A few weeks ago, during their latest beg-a-thon, my local public television station ran a concert devoted to the songs and groups of the 60s.  I’ve seen it before; it’s one of those programs they show frequently during pledge drives.  I don’t know what year it was first produced, but I’m sure many of those performers are no longer with us.  People my age can’t help but smile and sing along to the diverse songs that came out of that era.  Love and protest, fear for the future, and just crazy, silly were all in the mix.

            Jerry and I had rather diverse tastes in music.  I was into The Animals and Gerry and the Pacemakers, and Jerry was a Frank Sinatra fan as well as Bing Crosby.  We could agree on Mel Torme and Neil Diamond, but Jerry couldn’t stand it when I put on a Rod McKuen album, and I left the room when he sang along with Robert Goulet.  Remembering these songs brought back the good old days of the sixties. 

            The Beatles invaded our shores and encouraged other tuneful groups to follow, causing musical mayhem and long, shaggy hair among the boys.  We girls shortened our skirts to where lady-like sitting had to be practiced in front of a mirror.  Woodstock and “hippies” became popular conversation items, and many of us went to the corner store to buy “ciggies.” 

            The Civil Rights Act was signed by President Dwight Eisenhower, although not everyone was thrilled, and not everyone felt protected.   Protests and marches were common.  Women were still fighting for equal rights.  In some cases, we still are.  I remember going to a local bank in the 1980s and asked if my husband knew I was making a withdrawal!  The birth control pill was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration in 1960.

            Let’s not forget that the 1960s is when Ken became enamored with Barbie and they became a forever couple.  I’m not sure what Ken was doing while Barbie kept changing jobs.  I mean, she was a stewardess one day and a veterinarian the next, etc.  Did she become an astronaut before or after Neil Armstrong landed on the moon?  Charlie Brown’s Christmas premiered, and Sesame Street characters became household friends.

            Dr. No, the first James Bond film, premiered, and ABC begins color telecasts for a few hours each week.  The musical Hair becomes a hit, and the US Senate debated a report accusing folk music of promoting Communism.  President Kennedy established the Peace Corps. Spider Man was introduced in 1962 by Marvel Comics, and four years later, he had his own television show.

            On the practical side, pull tabs on cans were introduced, LSD was declared illegal, and seat belts become standard on Studebakers.  Medicare was established, and postage stamps were raised to the outrageous price of six cents. 

            The Sixties were also an explosive time in history.  Our country became involved in the war in Vietnam, and a draft lottery is held.  Many young men were sent far from home to fight a war they didn’t understand. Agent Orange became a popular item to reduce vegetation in the war-stricken areas of Vietnam, but we didn’t learn until later that vegetation wasn’t all it killed. The Cuban Missile Crisis got us close to the brink of the Cold War, and bomb shelters became popular backyard additions. 

            College campuses became hotbeds for political unrest, and protests were common.   We watched on television young people being dragged away by police when demonstrations got out of hand.  Many people watching saw this as police brutality. 

            President John Kennedy was shot dead by an assassin.  The debate goes on about whether there was more than one shooter involved.  The known assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald, was then shot and killed by Jack Ruby.  We watched this live on television.  According to his killer, Robert Kennedy was assassinated because of his pro-Israeli sympathies. Martin Luther King Jr., a social activist who spearheaded the civil rights movement, was shot and killed in Memphis, Tennessee.  The list could go on, but I think you get my drift.

            Do you ever think that maybe the 2020s are looking a lot like the 1960s?  We have renewed interest in Space exploration.  Barbie and Ken have their own movie.  We’re entering another Cold War.  Women’s rights are still debatable in some areas.  Television programming is virtually unlimited, but whether or not there’s something worth watching is questionable.  Today’s music is just as eclectic as it was in the 60s, and James Bond is still out there saving the world from bad guys along with Spider Man and the Hulk.

            Let’s also remember that terrorism is still out there and a new generation of political dissidents and crazy people who want nothing more than to kill for their twisted beliefs or for the thrill.  Only sick minds want to kill children or think that shooting a person will change our political beliefs.  Gun control is not the answer; common sense and responsibility are.  Will people reminisce about the 2020s in 2060?

