Dear Wife and I take this opportunity to wish YOU a HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
During my growing -up years there were few, if any, occasions to celebrate the birth of a new year. For families like mine, walking a financial tightrope, there was no money for "riotous welcoming."
I cannot recall even one time that we welcomed a new year in the traditional way as a family, until we affiliated with a local church that offered us the opportunity to join in a midnight "watchnight service," in a somewhat subdued fashion.
I think the main reason, other than financial, for ignoring celebrations, was my family's aversion to drinking alcohol. My parental grandfather and five of his children were heavy drinkers which probably contributed to their premature deaths. My mother's family was influenced by their Presbyterian heritage which frowned on drinking. The one deviation in that family was a brother who, because of WWI wounds (he lost a forearm and was gassed), reverted to drinking and died rather young of age. My parents, in their retirement years, would indulge occasionally. When Mother and her three sisters dined out (chauffered by my dad), the three women had a cocktail - just one, and Dad had a cold beer.
Knowing my family's drinking history, plus my firsthand knowledge of corporate misuse of alcohol, has given me the incentive to follow my parents' example.
More, later.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
WHAT DID YOU GET ?
That question is what most kids ask at Christmas time. For me, it was easy to answer.
During the Great Depression there was little money for gifts. A large, fresh orange was in each stocking, a fruit we never saw during the year. Clothing was always a present. One year, I got a pair of rust-red corduroy trousers, which earned me the nickname "Rusty," at the school bus stop.
Each year I would get a book. I was always hoping for one of my favorites - the TOM SWIFT SERIES, and I was seldom disappointed. Two books that I remember, and now in my grandson's possession, were ADMIRAL RICHARD E. BYRD'S FLIGHT OVER THE NORTH POLE, and CHARLES LINDBERG'S story, WE, about his flight across the Atlantic.
I bought gifts for my siblings and parents at the nearest Kresge's Five and Ten Cent Store, using money that I had saved from various jobs. During the summer, I worked for a local grocer. On Thursdays I would deliver weekly special circulars in the area. On Saturdays, I would deliver customers orders to their homes and receive generous tips. During the winter, I would clear sidewalks of snow and receive generous tips from the residents.
You see, dear reader, because we were all in the same boat, the U.S.S. GREAT DEPRESSION, A paucity of gifts was the norm. When I compare those times with today's buying excesses, and accompanying mountains of debt, I cannot help but ask WHY?
More, later.
During the Great Depression there was little money for gifts. A large, fresh orange was in each stocking, a fruit we never saw during the year. Clothing was always a present. One year, I got a pair of rust-red corduroy trousers, which earned me the nickname "Rusty," at the school bus stop.
Each year I would get a book. I was always hoping for one of my favorites - the TOM SWIFT SERIES, and I was seldom disappointed. Two books that I remember, and now in my grandson's possession, were ADMIRAL RICHARD E. BYRD'S FLIGHT OVER THE NORTH POLE, and CHARLES LINDBERG'S story, WE, about his flight across the Atlantic.
I bought gifts for my siblings and parents at the nearest Kresge's Five and Ten Cent Store, using money that I had saved from various jobs. During the summer, I worked for a local grocer. On Thursdays I would deliver weekly special circulars in the area. On Saturdays, I would deliver customers orders to their homes and receive generous tips. During the winter, I would clear sidewalks of snow and receive generous tips from the residents.
You see, dear reader, because we were all in the same boat, the U.S.S. GREAT DEPRESSION, A paucity of gifts was the norm. When I compare those times with today's buying excesses, and accompanying mountains of debt, I cannot help but ask WHY?
More, later.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
BELLY FLOPPING
Does the title have any meaning for you?
Whenever we have a considerable snowfall, I think back to my younger days in New Jersey and its wintertime fun. Belly flopping means running at your fastest speed, holding your sled in front of you. At the zenith of your speed, put down the sled and flop onto it for as long a ride as possible. Fun! Fun! Fun!
When not riding downhill, my buddies and I engaged in a somewhat risky "bus ride." We waited at a bus stop for a bus to stop, and when it started to move, we ran to the rear of that bus, flopped down on our sleds and grabbed the rear bumper for a fast, sometimes bumpy ride. Fun, but dangerous.
A few years ago, I made an attempt to demonstrate "belly flopping" to my grandson. Using our slightly-hilly street to show him how, I ran down the street, lickety-split and flopped down. Unfortunately, I missed the sled and crashed into a hardened snowbank. Grandson ran into the house shouting to his grandmother, "DeeDee, you better come runing, Pop has crashed and he's all bloody! Fun? Not really.
Warning, dear reader, know where your sled is when you flop.
More, later.
Whenever we have a considerable snowfall, I think back to my younger days in New Jersey and its wintertime fun. Belly flopping means running at your fastest speed, holding your sled in front of you. At the zenith of your speed, put down the sled and flop onto it for as long a ride as possible. Fun! Fun! Fun!
