Saturday, September 29, 2012

The Peddler and the Rolling Store

Rolling Stores were common in the rural South in the early 20th century. These box-type vehicles, often reconfigured buses, provided a useful service to families without access to stores in town.

A typical Rolling Store. Photo credit: Wikipedia

Most people referred to these Rolling Stores as “The Peddler.” In most, if not all cases, they were owned and operated by a store in a nearby community. There were two that operated in this area: Carlocks Rolling Store and McMeans Rolling Store, both of which operated stores in our nearest town.

The Peddler had specific routes for each day of the week, so you always knew when he’d be by your house. The supplies he carried were limited to staple items: flour, sugar, coffee, baking powder, soap, tobacco, snuff, thread and bolts of fabric used for sewing. I think bananas and apples, and perhaps oranges around Christmas, were available. I remember that the big galvanized tubs and brooms and mops were mounted to the exterior of the vehicle.

Photo credit: Wikimedia

The Rolling Store featured a special section where chicken coops were installed and their purpose was to store the fowl taken in trade. Eggs also could be exchanged for needed goods.

My cousin loves to tell the story of how once, when five or six of us were visiting our grandmother, each was given an egg to trade for candy with the Peddler. As she tells it, we were running toward the Rolling Store as he approached and I fell down and broke my egg. I began to cry, and to appease me, she gave me her egg. I don’t know if she returned to the house for another egg for herself but I hope she did! Thanking her after all these years for humoring her younger cousin!

My mother’s father owned a little store near their house and also had a Rolling Store beginning in the early 1920s. She remembers occasionally being allowed to accompany him on Saturdays to the nearest town to sell the eggs and chickens he’d collected during the week, as well as to replenish his store stock. One of my uncles operated the Rolling Store for his father, first via horse and wagon and later in a motor vehicle.

Sometimes the Peddler’s merchandise was sketchy, and there was a story my grandmother used to tell of bringing out a chicken to the Peddler one day and asking to trade it for a bag of sugar. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t have any sugar today.” Then she told him she’d take cocoa instead and again he said he didn't have any of that today. “Well, just give me two spools of thread,” to which he shook his head and replied that he didn't have any thread either.  “Alright, just give me some candy for the children,” she said. “Sorry, but I’m all out of candy.”

“Well, in that case just open the coop and let the chicken go,” she said.

We would laugh so hard when she told that story!

I believe Rolling Stores had disappeared by the mid-to-late 1950s. By that time, people were more well-to-do and had available transportation to visit the stores.

But I’m glad I got to experience this little piece of rural history.

How about you? Did you live in an area that had Rolling Stores? If you're not old enough, have you read about them?

Friday, September 28, 2012

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

I was taught in journalism school that the phrase, "It Was a Dark and Stormy Night," is the worst ever cliché with which to begin a story. But the story I am about to tell you actually begins that way.

Dark clouds were already beginning to form as we loaded into the 1953 Chevrolet on that summer day in 1955. My mother, father, sister, Mommie Howell (my grandmother) and I had been invited to the home of Cousin Lawson Jenkins and his wife Thellie, for an evening meal and a visit.

The wind was ripping green leaves off trees and debris was kicking up along the highway as we headed north to the Jenkins’ farm, located just over the Tennessee state line near a wide place in the road called Five Points.

Cousin Lawson was one of my grandmother’s few remaining relatives on her mother’s side of the family and they stayed in extremely close contact.

He was about the happiest man I ever met, short of stature and big of heart. He had twinkling eyes, was full of energy and  loved children. Often he would  entertain us at Mommie’s house with songs, little jigs and stories.

When we arrived at the Jenkins' home that rainy night, he introduced us to a couple he had met at a church meeting.They had invited themselves to the Jenkins’ home, just for a few days, they said, until they could make other arrangements.

They seemed out of place in that rural setting. He was dressed in business clothes; she in a red gabardine suit, while everyone else in the room was dressed in their “everyday clothes.” Their appearance and behavior was different from anyone I knew.