Sharon

THREADS

Thrift stores can be the beginning of adventure and discovery.  You may not be looking for anything in particular, but many times you will come across an unexpected or unique object that you realize you must bring home.  For some, it’s a piece of clothing or jewelry that reminds you of an earlier time.  For some, it may be furniture to fill in the spaces of an apartment or house. Remodelers can find new sinks or bathtubs, left over from a contractor’s last job, or leftover molding that would be perfect to repurpose as picture frames.  Yogurt makers, crock pots, bicycle helmets, and golf clubs are yours for just a few dollars, as are plates and cups from every tourist spot you’ve never been to.

            My favorite section of the store holds craft items.  If I’m lucky, I’ll discover some yarn.  If I’m really lucky, I’ll discover more than one skein of the same color and weight yarn.  Sometimes the yarn will still be encased in its wrapper.  Other times, it may be rolled into a ball as if it had been readied for a project.  I might find material, perhaps left over from a drapery or upholstering project.  Sometimes the material will only be a yard or less.  Sometimes, I’ve hit the bonanza and found enough yardage to make a pair of drapes or redo several worn-out chair seats.  There may be a plastic box with discarded lengths of ribbon or lacey edgings. Sadly, you come across half finished or half started, depending on the way you look at it, holiday decorations or quilts or crocheted items; a blanket, doll clothing, or a silly, squishy animal that never had its limbs attached..

            Why are these items on these shelves and bins?  Did the owner buy too much material or yarn for their project?  I hope that’s the answer.  Did they just give up because the project became too burdensome or time-consuming?  Well, you bring your stash up to the counter and pluck down a few dollar bills, and walk out, 

            Home, you spend a few quiet moments taking your finds out of the plastic bag and sorting them, deciding what potential project you see before you.  That large ball of pink yarn catches your eye, and you unroll a yard or so and stop!  A red dot, no, more than one dot!  Could this be blood?  Another skein of a different color has a crochet hook nestled inside.  This ordinarily is not uncommon, but paired with what you definitely think is a bloodied skein of yarn, is looking pretty suspicious.  Was the hook used to stab the crocheter, or did the crocheter use it against someone else?  Why is Santa’s head missing from the unfinished Christmas tree skirt?  Is it a clue?  Why is the name Anne embroidered into a quilt patch?  Was that perfectly good crockpot used to simmer a poisonous substance?

            After all items are examined, you put them away for the time being.  Eventually, you’ll find something to do with your newly acquired craft items, but first, you need to sit down and start writing the story of the murdered or murderous crocheter. 

                        Maybe change the yarn. Pink is kinda sissy.

                        Would a steel knitting needle work better?

                        Who the heck is Anne?

Did I really need that crock pot?

   Fiction writing can be challenging but crafty.

   Sharon

Thank you for our Good Old Days

The Stanley Cup Playoffs are finally over and the trophy will be enjoying the good life in Sunrise, Florida, until next year’s winning team is announced.  After watching four rounds of best of seven games, I’ve seen enough Hockey to last me until next season. Most of the “summer games” don’t hold my interest as much so I guess I’ll have to find something else to while away my evenings.  I sure do miss the summers of long ago.

            Bike riding was the number one sport in our neighborhood.  I remember staring out the window watching kids race past my house, a veritable blur of reds and blues.  The cool kids customized their rides with balloons or baseball cards wedged in the spokes of the wheels, making a sputtering, racecar sound.  I wanted to be out there!  I knew I could ride just as fast and be a racer to be reckoned with!

            Hinting, suggesting, out and out begging didn’t work with my mother.  “You’ll hurt yourself,” she said.  Do you see any other girls out there?”  The only other girl in the neighborhood was a dweeb who recreated by sitting on her porch steps, watching the cars go by.  We finally got to a “maybe when you’re older” response.  Magically, on Christmas day, a blue girl’s Schwinn bicycle, with training wheels, was nestled next to the tree.  Dreams do come true!

            Unfortunately, December, January, February, etc., usually coincides with lots of snow in Chicago. My brand new hot rod transportation remained in the living room until enough snow melted or got blown away for my mother to allow my lessons to commence.  After a few shaky starts, I got the hang of it and was ready to travel on my own.  Then my mom laid down the rule that I couldn’t go further than my house and the one next door.  That was about as good as driving a Ferrari the length of a swimming pool!!!  My dad intervened and was able to negotiate a deal where I could go to the end of our street, if I was careful.

