Lame title, yes. True, yes.
A dear friend just pointed me to his blog and I am grateful he did. He is a wonderful gentleman whom I met in a chat room a few years ago. It was nice to get in touch again with him through Facebook. I have not gone to chat rooms for a while now. It just got to be too much of a burden, and I was addicted. I still treasure those I met in various places. It has led to some of the best friendships I have ever had.
My friend, Skip, directed me to his blog. I used to read his former blog and he is a very good writer. He has lots of experience and that makes for a good tale as far as I am concerned. He has a way with words. His writing makes one remember similar happenings. It is so vivid that you can actually put yourself "there". Thank you Skip. I love your stories. My Grandpa could tell wonderful stories, much the same way except his never got written down, sad to say.
Reading Skip's blog made me want to get back to my own writing.
Even though a person may not think what they write is good or important, I believe it is the process of it that is what is best. Some people never become famous for their works. That does not devalue what they did. Somewhere, Someone is learning or enjoying those works. Whether writing, drawing, painting, singing, dancing, etc. I truly believe the Arts are what make Life bearable. Sometimes it is the only thing that does.
Anyway, I wanted to write about the things that Skipper's writing reminded me of in my own past. I too remember going to sleep in a very cold bedroom. I remember waking up with frost on my bedding. No snow that I can remember, but I would not be surprised. Houses were not as weather proof then as they tend to be now days. I remember practically running downstairs after grabbing my clothes for that day. Standing by the kerosine stove while dressing was needed. I usually got up before my brothers so I could be dressed by the time they came loping down. I remember washing clothes in a wringer washing machine. Not as primitive as what Skipper wrote about, but his writing brought back memories of those days. I remember when I was glad to be able to stop "dumping" the pot. We had no indoor plumbing either. That came later. I was so happy I did not have to be the "brave" one who took it to the outhouse to dump. Peeyew indeed! One time I got stung by one of the yellow jacket wasps who lived in there. Needless to say, ruined my shoes that day. I still can smell the stink to this day! I was estatic when we moved back to Iowa from Missouri and lo and behold, there was an indoor bathroom AND the kitchen had running water. We really thought we were in heaven after doing without all those years. I was 12 at this time. No more shoes got ruined, but I remember that the pipes did tend to freeze up in the winter time. Dad spent a lot of time unthawing them. His language could get a bit "hot" or "blue" sometimes. Looking back from now to then, it barely seems to be true that it was like that, but it was. I will continue this story at a later time. For now, goodnight.
