Earlier today Hubby, AKA Treasured Resident Cook, had folded himself in half, rummaging through the freezer drawer of our refrigerator, looking for the hamburger patties he planned to fix for lunch.
“Hey! I found a pair of my glasses,” he chortled. He pulled a pair of readers from the frozen food stash.
Truly the coolest eyewear ever!
He was a good sport about posing with his defrosted glasses!
Before the advent of plastic two-liter containers for soft drinks, boxes’ like the ones above were designed to transport quart-sized, glass bottles of Coca-Cola.
When we were planning our first long camping trip in the 1970s we found that the heavy duty, reinforced Coke boxes were perfect for our extended camping adventure. At 50 cents per box they also fit our tight budget.
A trip to our local Coca-Cola bottling plant and we came home with five or six, maybe more, with the classic Coke colors and logo.
We finally found a vehicle, a cargo van, that Hubby could repurpose for camping and that we could afford. He used those boxes to determine the height our bed would be when he retrofitted the van to be our new home away from home.
We used those boxes to corral nonperishable food, cooking gear, utensils, and other necessities of life on the road. They proved handy to slide in and out from under the bed as needed. They were with us on that first trip and every camping trip since, whether weekend excursions or trips of several weeks, a month or more.
As the years passed the classic Coke colors of the boxes faded and frequent use added stains. Gradually they also began to disintegrate until there were only two.
After our most recent 9-day trip to the mountains earlier in July, those last two Coke boxes are being retired. I can’t even fuss that Hubby has the raggedy things sitting on a sofa in our house. I know he will eventually decide what he will do with them.
And every time I pass by they tug at my heart, provoking memories of countless adventures in every season of our family life. They also give rise to the reality that those particular seasons of life are closed.
Now is the season to savor life with our grown offspring, grown nieces and nephews and our growing grandchildren and great nieces and nephews.
Even though today marks 50 years since the first human being set foot on the moon, my lack of energy the past few days has me thinking about another anniversary that occurred earlier this week.
Although not as monumental as Neil Armstrong’s moon walk, the independent film Easy Rider was released on July 14,1969.
It opened the door for movies that were a far cry from Doris Day, Debbie Reynolds and happy endings. Pundits have credited the film as speaking for a generation—my generation. It didn’t speak for me, though. I liked happy endings 50 years ago and I still like happy endings.
That is a post for another time.
But the song that ushered in the opening credits of Easy Rider, Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild,” still offers me a visceral, energizing experience.
“Get your motor runnin' Head out on the highway Lookin' for adventure
And whatever comes our way.”
Maybe having it echo in my head will get my writing motor “runnin’” steady again.
I hope that my almost 5-year timeout from blogging is at an end. Looking back, I let computer woes, building a new house, and life in general get in the way. Continuing to visit my favorite blogs didn’t happen, either.
But now the urge is back. I’m working on getting my blogging motor revved back up. I’m also working to relearn techie stuff that had become almost automatic before that extended timeout.
Embedding You Tube videos is one of the technical hurdles I haven’t mastered yet. So that clip of the movie's opening scenes is thanks to Hubby for walking me through the process.
And when my motor runs rough or sluggish, I intend to just crank up that Steppenwolf classic on You Tube and head out on the blogging highway anyway.
Get your motor runnin' Head out on the highway Lookin' for adventure
And whatever comes our way
Yeah Darlin' go make it happen Take the world in a love embrace Fire all of your guns at once And explode into space
I like smoke and lightning Heavy metal thunder Racin' with the wind And the feelin' that I'm under
Yeah Darlin' go make it happen Take the world in a love embrace Fire all of your guns at once And explode into space
Like a true nature's child We were born, born to be wild We can climb so high I never wanna die
An angler I am not, but I couldn’t resist posing with this carved fish on a December 2018 trip to the Smoky Mountains.
My parents and most of my relatives loved fishing. I loved the catching part of that activity.
When I was about five, my father and uncle caught a huge tabby cat(fish) in West Pearl River in Louisiana. That is the only other time I posed with a fish as big as I was. The photo of that event has disappeared, but the wooden fish sparked vivid memories of the excitement of that day.
Highlights of a June weekend visit to Baton Rouge were attending Granddaughter Molly Kate’s dance recital and indulging in some old-fashioned entertainment with Grandson Walker.
Hubby, AKA Baboo by our grands, launched their own checkers tournament. There were some serious moans and groans, laughter, cheers, and instructions on strategy.
Grandfather and grandson sharpen their checkers skills.
But what surprised me most was the 1000 pieces of a jigsaw puzzle spread out on the dining table. It took me back to my childhood when Mother and my aunts included me in similar scenes.
Thanks to them I grew up relishing the challenge of finding the corners and the edges, and painstakingly matching colors, shapes and other details to piece puzzles together.
Walker’s selection was a world removed from the idyllic scenes my mother and aunts chose. His puzzle was a Thomas Kincade creation of Gotham City featuring Batman, Robin, the Batmobile and a multitude of the dynamic duo’s villainous adversaries.
The puzzle’s Gotham City darkness was punctuated with dramatic contrasts of light pouring from windows, doors and the Batmobile’s headlights, true to Kincade’s style as the self-described “Painter of Light.”
I was surprised at how long and successfully nine-year-old Walker worked at finding and fitting puzzle pieces. More modern avenues of entertainment were not totally ignored, however.
At intervals in the weekend, we cheered him on as he enthusiastically zapped lethal zombies and other baddies in his sessions playing the popular video game Fortnite.
