Grocery Store Nostalgia

I was prowling around online earlier today trying to find out exactly what kind of fish I had bought at the store (a croaker) and how to fix it when I came across a blog written by a rather cool butcher from New York.

I live in the South, and his ramblings took me back to the 1970's.

Before I begin, let me say that this used to be a much more rural area. Many families, mine included, would buy either a bull to raise or a side of beef from a local farmer. We all had gardens and freezers, not to mention the canning cellar. Grocery stores were for when we either ran out of something or we could not grow it... but that is another post.

We had one chain grocery store in town when I was a kid, and it left a lot to be desired. My mother and grandmother usually took me to the locally owned stores to go shopping. Each one had a butcher, and he would slice and dice whatever kind of cut one could come up with to buy. You could see him through a glass window at the back of the store by the meat cooler. He would be dressed in a blood splattered white uniform with a little envelope shaped hat, hacking away at huge sides of beef or pork.

There was a little buzzer over the pre-packaged hamburger and chops. My mother or grandmother would ring the bell whenever they needed something special. The butcher would wipe his hands and come out, always with a smile. Mom or Mawmaw would explain what she needed, and the butcher would say he would be back in wink. I was fascinated just watching him cut the meat. If there was a specific weight, he NEVER had to go back and do it again. To me, it was magic. How did he know?

In a few moments he would return with the fresh cut meat wrapped neatly in the white butcher paper. Sometimes he would ask if we needed twine. I was always amazed that no matter how bloody he was, the package was perfectly white without one single spot!

Then again, there are a lot of things about the old family grocery stores that I miss now when I take my kids out.

In other places, these things may still exist... but not here with out three chain grocery stores and only one "home owned" store. (The one home owned store was bought by a foreign family a few years ago and has changed. Insert deep sigh.)

I remember the Brach's Candy bins where you could mix and match a pound of candy. (I loved the butter rum creams!)

People could call in their orders. When they came in, the bag boy would bring it to the front for them!

There used to be bag boys who would unload your cart, bag it up, then take it to the car and unload it for you... without being asked!

The racks by checkout were filled with not only gum but penny candy! There were also candy cigarettes (shich never caused anyone to smoke unless a kid ate too much and ended up having steam from the gigantic sugar-rush pour from their ears) and Marathon Candy Bars... wonderful, gooey Marathon Bars with the yellow ruler on the back of the package.



Marathon Bars... the perfect snack for school because you could use it for math class and then eat it in the afternoon. The perfect ruler for a kid!

I feel that I am fortunate because I have the memories. Maybe it was because "modern conveniences" were a little slower coming to my hometown. Maybe it is because we were a difficult town to convert. I don't know.

What I do know is that I miss those days, especially when confronted with the self-scanner check lanes at Walmart or having to take out my own groceries the other day. It just seems to me that we are all so busy that we have forgotten how to enjoy life. Or maybe we have forgotten that all jobs are important and human contact is something we all truly need.

My family does not have as much as others, but I pray that somehow I can give my children the same kind of memories I have... of interaction with others and the knowledge that having the biggest and bestest does not give you the best memories of childhood.

How can I get some?

For those of you who thought this was a sexual post, get your minds out of the gutter.

For all others, I simply desire some input.

It is so difficult raising kids today that I am amazed that there are birth announcements in the newspapers anymore.

I am almost 40, in a relationship that would make any therapist scream, and no one wants to open a dialog.

Guess I was wrong about blogging.

Me and My Big Guy

The teens are at my parents' house helping with yard work today. Sooooo, I am alone with my Alex.

Alex is four years younger than Alan and six years younger than Anne. He is also the spitting image of Beaver from the old television show.

Nothing phases him. He is almost always happy and ready to give someone a hug. Many of the other 9 year olds in his class are already jaded, but not Alex.

Alex has a sunflower garden and a pet cabbage. The cabbage was given to everyone in third grade as a summer project. It is supposed to be of the gigantic 50 pound variety, but Carl isn't that big. He is actually well taken care of and even has stories read to him daily. Personally, I do not know of any cabbage who is read to on a daily basis so I am going to assume this is the most well-read cabbage in the United States.