When not riding downhill, my buddies and I engaged in a somewhat risky "bus ride." We waited at a bus stop for a bus to stop, and when it started to move, we ran to the rear of that bus, flopped down on our sleds and grabbed the rear bumper for a fast, sometimes bumpy ride. Fun, but dangerous.
A few years ago, I made an attempt to demonstrate "belly flopping" to my grandson. Using our slightly-hilly street to show him how, I ran down the street, lickety-split and flopped down. Unfortunately, I missed the sled and crashed into a hardened snowbank. Grandson ran into the house shouting to his grandmother, "DeeDee, you better come runing, Pop has crashed and he's all bloody! Fun? Not really.
Warning, dear reader, know where your sled is when you flop.
More, later.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
GO ARMY/GO NAVY
It started 117 years ago.
In 1890, the Naval Academy challenged West Point to a football game and won. Since then, the rivalry has continued, interrupted infrequently (WWI, for example). Navy is leading in games won, 52 to 49, with 7 ties. I was fortunate to be involved in one of those games, in Philadelphia.
My involvement happened in 1935, as a high school junior. My math teacher had a connection to the stadium vendors, and every year he took a dozen of his pupils to the game to sell programs. What a deal! We sold each program for one dollar and pocketed fifty cents of that dollar for ourselves. When our quota was sold, we could go home, or find a seat to watch the game. I chose the latter, treated myself to hot dogs and soda and still went home LOADED with money - which I promptly gave to my grateful mother.
A brief history: In 1899, Philadelphia was chosen a neutral site and has remained so for most of the years. When the Air Force Academy joined the competition, it became a challenge for the Commander-in-Chief's Cup, with the winner accepting the award at the White House.
So, dear readers, when attending your next sporting event, buy a program, and brighten your kid's day.
More, later.
In 1890, the Naval Academy challenged West Point to a football game and won. Since then, the rivalry has continued, interrupted infrequently (WWI, for example). Navy is leading in games won, 52 to 49, with 7 ties. I was fortunate to be involved in one of those games, in Philadelphia.
My involvement happened in 1935, as a high school junior. My math teacher had a connection to the stadium vendors, and every year he took a dozen of his pupils to the game to sell programs. What a deal! We sold each program for one dollar and pocketed fifty cents of that dollar for ourselves. When our quota was sold, we could go home, or find a seat to watch the game. I chose the latter, treated myself to hot dogs and soda and still went home LOADED with money - which I promptly gave to my grateful mother.
A brief history: In 1899, Philadelphia was chosen a neutral site and has remained so for most of the years. When the Air Force Academy joined the competition, it became a challenge for the Commander-in-Chief's Cup, with the winner accepting the award at the White House.
So, dear readers, when attending your next sporting event, buy a program, and brighten your kid's day.
More, later.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
LOCAL CASH FOR LOCAL USE
A recent article in the Washington Post National Weekly wrote about the London (England) suburb of Braxton, printing its own currency as an economic booster. During the GREAT DEPRESSION, hundreds of local governments in our country did the same thing.
In the city where I lived, my dad, a fireman, was paid in "scrip," a paper that we kids called "funny money." It wasn't funny to my mother because some of the merchants would not accept it for payment. What was the solution?
I was the solution! On payday, my mother would send me to the city hall tax office with some "scrip." If people came in to pay their tax bill with federal greenbacks, I would ask them to exchange them for my "scrip," as the city was obligated to accept the "scrip" in payment of bills.
If I was successful, mother and the merchants were very happy.
A certain "funny money" brought happiness to our home in recent years when Dear Wife brought out the board game, Monopoly, to entertain visiting grandchildren. Oh, such fun, to be able to barter for property exchanges and build up "funny money" reserves. Precious memories.
Precious memories of our good life in America have gone "down the tube," caused by the country's disastrous financial collapse. Hopefully, we are on the move again to better days.
More, Later.
In the city where I lived, my dad, a fireman, was paid in "scrip," a paper that we kids called "funny money." It wasn't funny to my mother because some of the merchants would not accept it for payment. What was the solution?
I was the solution! On payday, my mother would send me to the city hall tax office with some "scrip." If people came in to pay their tax bill with federal greenbacks, I would ask them to exchange them for my "scrip," as the city was obligated to accept the "scrip" in payment of bills.
If I was successful, mother and the merchants were very happy.
A certain "funny money" brought happiness to our home in recent years when Dear Wife brought out the board game, Monopoly, to entertain visiting grandchildren. Oh, such fun, to be able to barter for property exchanges and build up "funny money" reserves. Precious memories.
Precious memories of our good life in America have gone "down the tube," caused by the country's disastrous financial collapse. Hopefully, we are on the move again to better days.
More, Later.
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