            Needless to say, the training wheels soon came off and I steadily expanded my territory.  My Schwinn and I roared through the neighborhood, baseball cards clicking and my hair blowing in the wind.  Yes, I did end up crashing into a tree and rearranging the handlebars and bike chain, as well as dinging up the metal and my knees. Was it worth it?  YES.

                A few years later, my boyfriend, Jerry, confessed that he had never ridden a bicycle.  That was a memorable summer, full of laughs and life threatening moments.  Our neighbors never understood why their garage doors had scratches and dents or why their garbage cans were moved.  Somehow, they missed hearing the screams and occasional expletives coming from the alleyways behind their houses. 

            For a final test, I took him to the neighborhood park and let him ride on the pathways.  He started going downhill a little too fast and I found him, bike under him, feet planted on the ground, right at the edge of the lagoon.  We gave up his lessons for a while.  It might have been a problem if he had fallen into the lagoon since he didn’t know how to swim either.  He eventually did get the hang of bike riding and we both looked back on that summer as one of the really best of “the good old days.” 

            I wonder what the writers of the Declaration of Independence would think about their country now that it’s all grown up.  Would they be surprised at what we have become or dismayed?  Regardless, we are a multifaceted people, coming from places unknown in their time, with challenges and aspirations unfamiliar and or similar to theirs.  I personally think Benjamin Franklin, with his scientific mind, and broad sense of humor, would chuckle a bit.  The rest of the signers, I don’t know how they would take us.  All I know for sure is that they gave up a lot for us to be here today.  Five of those signers were captured by the British, tortured and killed. Twelve signers had their homes burned to the ground.  Two signers had sons killed in the Revolutionary War and two signers had sons captured.  Nine signers fought in the war and died for us. 

            These fifty-six men who drafted and signed the Declaration of Independence gave much of their lives so that we can remember our “Good Old Days.” Let us hope that our children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren will have good memories to pass on, and will remember that our freedom was not and will never be free,

Sharon

Hockey

I hadn’t thought about it in years but channel surfing came at the right time this year and I got hooked on the Stanley Cup Playoffs.  It’s a long, drawn-out series of seven games times four to see which team carries home the thirty-four-and-a-half pound trophy and a reasonable amount of money.  Quite a few more teams are vying for it now than when I used to sit at home with my dad and watch the action.  Who would have thought of Hockey games in Miami!!!

            My dad was a seasonal guy.  There was Baseball season, Hockey season, and a season for all other games like Roller Derby, Wrestling, and Boxing. Ice Hockey was my favorite.  The action was non-stop as the players darted from one side of the rink to the other, pushing, pulling, slapping, and hurtling the tiny black puck hopefully into the opponent’s net. In those days, faceguards and helmets were not normally part of the uniform, so occasionally the puck ended up in someone’s face. Concussions were prevalent as well. Sometimes your eyes hurt from trying to get in all the action shown on the small tv screen as you waited for the announcer’s, “A shot and a goal by…”

            My team was the Chicago Blackhawks and my favorite player was Bobby Hull.  Dubbed the ‘Golden Jet," he was a Canadian-born skater who played in over one thousand NHL games during his tenure.  He could skate twenty-nine mph and his slapshot was once clocked at 118 mph.  He could pass, he could score, and could he fight!  There was always a reason to raise up the sticks and pound on each other in a free-for-all! 

            I was working in downtown Chicago and I heard Bobby Hull was going to be at a Florsheim shoe store on Dearborn Street, signing autographs during the noon hour.  I managed to duck out of the office and hike my way over to the store to stand in line for what seemed forever.  Suddenly, there I was, standing across from the “Golden Jet” himself.  Our eyes met.  Well, actually mine were looking further down, admiring his false front teeth.  He smiled, asked my name, which luckily I remembered, and we exchanged pleasantries which I don’t remember.  I walked out of the store clutching my autographed photo and walked slowly back to work.  That evening I showed Jerry my prize.  He never really got into Hockey much but he always understood where I came from with it.