In order to know why this kid has such a special place in my heart, one needs to know the circumstances of his birth. When I was pregnant with Alan, the doctor discovered that I had stage 3 dysplyasia. In other words, I had cervical cancer. Alan was born three months prematurely. It was a blessing that he did not have birth defects and was considered above average at all of his checkups. The bad news was that the doctor told me I would never have any more children because my cervix was so week I would abort within the first month.

Guess what? I found out I was pregnant with Alex when I was four months along. The little fellow was not about to listen to a doctor or anyone else. I had a cerclage inserted, which pretty much resembles on of those purple rubber bands used to hold bunches of broccoli together. Alex was born fat and sassy on his due date (after 5 days of labor) via c-section. He was the baby I was never supposed to have.

It doesn't make him more special than the other two because, eventually, I will tell of their births on this blog. He is just special for his own reasons. He was the last baby I could have. (I had my tubes tied due to the complications and for some reason the insurance company did not consider my near death a reason to let me have a hysterectomy.) He is the happiest child I have ever seen. And he personifies the 1950's good kid in almost every way.

So, today was an "our day" together. I am soaking wet from assisting Alex water his sunflowers and Carl. Dinner tonight will be macaroni and cheese. We will watch silly cartoons and probably fall asleep together on the couch before church tomorrow.

And I will have a memory of his childhood and the unconditional love that simply flows from his soul.

Someone once said children are a blessing.

I am greatly blessed.

Forget Teenage Angst. What About Parent's Angst?

My daughter will be 16 in a few months. I remember what it was like to be her age, and I have tried to allow her some freedom to spread her wings.

She has gone out with groups of friends to do things, and there was never any problem... until HE showed up in the picture.

He is a 17 year old James Dean wannabe. Instead of the leather jacket, white t-shirt, jeans, and a motorcycle he has embraced the goth-like culture complete with huge round earrings. And no, I do not mean Diana Ross hoops that dangle over his extremely too thin shoulders but quarter sized discs that have stretched his earlobes. When he takes them out, I have to fight the urge to shoot beans through the holes in an attempt to score a three pointer.

I saw a change in my beautiful Anne a few months ago when HE became a regular member of the teen herd that would come to the house. He was not part of the herd before. The main characters had been a few of her friends from band, her best friend, her best friend's boyfriend, and then a few others who would randomly rotate in and out. All these kids were unique individuals who were interested in the usual teenage things. But HE pretty much did what he wanted, when he wanted, and had gotten in trouble with the law. Now, a few of the other kids had gotten in trouble and then either learned how to fly under the radar for minor offenses or to not commit crimes. It wasn't until two weeks ago that I found out how disrespectful this kid could be.

Anne decided that she wanted to HE two months ago. I allowed it if they were with a group and she came home on time. Well, she missed Father's Day with the excuse that they did not have gas money to get back from the lake. She missed my birthday and several other events. She would go out with HE in the morning and then not return until right at curfew even if there was a family event to attend. I grounded her and told her that anyone who wanted to see her had to come here. After two weeks of good behavior, I allowed her to go out last Wednesday to help HE set up his dorm room. (HE is bright and graduated early and was accepted to a college in Nashville, about an hour from here.) Well, after several phone calls from her letting me know she was okay and that she would be home I called to make sure she would be in by 10. HE answered the phone and TOLD me that they had decided to stay the night and she would be home the next day.

Can you say 911 boys and girls? I informed HE that if she was not on her way home I would call the police. After several phone calls and a lot of irritation on my behalf (I was already suffering from an allergic reaction which put me in the ER later on that week), I was finally able to get Anne as close to home as I could. In other words, HE brought her to town but refused to bring her to the house. Instead HE took her to my parents' house and told the police that I was a mean drunk who abused my daughter by fussing at her when her grades would drop, did not allow her to go anywhere, and made unreasonable demands.

It was okay with me that she went to my parent's house. They are more strict than I am, not even allowing phone calls after 8 PM and a a mandatory bedtime of 9 PM for everyone (including themselves). I was not even bothered by what HE told the police because this is a small town and I went to high school with two of the officers and go to church the assistant police chief and another officer. After this incident, one of my high school buddies came to my house and told me that HE had a juvenile record that pretty much made anything HE said not have merit. He couldn't tell me what HE had done because of the age thing, but needless to say HE is being watched.

