Gone Are the Jingles

Gone are the catchy, cute, or silly jingles that marched across our televisions.  We no longer have Dinah Shore advising, “Drive a Chevrolet in the USA,” or Ethel Merman prodding, “You can trust your car to the man who wears the star, the big, bright Texaco star.” We could look for direction and information, if we, “Let our fingers do the walking in the Yellow Pages.”

Many jingles gave us health tips, “You’ll wonder where the yellow went, when you brush your teeth with Pepsodent.” Focusing on the hair, “Halo, everybody, Halo,” or “Brylcream, a little dab will do you.” Upset stomach, “Plop, plop, fizz, fizz. Oh, what a relief it is, Alka-seltzer.” If you got a boo-boo, “Stuck on Bandaid, ‘cause Bandaid is stuck on you.”

Food jingles seemed to be regulars that enticed you to the kitchen to eat. “I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener, ‘cause everyone would be in love with me.” Armour company didn’t care if you were sick, because “Even kids with chicken pox, eats Armour hotdogs.” How about the “San Francisco treat, Rice-a-roni?” Does anyone remember, “Jolly, yo ho ho, Green Giant.” At breakfast time Kellogg’s wanted you to sing along with “Snap. Crackle, and Pop, Rice Krispies.”

Jingles lured us out of our homes with “Hold the pickle hold the lettuce. Special orders don’t upset us.” and “Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, onion on a sesame seed bun.” Treats like “Dairy Queen with the curl on top” sounded great on a hot day. Candy like “B-O-N-O-M-o Bonomo, Turkish taffy,” or “Nestles, Nestles makes the very best…chocolate” certainly caught our attention between programs on Saturday mornings.

Toys like Slinky, Odd Ogg, Tippy Tumbles (Batteries not included), Sindy Doll, or Hasbros, “Charlie’s Angels caused kids to rewrite their Christmas list. Alas, the jingles have gone away, only to be replaced by abrasive and uninteresting ads without a catchy tune or phrase.

Ruggs

Although the Rugg reunion has been going on for 93 years, I can’t remember its beginning, but can remember when it was held at the old Rugg farm in Mill Run, Pennsylvania. People would gather, planning on spending most of the day socializing and eating. It was a time to reconnect with the roots of our family. We looked at the scarce black and white photos of past generations and were introduced to newly born members of the clan.

Food was possibly a bigger part of the gatherings than the reconnection with aunts, uncles, cousins, great-grandparents, or cousins twice removed. The varied items of the potluck meals filled long tables of bed sheet covered boards resting on saw horses. The fare was placed under the shade in the apple orchard and soon became the center of attention. Even just sampling most the meats, casseroles, and desserts, I can remember the fullness of my stomach. The wonderful tastes made me wish I could eat more. I was afraid I might miss eating a delicious bite of cake, cookie, or pie.

Although the food was always good, what made the biggest impression was the huge, cloth covered crock of lemonade claiming its spot the end of the table. It was filled to the brim with ice, sugar, and squeezed lemons that floated in the concoction. The cloth kept the honey bees from sipping the lemony nectar. Even when nearing the end of the day, the lemon flavor became watered down from the melted ice was still so refreshing. I can remember the cooling liquid as it slid down my dry parched throat after running and playing with my cousins in the hot afternoon sun. Memories can be made from the smallest things, if we keep them precious.

Mow, Mow, Mow My Yard

Lately, when I mow my yard, I have several friends that like to join me. Oh, they don’t actually mow, they come to visit. The first is a bothersome fly. It buzzes at my ears, then at my face. Swatting it away doesn’t seem to do any good, because within minutes, it’s back again, circling my head. It worries me that it is looking for a vacation home in my mouth or nose. That is something that I really don’t want to happen.

I thought my next mowing friends have abandoned me. In the early months, I sorely missed them. They are a family of barn swallows. Hearing my mower beginning to lop off the tops of the grass in my yard, they swoop from their nesting area to catch the insects that my mowing chases from the lawn. Gracefully they swoop, gathering the bugs to feed themselves and their family. I keep hoping that they will catch and eat the fly that bugs me, but no such luck yet. Do barn swallows swallow flies?

A much larger visitor came through my yard yesterday. The back part of my property is very moist. Either a cow or a horse meandered across that area and left about 3 inch impressions in the wet ground. It happens about once a year and it takes me several sessions of mowing to repair the divots.

Today I mowed my elderly neighbors’ lawn as well. I hate to see my lawn neat and theirs wild and untended. As I started to mow, their grandson came to visit them and began to cut the hard to reach areas with a push mower. I was glad to see him. I am like the cowboys of the old west. “If it can’t be done from the saddle, I don’t like to do it.” Now I’m not as daring or as romantic as a cowboy, but sitting in the saddle is more my style.

The Birth of a Notion

As I was thinking of what to write, two thoughts for the title and the direction for the subject were battling in my mind. The first title I thought to name it was “The Birth of a Nation” and I planned to share stories surrounding the birth of my three children. The initial thought was spurred by my post of our visit to Niagara Falls and the trip home. My wife Cindy became nauseated as we drove home. Later as she tried to sleep, the images of electric poles sped past her like a picket fence and the nausea persisted. This was our introduction into pregnancy with our first daughter. After that, I developed a craving for greasy hamburgers at each of the following pregnancies. With the last craving of a hamburger for our third child, Cindy said, “No need for me to go to the doctor. I’m pregnant” and she was.

