nostalgia

 What a joy is BYU TV. It has become the channel we turn to when we want good, wholesome themes, and more often than not gives us a pleasurable trip down memory lane. For example, last week the Passport Earth series featured the Lipizzaner Stallions. And immediately afterward aired “The Miracle of the White Stallions,” a Walt Disney production from 50 years ago. This type of movie viewing is not unusual for this channel. For example, Pete’s Dragon, another fave, was televised recently. Coming up this week, and a propos for the 4^th of July celebrations, is The Music Man (love me some 76 trombones). For us it seems the older Disney movies hold just as much fascination as today’s Pixar offerings. Different, of course, but, all things considered, no less wonderful. I’m resigned to the fact that we will never see a return to family oriented programming on the big four networks, and that’s such a shame. The Mickey Mouse Club was one of my most fave shows when I was young. Didn’t get to watch every day, because nine months of the year homework took precedence, and it took longer during the summer to keep the house clean, but when the school work load was small, and my chores were done, if there was time, I got to sit for 30 minutes and see things of the world I would never in my life otherwise have an opportunity to see. Yes, some of it had little substance. To wit, Anything Can Happen Day. And I well remember my brothers making fun of Spin and Marty. Strangely enough, they never said anything negative about Annette. Drooled, yes, but never ridiculed. And while we’re on the subject of nostalgia, does anybody remember what it was we were supposed to do with the water left over from boiling eggs?

a pressing matter

Does anybody besides me iron anymore? We have two ironing boards in this household. Mainly because hubby got tired of having to traipse up the stairs to use the one and only, and he never was happy with the current setting on the iron. Soooooooooo, in the interest of keeping the peace, he now has one of each in his dressing room, and I still have mine, upstairs. But recently even this became a problem. Seems it’s in his way. He wants to use his computer (not the household one), and that means he has to plug it in, and the only outlet currently available in the office is one on the wall - - you got it - - right next to the ironing board. So, in the interest of keeping the peace, I moved the whole shebang into the guest room. Now when I need to press something I have go into the guest room and plug in the iron and then go into the bathroom to get a glassful of water and then move the supplies and, well, you get the picture. OK, none of those things is really a problem, it’s just inconvenient. But life is full of inconveniences, yes? There is, however, one tiny minor detail of concern. Last Sunday before heading out for my normal routine, I decided I needed to press my skirt. In a hurry, as always, I zipped through the job, donned the still-warm garment, unplugged the iron, carried it into the bathroom, emptied the water into the sink, went back to the guest room, set the iron on the board, closed the door and went to Sunday School and Church. When I get home first thing is always turn off the alarm, next is take off my shoes. The next order of business is change from skirt to grubbies. Before I could two and three on the list, I heard the most awful racket emanating from the upper portion of the house. Oh, Lord, I thought, what’s gotten into the attic? Nothing. Kitty was scratching at the guest room door, desperate to be set free from the prison he had been forced to occupy for the last five hours. Oh, and it does no good to tell him that sneaking into the guest room just so he can occupy the clean soft space on top of that bed might not be the best idea in the world. As of this morning the ironing board is back in the office. And Jim will just have to deal.

pilot of the airwaves

There are, I think, for most of the boomgen, songs that take us back to a particular time in our life when things were either really awful or really great. Of course, that perception is colored by time, and may not reflect actual events; sorta like childhood summers, easy to remember swimming in the lake but mosquito bites less easily recalled.

For me it’s not only songs, but also radio stations. And deejays, Lord love 'em. WSGN/WAQI’s Tommy Charles (RIP) and Doug Layton were all the rage in Birmingham during my high school years. When I resided in Los Angeles, KRTH totally did it for me. Any time I lived in the D/FW area it was Ron Chapman, and I followed him through three careers and as many stations. These days it’s oldies with Jody Dean & the Morning Team.

But above them all was WROA in Biloxi and my very fave Pilot of the Airwaves. Living on three hours sleep a night, this man kept me awake in the wee hours while I studied electronics and, when I wasn't hitting the books, was sometimes my only hold on sanity as I tried to reconcile life as a single parent with a full-time job in the Air Force. Wonder whatever happened to Ken Slater?

routine

Jim’s been back for three months now, and this household has settled into what, for us, is as close to a routine as we will probably ever have. Four am finds me in the kitchen, fixing a first cup of coffee, kitty me-r-r-r-owing in and out between my feet, impatiently awaiting a dollop of salmon or trout or tuna. Teevee muted, radio off until 5 am and my fave deejay drive-time show, the neighbor’s mega-truck not yet fired up, there’s only faint barking from distant neighborhood dogs to break the pre-dawn stillness. I used to hear a train in the early mornings, but either CSX changed the schedule or the ambient air temp is such that the lonely whine no longer carries this far.

This morning the only sounds in the house are the office window screens moving in the ubiquitous North Texas breeze (which in any other part of the Country would be considered a gale), and clicks of the computer keyboard. And the sounds of gentle snoring in the master bedroom. Ahhhhhhhhhhh.