Later, my father would remember how, shortly after we arrived, the man had pulled him aside and quizzed him about what he did for a living, what his relationship was with the Jenkins family, where he lived and many other questions that my father thought a bit strange. The lady was very quiet and did not engage in conversation with the other women. My mother remembered later that her eyes seemed to constantly dart around the room and she appeared to be extremely nervous.

Later, as we were sitting around the dining room table enjoying the feast Thellie had prepared, the rain began hitting the tin roof loudly as the wind  whistled around the house. There was a feeling of unease about an approaching storm.

Suddenly the room went dark and everyone thought for a split second there was an electricity failure, until we realized the lights in the kitchen were still burning. 

The man was standing at the wall light switch, having darkened the room himself.

“Shhh, don’t anyone say a word. I think  someone’s out there.”

“What are you doing? Turn those lights back on, man,” said Lawson.  “There’s nobody out there, not on a night like this.”

He switched the lights on again but did not return to the table to finish his meal. He motioned for his wife and they disappeared into a back room.

Everyone looked around the table and all eyes came to rest on Cousin Lawson. He had a worried look on his face. He looked straight at my father and said, “Whatever you do, do not let them get in the car with you. I know he’s going to ask you to give them a ride away from here, but don’t do it. I have been feeling uneasy about their presence here all day. He's too nervous and I believe something is very wrong.”

I have no recollection if we ever finished that meal but I do seem to remember the uneasiness that prevailed as dishes were cleared.

Cousin Lawson at some point told the man they would have to leave the next morning, and as he predicted, the man called my father aside and asked if we would drive them to the Pulaski bus station, some 20 miles away.

My father told him he could not, that he had to get the family home before the storm got worse.

We said our goodbyes to Lawson and Thellie, loaded into the Chevrolet and headed out the dirt road away from the Jenkins house. We only had traveled a short distance when up ahead of us, walking in the pouring rain, was the mysterious couple, suitcases in hand. They were in a hurry.

They had slipped out of the house without any of us knowing, headed for who knows where.

Cousin Lawson later speculated that the man first thought my father was an official come to arrest him and that's why he had asked him so many questions about himself. Satisfied that my father was no threat to him, he next became scared when he thought he heard someone outside the house. 

I remember being somewhat afraid that evening, but like a child, excited that something different had happened. My sister and I insisted that our grandmother not stay by herself that night, but instead stay the night at our house. She did and my sister and I hid her pocketbook in the piano bench.

I don't think any of us slept well that night.

Months later (I don’t recall how many), my mother called our attention to a story in the local newspaper about a couple who had been arrested and charged with bank robbery. Alongside the story were pictures of a man and woman that looked eerily like the ones we met at Cousin Lawson’s house on that dark and stormy night.

My mother kept the clipping for years, like she did everything else. I thought I might be able to find it, but I asked her about it a few days ago and she said she threw out a bunch of newspaper clippings several years ago. 

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Old Bloody Bones

Yesterday’s post of a remembered story told and retold in days gone by put me on a roll of recalling other stories from the past. So at the suggestion of my sister, I’m sharing this scary story from our childhood.

 It was told by our grandfather to his visiting grandchildren when we were noisy or misbehaving.

Nothing pleased my Granddaddy Trousdale more than “picking” at his grandchildren. There was one ghost-like story he told us if we became too loud or rambunctious inside the house. He would call out to us, "Quieten’ down now. I think I hear Old Bloody Bones rattling around upstairs," from his chair chair in front of the coal-burning fireplace.

Note: I might add here that going upstairs, which was not a part of the living space but where things were stored, was off limits to children. I remember being allowed there only a few times, and always accompanied by an adult. It was a place of trunks and treasures, and I so wanted to explore it but never had that opportunity.

All of us would come running to his side, our little faces fixed on his old and wrinkled face with rapt attention. Amazingly, we would settle down and not a sound would now be heard from the previously noisy crew.