The second idea that fits the chosen title of this piece was to introduce how an idea, phrase, or incident can set off a spark of creativity which eventually becomes a story, a book, or a poem. Many times I copy down a single thought and it stays on the paper for quite awhile. It was something I wanted to keep, but the words to finish it wasn’t there yet, but it was the germ of a plot, a partial line of a poem, or sometimes it would find its way into a waste basket, rejected because I’d already written something similar or it wasn’t as good as my initial thought.

In my computer room, there are reams of paper with finished manuscripts, partially written stories, and finished poems or Haiku that haven’t been entered into the computer. The stacks pile up, because of laziness on my part. I see the task and because I never took typing, I avoid it. I am a two and at best a three fingered typist.

I did start to clean out some of the clutter surrounding me and I found a check as payment for a book I sold. It was tucked in a Christmas card. The postmark was from November 2016. My bank was kind enough to cash it. I do hope my cousin Barb won’t be too mad that I took so long to redeem it. As you can see, even check that hasn’t been cashed can be an interesting notion to write about.

Sentimental Sorting

Last evening, I was hot and decided to start the Herculean task of cleaning out my computer and general clutter room. Bins of photographs cover the floor of one closet. Some are old photos passed down through the generations. Some are newer photos from trips my mother-in-law Retha Morrison took on trips with friends. There are some pictures and negatives that my daughter Amanda Yoder took when she was in the photography business. School portraits of the kids, my wife, and me are tucked in bins for safe keeping. There are portraits of the family, chronicling our family and the styles through the years.

Some black and white photographs are from World War II era of men wearing uniforms, women in “stylish” outfits strolling down the street, and kids in clothes that haven’t changed all that much, wearing t shirts and jeans.

Christmas cards, birthday cards, thank you cards, and of course post cards were stuck in candy boxes, card boxes, and bins, just waiting for me to sort through. I never know whether to keep or toss, especially when the person that sent it is no longer alive. There is one thing for sure. I’ll never get another card from them. As I sorted through the cards, I found a check from November 2016. I’m rich, that is if the check is still good.

I gathered some newspaper clippings, photos with no names, etc. together and I plan to donate them to a local historical society. They have little meaning to me and will enhance the archives of the area. I still have my papers to sort, but the dust and concern has given me a headache. They can wait for another day.

Youthful Summer Days

I’m sure that we all can remember those days of summer after school was out and the freedom to go outside to run and play or to ride a bike and swim. It was a time of enjoyment that wasn’t limited because the sun was hot or the air still, sultry, and humid. Socks and shoes were optional. Tincture of merthiolate or merchorochrome was applied to scrapes and cuts after being washed with soap. Shirts were only an afterthought and sunscreen was unheard of back then. Mom would dab on apple cider vinegar to cool the sunburned skin when we chose not to wear a shirt.

Rainy days provided mud and puddles to play in and would often earn Mom’s anger when we brought the outside indoors. We had play clothes which were actually good clothes that were getting too small or were near being worn out.

As kids, summer seemed to stretch on forever. Endless days of sunshine slowly flowed by until the days of school and being imprisoned inside approached. The educational walls used up so much of the day. It often allowed little respite because of the tasks assigned by the teacher. It was called homework. The only reprieve came when Mom called for supper or the weekdays finally yielded to the weekend and a short window of escape arrived. Softballs and bats were exchanged for footballs. The fields that were once makeshift baseball diamonds become the football gridirons.

Autumn turns to winter and the footballs are stored. Heavy coats, boots, mittens, and scarves are resurrected. Sometimes larger sizes are purchased, necessary because our size has grown from the year before. Sleds, toboggans, skates, and skis are dragged from basements, sheds, and garages, dusted, and put into use. Ice, snow, and blustery wind do little to deter the escape from the confines of the house. Snow days become a temporary pardon from the weekday work farm of school.

Now, those days fly by all too quickly and we complain about the heat or the cold. Ah, to have the heart of a kid again.

 Choices

Each day we make hundreds of choices from simple ones where we decide what clothing to wear to getting married. We make choices because of the weather or because of the chores we plan to tackle for the day. We wouldn’t select a suit and tie to repair the car, to garden, or to mow the lawn and we wouldn’t go outside to shovel snow in a bathing suit and sandals, but we have the option to wear what we want, even if they are bad choices.

Having a bowl of chili for breakfast is okay, if we don’t mind dealing with heartburn. We can go outside with a tank top on in the blistering sun, if we don’t mind a painful skin damaging sunburn as a result. Running barefoot in gravel we give us cuts and bruising on our feet, but we have the choice of wearing shoes or not.

Even though we have work and often have a schedule to keep, we have the option of when we go to bed and when we awaken or even if we want to keep that job. We can choose to marry or remain single and whether to raise a family or not.  We can choose in which state we want to live, whether to reside in this country or another, or if we want to live in the city or country. Life is a series of options.

The United States is still a land of opportunity, of freedom, and of choices. Many of our freedoms to choose have been endowed by God as inalienable rights which have been echoed by our founding fathers in the United States Constitution and the Bill of Rights.

Now we must choose whether or not we allow government to whittle away at those rights, e freedoms, and options for choice with laws that try to redefinition of those rights.

I started out on one path about the freedom that we have to choose and wandered down this path, so remember to think about each choice that is made during the day and the possible outcomes before making that selection.