The Good Old Days

I found this story and it brings back memories

The Good Old Days
It doesn't take much. It could be the scent of pine in the air that triggers Christmas memories for me. It could be a muffled metal to metal sound that reminds me that my Dad insisted on mashing the Sunday dinner potatoes by hand. He used this old fashioned masher that had a red and white wooden handle. I bought one at a yard sale a few years ago. I think I used it twice since then.

It was a sound once again that grabbed my attention. I knew it was familiar, but couldn't place it at first.

I was walking through my old neighborhood reminiscing about the "good old days." Yes, I find myself using that term more often now.

"I can remember when gas was 27 cents a gallon," I told my nephew just yesterday. He looked at me like I was from another planet.

But walking along the streets I grew up on was a powerful experience for me. Fences that were so difficult to climb back then seemed so small now. The school yard I played in is now a parking lot for the school district building that replaced the hallowed halls of the first six years of my education.

I was walking down one of the smaller side streets near my former home. Off in the distance I could hear the faint familiar sound.

"What is that?" I said to myself.

It almost sounded like a chirp of a tiny spring bird. But so many have gone now that Autumn has returned. They, being much smarter than I, have headed for warmer climates.

There it was again. I decided to search it out. As I turned the corner the sound got louder, more pronounced. I knew it well but hadn't heard it in decades.

There standing on her back porch was an old woman hanging her clothes. The sound that echoed through my mind was that of a clothes line on two pulleys. You might be thinking, "So what? I still use one." But throughout my neighborhood and other places where I have lived these last few decades, I cannot remember seeing anyone hanging their clothes.

Why do you think God created dryers?

The house was on the corner and I casually walked along the fence that bordered her property. I had to say something. I had to share my thoughts with someone still connected to a piece of my past.

"Hello! How are you?" I asked.

"Just fine, thank you," she replied.

"I once lived in this area. I was taking a walk down memory lane."

"I've been here most of my life," she replied.

"As I approached your house I heard this all too familiar sound, but couldn't quite place it. Then I saw you hanging your clothes on the line. It brought back some great memories for me."

"I've used one all of my life. My children bought me a dryer years ago. I only use it when the temperatures get too low for me to stand out here. They can't understand why I still use this," she said.

"I can still picture the clothes pin holder my Mom had. It looked like a small dress or apron, but had a round hole up front. It hung on a clothes hanger." I told her.

"Like this?" she asked as she held up hers.

"Yes, exactly like that," I said in amazement. I never see those any where.

"So tell me. In this day of wash and wear, never needs ironing clothes, why do you still use the clothes line?"

She walked down off the steps and approached me. Every step was an effort for her aged body. So I appreciated the time she was taking to chat with me.

"Son, it's this way. My Mother taught me that every day is new. So new in fact it is nothing like yesterday and certainly no way near what tomorrow will be. So she wanted her children to head into each new day clean and fresh like the day itself. There is nothing in the world like clothes that have hung in the sunshine."

"Not even clothes that smell "fresh as all outdoors", with a little Bounce in the dryer?" I asked.

"No that makes them fake. Not real, like the world is." Then she paused for a moment and slowly turned toward the sun.

"People can be fake. They put on clothing with some one else's name on it. They splash on perfume that makes them smell like someone else. They wear shoes that make them look taller. It's all fake. That sun up there is pure light. You can't hide in the sunshine. People who hide things tuck 'em in the darkness where they think others can't see. When I hang my clothes in the sunshine I'm welcoming the light. I'm saying "Look world here I am!"

Then turning toward her clothesline she started to laugh. "Heck, they can even see my underwear! Now that's being open."

I couldn't help but laugh right along with her. She had one of those sweet,lady-like laughs that revealed her gentle manor and well rooted up-bringing.

"I believe you are right," I said.

"I know I am, son. If we would all stop trying to be someone else the world would be better off."

"Thanks for the life lesson." I said.

"You are welcome. I must get back to my laundry before my Tommy Hilfiger jeans start to wrinkle," she said. Then she really started to laugh as she walked back up the steps to continue her work.

As I walked around the corner another sound triggered memories in my mind.

The sound of laughter. Memories of the good old days.

Ladies

Oh My Gosh if we havent all been here and done this too funny!!
This should give you a good laugh!

When you have to visit a bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.
You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter - the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR! ), yank down your pants, and assume ' The Stance.'

In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold 'The Stance.'

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!' Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail

Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. 'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get.'

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.'

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?'

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!

This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so accurately!

Send this to all women that need a good laugh AND, don't forget to have a mammogram!!!!!! It could save your life!

A Friend Is Like A Good Bra...
Hard to Find
Supportive
Comfortable
Always Lifts You Up
Never Lets You Down or Leaves You Hanging
And Is Always Close To Your Heart!!!

Never Forget

September 11th is coming up soon and its important for us to remember what happened that day even if it hurts .

(September 11th 2001)

It's written in our hearts, Lord,
That day Americans dread;
That day when demons came from Hell
And filled this Land with dead.

It's coming now, I feel it,
I hear it in the wind;
That day when all America
Felt their childhood end.

We felt our spirit darken,
Felt horrified, alone;
Some hearts were turned to You, Lord,
Some hearts were turned to stone.

With angels watching vigil,
Their swords drawn as for war;
And Satan's hordes unleashed that day
With wrath unseen before.

Destruction so unthinkable,
Stark terror did abound;
With souls Hell-bent or Heaven-sent,
Their blood spilt on the ground.

It haunts the strongest hearts, Lord,
We dread it every year:
America's worst nightmare,
America's worst fear.

And God, though some Americans
Still treat You with disdain,
Have mercy, Lord, we plead this prayer:
It won't repeat again.

God, please bless America,
Return Your strong right Hand;
And let the Eagle safely fly