“I hear Old Bloody Bones on the first step. Do you hear him?”

He had our attention, even though we had heard this story many times and knew that it was just a story and we really had nothing to fear.

“Now he’s on the second step. He’s dragging a chain behind him.”

“He’s coming on down and the blood is dripping on the steps. Can you hear it? Drip, drip, drip.”

He encouraged us to move in closer to him, sensing that we were becoming a bit scared, or at least pretending to be
“He’s on the landing now. Drip, drip, he coming on down. Now he’s in the dining room. Hear that chain rattling? He’s coming closer. Hear the door squeaking? He’s in the room with us. Now he’s behind you. BOO.”

At that point there would be squeals of both fear and delight from us, as Grandaddy pulled us near, all the while laughing like crazy.”

“Were you scared,” he would ask.

“Oh yes, Grandaddy, we were scared, but tell us the story again. Tell us about old Bloody Bones again.”

“No, that’s enough for now. Run on and play but keep that racket down or Lela will come out of the kitchen and paddle you with her big old wooden spoon.”
We would then scamper away, perhaps fearing the wrath of our maiden aunt who lived with our grandparents more than we feared Old Bloody Bones.

If parents/grandparents told such scary tales to children today, would they likely be hauled in by the authorities and accused of warping young minds? At the least, it wouldn't be deemed healthy. But as youngsters, we relished hearing these old stories, which in my father’s family were numerous!

As I was thinking about Old Bloody Bones this morning, I got to wondering if this was something “made up” by my grandfather, or did it descend from some ancient folklore passed down through the generations.

A quick Google search gave me my answer from Wikipedia:

“Bloody Bones is a boogeyman feared by children, and is sometimes called Rawhead and Bloody-Bones, Tommy Rawhead, or Rawhead. The term was used "to awe children, and keep them in subjection", as recorded by John Locke in 1693. The stories originated in Great Britain where they were particularly common in Lancashire and Yorkshire, and spread to North America, where the stories were common in the Southern USA. The Oxford English Dictionary cites 1550 as the earliest written appearance as "Hobgoblin, Rawhed, and Bloody-bone".

“ Bloody-Bones is usually said to live near ponds, but according to Ruth Tongue in Somerset Folklore, "lived in a dark cupboard, usually under the stairs. If you were heroic enough to peep through a crack you would get a glimpse of the dreadful, crouching creature, with blood running down his face, seated waiting on a pile of raw bones that had belonged to children who told lies or said bad words.”

Granny Sue's News and Review a blog, reports one source that credits Celtic folklore as the story's origin, as well as several other possibilities.

So at least now I know this was a story passed down through the generations. My grandfather's probably heard the story from his father, and so on back to the first Trousdale, John, who came to America between 1730-35, from Ulster Province (now Northern) Ireland. The family came from Scotland, and previous to that, Scarborough, England.
Benjamin and Pearly Trousdale, my grandparents. This photo was probably taken in the 1930s.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Mrs. X and The Lady of Shalott

Here is a story that I heard my mother and her family tell many times.

There was a woman, a widow, living in the community with her son. Two older sons were married and lived nearby, but after her husband died, Mrs. X became extremely dependent on the remaining unmarried son. He helped with the chores and became the “surrogate” husband, making all the decisions for his mother, financial and otherwise.

Mrs. X was an opinionated lady, and illustrated that trait once against my mother’s family.

The time was in the 1920s, before hardly anyone in the area was lucky or rich enough to own a car. One Sunday morning, as Mrs. X and her son were on their way to church services in the wagon. They passed over the creek where my mother’s two brothers and four other teenage boys were playing.

As the wagon passed by the boys, Mrs. X said to her son in a loud voice, “you see those boys there? They are going to Hell because they play in the creek instead of going to church on Sunday.”

But that isn't the end of this little story. It seems that several years passed and Mrs. X’s son found a young lady and, after a period of time, announced to his mother that they were to be married. It was reported that Mrs. X cried and pleaded with her son not to leave her and threatened if he did, she would kill herself.

