Golden years

You ever have a meal and you didn't really like it??  I had a doctor's appointment this morning, had to fast because he was doing blood work.  Well, by the time I got finished at around 9:30 I was good and hungry, since I only ate an apple at dinnertime yesterday.  So I figured I'd eat at The Original Pancake House since it was close and I haven't been there in a long time. 

To make a long story even longer, I ordered a veggie omelette which came with 3 pancakes... when it came I looked at it and couldn't believe what I was seeing!  I said to the waitress "How many eggs did they put in this thing???!"  "Five" says she.  Holy smoke on toast, I wish I'd had my camera, it was HUGE.  I said to her "well, just bring me a take-home container."  The omelett wasn't very good, it was a bit on the dry side and looked like it had been baked (is that a fritata?); the coffee had a bitter taste (and they have the nerve to sell it by the bag at the cash register).  I ate one of the pancakes, it wasn't too bad.  So we know when I'll go back there, don't we.

So much for that nonsense...

Back in the last century my sisters and I started writing down childhood memories with the intention of making them into a book.  We never did finish that project but I ran across some of the notes when I was cleaning, that's what prompted me to do this memories post.

When you say "golden years" most people immediately think of retirement years and doing things like fishing, rocking on the porch while sipping iced tea, or just puttering around your garden.  But the other day my friend Charlene and I were sharing some childhood memories and it occurred to me those were golden years!  

There were some things we both had in common such as being told to "be home by the time the street lights come on," and then when the street lights come on, you'd see kids scatter in all different directions, running home.  And having boundaries we weren't supposed to go beyond -- in her case it was an alley down the street; in my case it was Mrs. Thigpen's house in one direction and Mrs. Scott's in the other.  Usually one kid had a raggedy bike and if you were his friend that day, he'd let you ride it.  You could stick a playing card on the bicycle spokes with a clothes pin, and if you went fast enough it sounded like a motorcycle.  Almost.

As time goes by I'll share some golden memories from my childhood from when we lived on a small farm in North Carolina, and after we moved within the city limits. 

So forth and sew on til later...
Linda