While out on yard sale patrol, a good friend and I came upon these long lost, but not so forgotten memory makers from days gone by.
I better stipulate right here, that I am one nostalgic old hippie. I love life today, look forward to all the future has to offer and I do so because I celebrate the past.
One thing I have learned throughout the years is that in addition to the visual, the melodic sound of yesteryear provides a much needed music to the soul.
So, needless to say when I see an old radio/record player or better yet 8track on somebodies curbside, I have an overwhelming need to hear the sound of music once again.
On the larger of the two console’s I enjoyed listening to the owner’s own Xanadu of memories on vinyl.
The smaller stereo encased within an 8track, which for me brings back many a memory indeed, not only of the era but of those lost but never forgotten.
After a wonderful day of restoration, I sit basking in the glory of a well worn much much beloved Carole King record, helping me to remember that is in memory we are able to find “Rhymes & Reasons”.
As I drove up to the yard sale and saw this beauty, it took a lot for me not to jump out of the car while still moving. I was almost in salivation mode while walking (running) up to the owner.
Needless to say I bought it for a reasonable price and enjoyed thoroughly the process of restoration. Well I enjoyed most of it. The one thing that drives me nuts is finding TAPE adhered to wood. I do not understand why anyone tapes wood and have decided that while I’m trying to refrain in the curse word department, TAPE is my new four letter word.
With my feet barely touching the floor, my fingers type away with the kind of zeal that only comes from the end of a hard week of work and a fine glass of wine.
Oh how I’m anticipatin’ un-alarming that no good, dirty rotten alarm clock tonight.
Lord, knows at my age (vintage) I am so grateful to be employed and at the same time, at my age (again, vintage) I am not so grateful that I still have to be employed!!!!
Oh, well I remind myself this evening that is why God made weekends, so we could do all the laundry, clean the house, do the shopping, wash the car, pay the bills and then RELAX.
I remember doing all this when my kids were little. Really, not so much has changed except for the fact that now I’m old enough I kind of smile even when I bitch.
I observe those around me, some still hard at work, some retired and some forced into early retirement.
I remind myself that the grass is never so green as in our own backyard and that each and every one of us has the ability to make it, break it or grab it by the ____
and run with it.
I choose this beautiful Friday evening to get my bitchin out-of-the-way, count my many blessings and then run with each and every one of them into tomorrow.
TGIF, us each and everyone!!!!
Because I’m now a card carrying, senior discount taking, don’t mess with an old lady, member of the AARP. I reserve the right to re-tweek just a little, a previous post in which I allowed myself to poke a little fun at all us oldie’s but still goodie’s.
So, suck up the neck, pull on the depends and try not to pee yourself if you do get your giggle on, cuz here goes nothin;
As a still vibrant on the inside, used to be cute on the outside, 57yr old woman I just gotta say growing older aint for no stinkin sissy’s to be sure.
For me every birthday has been a celebration of life.
I love that I get the opportunity to age, learn and hopefully mature (debateable in my case). I am grateful to be older (again debatable as to any wiser.)
After all I have soooo many more life experiences I get to share (whether they like it or not) with my family and friends. So many more memories made together with those I love (and in some cases love to terrorize).
So, why in the heck does this neck of mine betray me at the supposed to be precious “kodak” moments.
Why am I developing and oversensitive fear that I may actually have to acknowledge someone, with the now tsunami porportioned “wave” capability of my lower arm?
Geez, I want to be able to gesture a big hidy-ho to all the other gray haired beauties, while we’re hitting senior Tuesday at the Goodwill.
But at the same time I avoid at all costs raising the arm that when in “wave” motion has the potential to “bitch slap” us all right back into our senior reality, like it or not!!!!
All kidding aside, I really do dig the fact that I’m still here. I love most of the journey (as long as they have a bathroom along the way). I’m still too cool for school and determined to live, love and learn (but not wave).
I have been anxiously (the patience thing hasn’t been working so well) awaiting this piece finished. I was so excited when Gary spotted this at a local yard sale.
The owner had explained, though in rough condition the radio still worked. It was then; Gary explained to me that this was going to be a radio with wine storage. Because listening to tunes and drinking wine are two of my favorite things, my excitement went into overdrive. I about drove my poor husband nut’s encouraging him to “please hurry up and get it done!”
On the drive home, you better believe that seat belt could hardly contain my enthusiasm or me. When we got home and plugged in “Jack” (as in Jack Benny) both Gary and I were amazed. There is something so different and wonderful about sound coming from a tube rather than transistors. I went into immediate nostalgia overdrive.
Now just imagine if you will an over excited, way enthusiastic wife now in nostalgic mush mode. My poor husband!!!!
1948 was the year the Eagles Glenn Frey was born and James Taylor too. Not to mention my darling husband came into the world that very year (a big thank you to his mom and dad from me).
Not that it’s my cup of tea at all but in 1948 Nascar held it’s first race for modified stock cars in Daytona.
The movie Easter Parade came out. Watching Judy Garland and Fred Astaire in all their glory was a great pleasure to me. For years I thought life would be so much better if we could just make it a musical. After all who could get pissy when “singing in the rain”.