Naturally, her son did not take the threat seriously. He thought that his mother was just upset at the initial idea of his marriage and would “get over” her anger.

Now the X home was located on the property where the stream known as “First Creek” originates. A spring emerging from the ground forms a pool that becomes a small creek and flows southward, increasing in width and depth as it twists and turns and eventually flows into the Tennessee River.

On the X property, the water is no more than two feet deep. On a certain day, following her threat, Mrs. X made good on her promise. She walked out to the pool of water, lay down and drowned herself. This is the end of what I know about the story.

And the purpose of my telling the story here is nothing more than just being something I've heard all my life. A strange one, definitely, and sad. It touched my family’s life because of Mrs. X was a well-known neighbor and because of her condemnation of my two uncles, who were teenagers at the time.

For some reason, although they are completely different, the Mrs. X story reminds me of Tennyson’s poem, The Lady of Shalott, a classic and a long poem, a few verses of which read:

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right--
The leaves upon her falling light--
Thro' the noises of the night
                  She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
                  The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
                  Turn'd to tower'd Camelot;
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
                  The Lady of Shalott.

Are there stories that have been repeated in your family over time? If so, I would love to hear about them.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Ways to Use Chia Seeds

Chia, (pronounced “CHEE-ah”) a nutritious seed,

not to be confused with

Chai, (pronounced to rhyme with “pie”) a centuries-old beverage consisting rich black tea, milk, a combination of various spices and a sweetener.

I am amazed at the creative ways people think of to make money. Introducing U.S. presidential candidate Chia Planters. These are porous clay head statues of Barak Obama and Mitt Romney (Chia Obama and Chia Romney) packaged into kits that also contain chia seeds to plant on the heads of the candidates, water and watch grow!

Does anyone really spend their good money on such foolishness? Well, perhaps it would become a conversation starter. But is it really something you’d want to display?

On second thought, instead of spending hundreds of millions of dollars on campaign ads, why don’t we just settle the 2012 presidential election by tracking the sales of each chia kit?

I have never had a chia kit of any kind, although Chia Pets were popular in the 1970s. Back then, it was a clay puppy, lamb or other animal upon which you planted the seeds.

Chia seeds are actually an extremely nutritious food, being rich in omega-3 fatty acids. The plant from which the seeds are harvested is an annual herb.

Salvia hispanica,  from which chia seeds are harvested. 

Chia seeds are traditionally consumed in Mexico and the southwestern United States, but are not widely known in Europe. Today, chia is grown commercially in its native Mexico, and in Bolivia, Argentina, Ecuador, Australia, and Guatemala. In 2008, Australia was the world's largest producer of chia
Chia was widely cultivated by the Aztecs in Mexico and was described and pictured in Aztec records.

Here are some ways to use this nutritious seed (other than planting it on a clay figurine that looks like our presidential candidates!)

--Mix 1 Tablespoon of chia seeds with a quarter cup of water to make an egg substitute for baking cakes and cookies.

--Mix seeds with yogurt.

--Add seeds to soup to thicken.

--Grind seeds and mix with flour, milk and eggs to make pancakes.

--Add seeds to salad dressings.

--Eat Chia seeds whole and raw as a snack.

--Make Chia Pudding by adding whole seeds to milk, nut milk or soy milk.

--Blend chia seeds into smoothies.

--Add chia seeds to beaten eggs, soak for 10 minutes and make an omelet.

--Add ground chia seeds to flour when making bread.

--Make chia pan bread by combining chia seeds, eggs, milk, flour and baking powder. Cook in a heavy based pan with a lid on.

--Add whole chia seeds to a cake batter to make a heavy poppy seed-like cake.

--Add seeds to stews to thicken.

--Make a thin batter of ground chia seeds and milk and cook in a slow oven to make crackers.

--Sprinkle seeds over a salad.

--Pureed fruit, chia seeds and a little fruit juice is a good topping for ice cream.

