commence to ironing handkerchiefs and boxer shorts. She would dip her fingers in a bowl of water on the side of the ironing board, sprinkle water with her hands over the garment (much like the priests of the day did with Holy Water on special occasions) and then she would roll up that garment so I suppose it could absorb the moisture for a few minutes before she unrolled it and proceeded to iron it into such a state that was suitable for wearing or placing in an upper pocket when properly folded.
Before going to our respective beds, we'd all line up and open our mouths like little birds, clean little birds with bobby-pinned hair and shiny faces and flannel PJ's with slippers, and we'd each get a dose of cod liver oil. I can still taste it! Then it was to bed, with each wet curl in place. If we felt especially brazen, we'd tune in WLS on the late night radio and listen to Dick Biondi or Larry Lujack (with the volume VERY low) until we drifted off to sleep, often to the distant sound of a freight train rolling down the tracks a half mile or more away…tracks that were marked, of course, with no more than a wooden post holding an "X" shaped warning sign.
On an especially cold night, and there were many in the North, a fortunate one would awaken to the feel of a heavy fur coat that had been placed upon our fetal-positioned frame to ward off the cold that the radiator heat just could not challenge. I still wonder how my mother chose which one of her many offspring was deserving of the seal coat…yes, it was actually made from the coats of seals. I'm betting now that it involved the sacrifice of more than one of those ball-balancing-on-the-nose mammals. Perhaps it was the one child who looked the deepest shade of purple from the cold. We'll never know. It seemed we all got our chance at the furry extra layer at some point, warm and comforting as it was. But of course, in-between turns, we all accused each other of being the "favorite."
Being awakened on a Sunday morning back then held its own memories…but that's for another time.
Got memories?
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Who, among us, had the resources to take a trip? You must have been considered the "elite" of the time!
And yes, get rid of NCLB...send it back from whence it came and be done with it. I say, "Let the teachers teach," which is something they have been refrained from doing for a long time. Ask a teacher.
For those who know anything of Capote, the movie, "Capote" from just a few years ago was excellent. It kind of went by the wayside after the awards, but it was an excellent portrayal, as few movies are.
m o'
Yes, Capote grew up as a neighbor and dear friend to Harper Lee, the author of "To Kill a Mockingbird." The character of "Dill" is fashioned after Capote himself, although he did not star in the flick.
The book is a "must read," GT...to be relished in the dark of night by lamplight. 'Tis the most insightful reading, delving into the character and reason of the criminaly insane....ewwww....sounds more gruesome than it is. I guarantee you...once you pick it up, you will not put it down....well, unless you hear a mournful, "bahhhhhh,"...naw, that's a sheep, but similar to a goat in distress. You be the judge.
I really believe it was the "investigative" aspect that drew my attention and my liking, to the Capote book. Moreso, I suppose, was the insight into the minds of these two individuals. Capote himself was such a colorful character. At first appearance, it was a bit difficult to take him seriously, but he was a most brilliant writer. He was an outward gay, a rare thing in the 50's in America. He was, unless I believe, the first to author a non-fiction of this type and to bring to the public the inner-thinkings of those involved. He really delved into the lives of each of the Klutter family. The reader feels personally acquainted with each family member before the "incident" takes place. Capote was a master at this. Anyone who can go from "In Cold Blood," to, "Breakfast at Tiffany's" is ok with Minnie.
Now, for Goat..funny, I read your list of books and movies that you just couldn't bring yourself to view or read and discovered that I'd read or viewed most of them...hmmmmm, which tells me that perhaps I AM warped, as FJ so aptly implied earlier. I had seen Silence of the Lambs and "The Exorcist" in the 70's..(was pregnant at the time and just KNEW my firstborn's head would be spinning around her teeny neck when she exited the birth canal). Never watched "The Shining" through, but love Nicholson in other things, just not that. Saw Misery, but didn't read it and still can't watch the sledge hammer descend upon James Cann's leggs without looking away...ewwww..hurts to think about it. And, "Flowers in the Attic,"..now that brought back memories. I was divorced with three "young-uns'" actually living in the furnished basement of my mother's and was given the book to read. My dear younger brother, who could see good in everything, advised me to write my own novel and call it, "Weeds in the Basement." It never quite got off the ground....but I did.