It was 1948 that the Wham-o slingshot became a catalyst for the famous toy company. It would be 9yrs later that the hula-hoop would come to be and for me that stinkin hula-hoop has always been my nemesis. I have yet to master that darn thing and have added that feat onto my “bucket list”.
It was 1948 that President Truman won his second term in office. That man truly had the weight of the world on his shoulders. General Patton said, “If you don’t stand for something, you will fall for anything.” Somehow I always relate that phrase to President Truman.
Don’t get me wrong I live in and love being present. But I have a strong need to celebrate and learn from the past. I think that’s what I’m going to do this evening, I’m gonna bask in the glow from the old radio dial and pop the cork on some cheap wine while I tune in and turn on.
It’s official I am now a total yard sale junkie (I hope I don’t have to explain this to you, but just in case, the previous statement is a play on words and FUNNY).
Besides stumbling upon my long lost ass (previous post that you really should go back and read) at a yard sale a few weeks ago, I recently came upon a couple more diamonds in the rough and I do mean rough.
I’m starting to realize that finding the long neglected piece of trash/treasure gets me hooked with just the fun of the hunt. But what really trips the trigger and floats the boat is then getting it home and beating the rough right on out of it. Lord, what a rush! Let me interject right now, that I am one heck of a boomin baby boomer and I know a good rush when I get one.
Enough of that, now back to the good stuff. After paying next to nothing for the junk (which is a high in itself) I can hardly wait to get my refurbishing on!!!!
My husband has told me for years that “it never hurts to put a little paint on the old barn.” I’m pretty sure he has been directing that statement in my direction since menopause. But nonetheless it most definitely applies to my old/new treasures.
It is so satisfying to make something old, new again. Actually as I write, it dawns on me that for me this yard sale-ing, refurbishing thing is a metaphor for life. We all start off shiny (maybe a little pruney too) and new. With much love, luck and sometimes neglect a lot of us get worn out, tired and old. But, hopefully with a little help along the way somebody still sees there’s really no such thing as old junk. There’s treasure in everything and everybody if you know where and how to look.
With the spring 2013 baseball season in full swing (hee-hee), I hope you’ll enjoy this repost from one grateful but frugal grandma.
A few years ago my husband Gary and I took our grandson Mikey to a Seattle Mariner’s game.
Oh my, he was excited and I was determined to milk every moment of my super grandma status for all it’s worth!
I had pried my purse strings open, painful as that is for me to do, and actually purchased tickets to something.
After our arrival to the stadium and trudging up step after step to the nosebleed section, I soon realized that maybe I should have pried a little harder on those purse strings. Sometimes you do get what you pay for and this was the case here. The nosebleed section is called that for good reason. Honestly, I thought I may have heard the “Sound of Music” playing off in the distance. I felt we were on a Swiss Alp, Bavarian kind of hike and I started to frantically search for oxygen. In my opinion, the stadium could make a small fortune renting oxygen tanks to cheap grandmas. Thank goodness we eventually collapsed in, I mean arrived to our seats.
But just as soon as those bats started crackin’ things quickly got to a fever pitch and I couldn’t help but get caught up in all the excitement. I must have been delirious from all the action and lack of oxygen because I grabbed the grandkid and announced to my husband I was off to get some eats, a giant finger for Mikey and a $6.00 beer! Good Lord, would the madness never end! Off we went, one lucky grandkid and one blessed grandma.
After dropping more than a buck or two at the concession stand, we collected all our booty and began the long hike back. While making the climb I happened to notice people were staring at me. I thought I was looking nice but I must have been looking real good that day. Wow, maybe they thought I was Mikey’s mom. Climbing, carrying food and sucking in my gut and double chin at the same time was quite a feat. But, with each step my confidence grew almost as big as my head.
Finally we were to our row and had only to squeeze by several people, who looked thrilled to see us coming. As we continually excused ourselves while slipping past fellow spectators, the stares continued and I’m sure I was flashing a smile here and there to all my admirers! Then when we were almost to the safety of our cheap seats, it happened. There was some very nice, possibly also oxygen deprived woman, who felt compelled to let me know, “Excuse me ma’am, but your fly is open”.
Christmas is a time of joy and celebration.
Christmas is a time when each and every joyful moment today becomes a treasured memory for tomorrow.
Christmas is a time to remember those we have lost (temporarily) and miss so very much. I wrote this poem to honor those lost and to comfort those who have lost.
I’m right there in your smile. I’m tucked into that place made special in your heart, just for me. At times when the memories may turn bittersweet, I’m there in even the salty sting of tears. I will never leave. The bond of love is never broken. It is now your protector and will see you through the pain.
Share me through memory. It is the duty of those left behind to ensure our memories are not forgotten. With every story told, you help continue my legacy of love.
I adored you in life and will be waiting for you after life. This is just a brief interruption in our journey. Now you have some time to build upon our bond and create new memories that I can’t wait to hear about when next we meet.
Love and God Bless