--Stir whole seeds through cooked lentils.

--Cook brown rice in vegetable stock and stir chia seeds through when rice is cooked.

--Top a cheesecake with chia seeds soaked in fruit juice to make a gel topping.

--Add whole or ground seeds to cookie mixes.

--Mix ground seeds with ground beef to make meatballs.

--Cook brown rice in apple juice, add grated apple and stir whole chia seeds through the mixture for a tasty dessert.

--Toasted ground chia seeds mixed with honey and cinnamon makes a wonderful base for cheesecake.

--Add whole seeds to granola.

--Sprout the seeds and use in salads.

--Mix ground seeds with butter or peanut butter for a nutritious spread.

--Cinnamon, ground chia and butter is great on hot scones.

--Spread a mixture of honey, cinnamon, dried fruit and ground chia on to filo or puff pastry sheets, roll up and cook in a hot oven.

--Mix the seeds, whole or ground with Nutella.

--Add ground seeds soaked in an egg to bind a hamburger mix.

--Soak chia seeds in milk and mix through hot oatmeal.

Have you eaten chia seeds? If so, how do you use them? And have you tried chai tea?

Monday, September 24, 2012

Do You Decorate for Fall?

Today I had an occasion to be at a garden center for the purpose of purchasing stepping stones for an outside pathway. Naturally, the bright flowers massed at the entrance caught my eye. Who can resist the rich colors of chrysanthemums and pansies?

I must say that in years past I have been tempted and succumbed to purchasing fall decorations for the yard -- flowers, pumpkins, corn stalks and hay bales.

But that was a former self; when I was younger, when the children were small and at home; when we lived in suburbia and people would actually see them.

For a short moment I'm slightly tempted by the beauty and color before me. But I'm stronger now; I stop, enjoy the beauty before me, take a picture :-) and move on.

What about you? Do you decorate your home or your yard/garden for autumn?

Heh-heh. They should have someone make the signs who knows how to spell!

There are people who go quite overboard on this; almost as many decorations in autumn as you find at Christmas.

And then there are those who decorate for Halloween. As we get closer to Oct. 31, I am going to drive around and show you what I mean. I think you will be amazed. Do you see this trend where you live?

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Sunday Scene

I'm surprised at how quickly the weather has turned so cool so quickly and today was the perfect day: cool morning, brilliant sunshine and not a cloud in the sky.  

I loved it that I was able to capture the moon in the late afternoon sky. Here are three shots:

There's something about the shadows cast by the autumn sun. This is a drainage ditch that runs through our pasture. I could be poetic and refer to it as a brook or even a stream, but unfortunately, it's only a rough ditch that drains the rainfall into a nearby creek.

Still on my quest to photograph as many types of mushrooms as I can find, below are a few recent finds. Looking down, up and all around and really seeing what's there is part of my quest to be more mindful and enjoy the small things around me. These wild mushrooms fascinate me!

Here's my kitty Sox, perched high in front of a window and enjoying the afternoon sunshine. She has become quite the sassy one.

And here's her son, six-month-old Carl. Isn't he a darling?

And below is his brother Mertie, left, and Myrtle, relaxing on a blanket bed we made for the three kitties on Saturday. My brother-in-law donated a portion of his day to winterizing the crib at the barn where the kittens were born in March and will sleep this winter. Plywood was placed on the floor and nailed to the walls to cover the cracks in the ancient wood the barn was built of. Thanks, Wayne! (and the kitties will thank you to when cold weather arrives)

Here are the three of them romping in the bushes near the barn. I wonder if they miss their brother Gertie and sister Blackie, who have been missing for a week now.

A bit of good news for recycling the items I have decluttered. I found a place in a nearby town, a consignment shop, which will take them. I went there with a load of clothes one day last week, only to discover you can't just "drop by," but instead must make an appointment. So I did, for Oct. 3. Quite an upscale consignment shop and their arrangement with customers is a bit steep: They price the item (based on what they believe it will sell for), and take 60 percent, the consignor getting 40 percent. But hey, it's more than I would get from a yard sale or flea market, right? They limit your 30  minute appointment to checking in 100 items, but you can make as many appointments as you wish and consign 100 items each time.