The funny thing is that Anne has completely reverted back to her old self since HE has been banned. She is even helping me with VBS next week without me having to fuss. I had called her father to tell him what was happening and to let him know that he might actually have to step up and parent. Alan Sr. has been more attentive the pst two weeks than he has since he left 6 years ago.

It seems that this emergency has brought about a couple of changes that have been needed for a while. I do not know if the daily phone calls from their father is going to last or if HE will finally disappear. I do know that the contact between my kids and their father has helped them, and that Anne is talking to me again instead of just storming out.

I also know that if teens think they have it tough, they ought to try being a parent!

Hooray! School Starts Soon!

Only two more weeks until school starts here. And I can hardly wait!

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy spending time with my kids, but it is so much different now that two of them are teens. I enjoy the constant in and out of their friends, being asked to hang out for a while with them as if I still count as a cool person, and the ability to maybe just maybe pass along some of the hard earned wisdom that I think I possess.

But teens are herd animals. They graze constantly. They do no consistently clean up their messes, though for some reason the visiting teen will be more helpful than those who actually live in a house. When the herd does dispense to go to their own dens, there is always the chance that something will be left behind. The more important the item, the more likely it will be left at someone else's home, creating a frantic situation to locate said object scant moments before it is needed.

Work shirts, athletic shoes, textbooks or project notes for summer projects, even car keys from riding over with someone else have the treasures sought. The phone calls usually comes from a cell phone, and if the missing item is here it is only a matter of moments before a car squeals into the driveway (no small feat considering ours is made of gravel) and the relieved teen rushes into the house and thanks me as if I had managed to find the cure for final exams.

Their enthusiasm usually leaves me with the incredible need to take a nap.

The one who usually feels left out is Alex. He will try to fit in with the teens, dragging out his most prized action figures or video game in the hopes of being included. Anne, the oldest, usually doesn't mind and her male friends will get down in the floor and join in a good old fashioned battle of plastic warriors. Alan, though, is trying to establish his place in the teen world. At 13, the ultimate blow to his ego is when Alex interrupts the teen rituals of listening to really loud music by bands no one will remember in 10 years or the consumption of the pizza bites while discussing how the establishment just doesn't understand today's youth.

It doesn't matter that before the herd descended upon our house, he had been engaged in the battle of all battles in video game supremacy against Alex while playing Lego Star Wars or that they will still watch the same cartoons. Alan is trying to fit in with the older kids, and it is a surprise to him to know that these cool, older guys still play.

The real reason I will be glad when school starts is not that the chaos will somewhat diminish here in the house, but that my three kids will be back in their respective comfort zones. They will be able to put into practice some of what I hope they learned this summer. They will be exposed to new learning opportunities.

And maybe, just maybe, they will miss the time they spent together this summer and the bonds between them will grow.

My First Time

Wow. This is my first time attempting to blog. It is a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. Guess I will just jump right in and wonder if anyone will actually end up reading this thing.

I am constantly writing my thoughts down in notebooks that are scattered all over the house. Some people have doilies on every table... I have cheap notebooks from the dollar store. Actually, I was supposed to be a great writer one day... at least that is what my teachers always said. Though my grades were average, I did extremely well in writing contests and honor programs.

Then something happened... life.

My 20 high school reunion is coming up this fall, and I started thinking about all of the hopes and dreams that I used to have and how I have achieved none of them. Well, I do have three incredible kids... but the loving husband thing hasn't happened unless you count having two ex-husbands who were into loving themselves and other women over making a good family life for the rest of us. I am in the process of starting a business with my family since I never quite found that one job which fulfilled me. (other than motherhood and we all know how much that pays!)

And my health sucks! I know that there are other almost 40's out there like me who eat healthy, get exercise, and do not engage in overly detrimental activities yet still end up with health issues while other people we know do not do a darn thing healthy in their life except make sure there is lettuce and tomato on their triple cheeseburger and ketchup on their fries (vegetables you know).

But things could always be worse... and that is a statement that should never be made because just as we all know the sun will rise, saying that things could be worse will always ensure that things will get worse...

So, I ought to have an abundance of material for my rants...