            A year or so after I snagged my Bobby Hull photo, I received one of the nicest gifts ever.  I think it was Valentine’s Day and Jerry had been out working late on his second job.  He walked in with something large wrapped in plastic bags and told me to close my eyes. He told me that he loved me and had wanted to get me a fantastic gift but the stores were closed and he hoped this would be ok with me.  First, he reached into his pocket and gave me a silly, children’s card that he had drawn all over.  Then, out came a Snicker’s bar.  The plastic bag-wrapped gift was handed over and I couldn’t help but laugh.  I tore off the plastic and grabbed my very own Chicago Blackhawk authorized, wooden Hockey stick that he had found in our local convenience store.  That was the sweetest, nicest, most wonderful, most romantic gift a girl could ever wish for!

            I’ve had Bobby Hull’s photo and the Hockey stick both for over fifty years.  The photo is on the office wall and the stick is in my closet.  The stick may have never played in a game but I can imagine the announcer saying “A shot and a goal by Jerry Ahern”.

Sharon

A FEW MORE QUESTIONS

I had some more thoughts about what is going on in our universe today and I wanted to share these thoughts with you to see if any of this concerns you.  If not, I totally understand; maybe I just need a life!

      A big concern right now is the price of eggs.  They have gone from being an inexpensive source of protein to a product you might expect to find on the black market. It's gotten to the point where I've heard some small neighborhood stores are selling them individually.  There isn't much the consumer can do except wait out the bird flu epidemic and hope for a healthy generation of layers to start producing soon.

            While we wait, which is no time soon, we are importing eggs from Canada, Turkey, and Brazil.  Something I found interesting is that forty-two percent of foreign eggs came to us from Canada in 2023.  One of the reasons we were not importing a large amount of eggs before bird flu was we felt other country's eggs were more likely to be contaminated.  Guess what?  Prices aren't going to return to normal for a while but nothing beats scrambled eggs while you yearn for some comfort food.  

            Just as an aside, did you know most commercial egg-laying chickens get taken away to processing plants at the ripe old age of eighteen months?  There they will be turned into ingredients for dog or cat food, frozen dinners, or soup.

            Remember years ago when the words orange juice had FLORIDA in front of them?  Growing up, I watched singer, Bing Crosby, on television shows promoting Minute Maid frozen orange juice, extolling its virtues as a delicious, healthy drink. Of course, he was a stockholder in the company.  He later sold his 20,000 shares for a considerable amount and bought into another similar company.

            I still enjoy a glass each morning and appreciate the convenience of carrying home small cans of frozen concentrate as opposed to lugging heavy jugs of prewatered-down juice.  Have you noticed that there's a slight difference in taste from one container to another? Much of our orange juice is coming in from other countries nowadays since Florida's orange groves are declining.  We get about twelve percent from Brazil and nine percent from Mexico.  Other countries like Chile, Argentina, and South Africa add to the mix.  It seems like our American breakfasts come to us with a little help from our foreign friends.

            My local library has diverse activities every day for bouncing babies to seniors; book clubs to gaming, knitting to gardening, yoga to painting, and Bingo!  Let’s not forget lots of books!  I was surprised to see that they were including classes on cursive writing.  Cursive fell from grace when Common Core Standards removed it in 2010 from curriculum requirements.  Sure, we all use computers for the majority of our correspondence now but, can young people sign their names on a document or read something written before this century?  I thought we were going to keep this information a secret, just like driving with a manual transmission!

            Speaking of libraries, check out INGENIOUS A Biography of Benjamin Franklin, Scientist.  Unlike many of his biographies, this one dwells on his accomplishments as a scientist and his observations over his eight-four years.  Franklin had very little formal education but he had an almost childlike curiosity about the world around him.  We associate him with kite flying and electricity but he was so much more.  He was able to parlay his scientific genius and the respect he achieved in both France and England as well, of course, in our emerging nation, to negotiate funding and military support to help us win our independence.  He was an eloquent speaker and negotiator, a jack of all trades, and well loved by the ladies.  And, as we all know, in 1731 Benjamin Franklin started the first subscription library in Philadelphia. Thanks, Ben.

Sharon