The store is really nice, the merchandise is attractively displayed and very clean and it resembles a retail store more than a consignment shop. They have everything: ladies, men and baby items; furniture; books, housewares; bridal; formal wear. I'm really looking forward to placing my items there. I will keep you posted on my luck with selling my things.

Like all consignment shops, you have the option of pulling your items if they don't sell, before the store places them on markdown.

I hope you week is off to a great start.

Friday, September 21, 2012

September: A Time for Reflection and Contemplation

”There is melancholy in the wind and sorrow in the grass.”
        ---Charles Kuralt, American journalist and the first anchor of CBS News Sunday Morning

Behind us are the long hot days of summer, replaced by these transitional days of early Autumn.

The full-flowering of summer has dwindled and I have grown apart from the intense midsummer relationship that brought it on. Morning dew clings heavily on the morning grass and gives way grudgingly to the bright sunshine that casts long shadows at my feet.

The insect symphony that serenaded me in the fullness of summer's early mornings and late afternoons is silent now.

The cardinals and mockingbirds frolic playfully outside my window, seeming to know they are in the last gasp of summer.

The wind sings as it billows through the tree, teasing her green leaves into one last dance before shedding her costume; the sun shines brightly overhead, warming my back instead of beating my head. 

Cool mornings and still cooler evenings are a foreshadowing of things to come, when September’s sadness will give way to the brief respite of October, when the brilliance of gold, orange, red and yellow will tease us and produce energy and hope before the final curtain call.

I look at the deciduous flowering cherry trees on which not a single leaf remains - victims of a hot dry summer. 

Near them stand the majestic evergreens, tall of stature, deep of color, unwavering in their beauty.  Do the bare trees envy their fully clothed sister during the depths of winter? Do they wonder why Mother Nature sees fit to strip them and allow their sisters to remain clothed? 

The Sycamore tree showing the first tinge of autumn color

"The foliage has been losing its freshness through the month of August, and here and there a yellow leaf shows itself like the first gray hair amidst the locks of a beauty who has seen one season too many."- Oliver Wendell Holmes

Southern Magnolia seed pods

Endless Summer Hydrangea making a last stand

Roma tomato struggling to ripen before first frost

Bell pepper

A last Gardenia blossom

"'Tis the last rose of summer,

Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone."
- Thomas Moore, The Last Rose of Summer, 1830

"the air is different today
the wind sings with a new tone
sighing of changes
the harvest gathered
a flower, a nut
some mead, and bread
a candle and a prayer
returning the fruits
in thanksgiving
to the grove
and receiving
it's blessing
- Rhawk, Alban Elfed

What are your thoughts as summer gives way to autumn?

Thursday, September 20, 2012

The Green Thing

Someone posted this story on Facebook today and I like it so much that I'm sharing in its entirety. The story is from 96.7 CHYM FM radio in Canada.

Checking out at the store, the young cashier suggested to the older woman, that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment.

The woman apologized and explained, "We didn't have this green thing back in my earlier days."

The young clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment f
or future generations."

She was right -- our generation didn't have the green thing in its day.

Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were truely recycled.

But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

Grocery stores bagged our groceries in brown paper bags, that we reused for numerous things, most memorable besides household garbage bags, was the use of brown paper bags as book covers for our schoolbooks. This was to ensure that public property, (the books provided for our use by the school) was not defaced by our scribblings. Then we were able to personalize our books on the brown paper bags.

But too bad we didn't do the green thing back then.

We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.

But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throwaway kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy-gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.

But that young lady is right; we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap. Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

But she's right; we didn't have the green thing back then.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.

But we didn't have the green thing back then.

Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 23,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest burger joint.

But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then.

Did you enjoy this rebuttal as much as I did?
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