- 7 years ago
- Wedding: October 2012
I do like this time we live in. But I sure do love reading about the past! Years ago when I would visit my Aunt or Grandma I always eneded up reading the magazines they had. One of them always stuck out at me. Reminisce magazine.
Its where people tell theirs stories(or stories told to them by an older relative) of living and growing up during the late 1800’s and all the way up to the 1960’s. Plus pictures are sent in with stories. They have old ads from those times, menus(with prices) of different restaurants throughout the USA, funnies from newspapers, recipes, etc, etc. Oh and like I said before, lots of stories!!
Heres some examples.
“This is my uncle Leslie Lease, originally from Kenosha, Wisconsin, filling up a 1920s-era car from a gravity-feed pump at a station in North Carolina,” notes Bob Durling of Highland, Indiana. “The license plate reveals the year to be 1942. Check out the gas price of under 25 cents, including tax. ON back of the photo is written ‘Leslie’s first and only customer…Toxaway Lodge, taking Mr. Reid’s place.”
“My mom, Evelyn Lockwood (right), and Helen Moore (left), born two months apart in 1909, grew up in Chicago and were very close, calling one another ‘my twin cousin,’” notes Carol Swart of Cedar Lake, Indiana. “On this day, they were visiting Edith Johnson (middle) on her family’s Iowa farm.”
Now this is a longer memory, but its good…..
Grandma’s lessons on patience rated ‘thumbs up’
As a first grader back in 1934, I spent lots of weekends visiting my grandmother. My birthday was coming up in summer, so I’d been hinting around to Grandmother—and anyone else who’d listen—that I wanted a birthstone ring.
During those Depression days, money was in short supply, so I didn’t really think I’d get my ring. But one day out of the blue, Grandmother announced that she had saved enough Crystal White soap wrappers to send away for my birthstone ring.
Crystal White bar laundry soap sponsored Grandmother’s favorite soap opera, The Adventures of Betty and Bob. The show’s latest sales pitch offered catalog items in exchange for Crystal White wrappers. My ring required 100. Years later, I learned that Grandmother bought enough Crystal White to last at least 5 years! She even talked Uncle Fred into collecting wrappers from his co-workers at the bank. Grandmother enlisted her neighbors, too, trading cut flowers for their wrappers.
(Click on images to view larger.)
After Grandmother sent in all those wrappers, I could already imagine the ring on my finger, flashing in the sun as I jumped rope or rode my scooter.
“Settle down!” Grandmother admonished. “It will surely take three or four weeks for your ring to come in the mail. Why don’t you go out back and sit under the arbor and read your book. And don’t suck your thumb! You’re almost 7 and it’s time to get rid of baby habits.”
I was embarrassed that I still had this bad habit…so much so, that when people caught me at it, I would quickly hide my hands behind my back. As the lazy days of that summer wore on, I was more concerned about getting my ring than worrying about breaking my bad habit.
If I was at Grandmother’s house, I’d check her mailbox several times a morning. If I was home, I’d telephone Grandmother every day at 11 a.m., when her mail was usually delivered.
After I’d pestered Grandmother by phone for a week, she told me, “If you really want your ring, Ann, why don’t you stop sucking your thumb? Your hands look so red and rough, the ring wouldn’t even look pretty.”
“Do you really think my ring would come if I quit?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” Grandmother said with plenty of assurance, “I know so.”
I took her word for it. That very day, I bound my thumb in tape (sticky side out) and shook pepper all over the tape. “By hook or by crook,” as Grandmother used to say, I managed not to suck my thumb for a whole week.
Then it was Grandmother’s turn to call and check on me. “How’s your willpower holding up?” she asked. I told her I was doing fine, and my mother got on the phone to confirm that.
Soon it was Aug. 8, the day before my birthday, and still no ring. I was down in the dumps all afternoon. The next morning, I was slow to get out of bed. Grandmother called at 10. “Happy birthday, Annie! Guess what’s sitting here on my desk?”
I was afraid to guess the ring because her mail wasn’t going to be delivered for at least another hour. “What?” I ventured.
“It’s a small box with your name on it. The postman was early today.”
“Most likely,” Grandmother said. “Everyone says the best things come in small packages, and it’s small.” Grandmother talked Uncle Fred into driving her over to deliver the package. It was my ring—a birthday present to remember forever!
Looking back, I’m not so sure Grandmother really did get the ring that morning. Do you suppose she might have waited for a time…to help her granddaughter overcome a bad habit?
Here’s a memory where the bride has trouble with the dress…..
Each year during spring cleaning, I tackle all the closets that have become crammed with clothes that are out of style or don’t fit. But one old garment never gets removed. Tucked away in the closet of a spare room, in a plastic garment bag, is my wedding dress. That yellowed cotton brocade gown looks so bad that I doubt Goodwill would accept it.
It wasn’t an expensive dress, probably costing about $25. My sister lovingly made it by hand. The long sleeves were fashioned to form a delicate point at the wrist, and the scooped neckline was trimmed in cotton lace. I wore a borrowed veil and a headpiece that sparkled like a diamond crown when the sun hit it.
After the wedding, I thought I’d try to shorten the sleeves and hem the gown so I could wear it as a street dress. But by the time I got the sleeves cut, I was too busy as a new housewife to ever finish the project.
Finally I pinned the sleeves together and hooked them onto the front of the dress with a big safety pin. The dress has hung in a closet ever since. It has moved with us seven different times, thrown in with other clothes in the backseats of cars to travel to new houses in new cities.
After all these years, you’d think this poor, unused heirloom should be set free—perhaps given to a relative to refurbish and use. But I can’t let it go. Letting go of that dress would be like letting part of me go. It would be the same as giving up the sounds of a marriage—of babies crying in the night, happy children going off to school, loud teenagers and their louder friends, young people leaving to find their own way in the world. Bye, Mom and Dad!
So the dress will continue to hang in the spare-room closet, alongside another garment bag containing the army uniform of the young soldier I married. They hang side by side in silent tribute to 38 years of love and commitment…and the promise that two hearts would forever beat as one from the day we said our vows: “I, Mary, take thee, Richard…”
Embarrassment Was Set in Concrete
It was spring, and I wanted to get some exercise. So I strapped the baby into his bicycle seat and rode off. Signs of the season were everywhere—trees were budding, tulips were coming up and crews were out repairing the crumbling concrete sidewalks.
As I pointed out the big yellow mixer trucks to the baby, I didn’t see the orange flags fluttering around the pavement and we skidded into a freshly poured driveway approach. There I stood, up to my ankles and bicycle rims in 6 inches of wet concrete! I was wondering how to get out of there and not let the baby fall when three grim-faced men from the crew approached. They stopped, stared for a second, then quietly extracted me, baby and bike.
As they began to smooth over my tracks, I started to say, “I’m so…”
“In a pig’s eye you’re sorry,” one large and grumpy fellow retorted. “Lady, you’re one ingenious saboteur.”
I felt a flush of scarlet that was as bright as the T-shirt I wore—the one with the large white letters spelling out the name of a rival concrete company.
“This early-1940s picture, taken by my father, Gerald Haywood, shows a Fourth of July parade headed down Ashfield Street toward the bridge connecting the small town of Piedmont, West Virginia, with Westernport, Maryland,” writes Richard Haywood of Laurel, Maryland. “There was always a big turnout for the parade, both in spectators and in marching bands that agreed to perform, usually from Maryland, West Virginia and Pennsylvania.”
I could go on, but you get the gist of it. I got those online, there are alot in the magazine!
Its amazing isnt it? History.