Our First And Only Motor Home; The Peddler Wagon

I am now seventy-five years old and find myself reminiscing much more than I used to. Some of the "good old days" weren't so pretty good as far as finances were concerned, but oh we had so much fun being poor.
This is Memorial Day weekend of and of course, it is raining. It seems like rain on Memorial Day weekend is a given.
My husband at the time of this story was the father of my children. At the time of this story my children were 3+ and over a year old. Just a perfect age to teach them the joy of camping.
Wally was a body technician. His shop was small and he did the majority of the work including painting. He found a real deal on a Hiland Potato Chip van. He paid three hundred dollars for that wonderful soon- to- be- a- motor home. (As I am writing this I wonder where in the world he got that kind of money. He and his brothers often did odd jobs for extra spending money. Maybe that is what he did.)
After he ate his supper and on weekends he sanded it all down and then painted it. He painted it red and white. It looked like a VW on steroids. The top was white and the bottom was red. It came to a V in the front.
Wally was a very good artist. He painted the Ace of Hearts, the Ace of Spades, The Ace of Clubs and the Ace of Diamonds on each side. He painted them so they were fanned out like the winning hand in a poker game.
The inside of course, was gutted. It was all metal on the inside. It had a driver's seat and that was it. Wally kept reminding me that the motor sounded really good. That also would be soon put to the test.
 So my imagination was running wild. I was so excited. I loved to go camping, but with the children being so small, it seemed like too  much work.
I had less than a shoestring budget to work with. Wally found an old camper stove and put in a little closet. We found a little port-a potty to go in there too. There was no water tank. We had no cupboards. We had boxes for dishes and pots and pans for our first trip. We had coolers for our cold food and drinks and adult beverages, and probably something for silverware. I couldn't afford paper and plastic in those days, so I just took out extra from the house to outfit my new doll house.
I knew that the inside walls had to have something done with them. I didn't want my little ones to touch cold walls during the night. So I went to the carpet store and bought $20 a yard carpet. It was a rust color. It cost me just over a dollar because it was a poor cut remnant. So of course, it had to be glued on. Wally got the glue but I was the instrument to hold it up to the wall with my back as well as my feet. That was a really hard job!
When that job was done, I reminded him that I had no where to put all of the utensils. We planned on doing mostly grilling. So he immediately found a piece of pegboard and screwed that on the wall above the stove. Then he put some S hooks on it. There was my utensil cupboard! That little addition gave birth to our motor home's nickname: The peddler wagon. You see those spatulas and big spoons and can openers and what have you would clink and clang as we drove down the street. They acted like wind chimes only in the key of "Noise flat."
We didn't care we loved it. He made a king size bed in the back of it and two little hanging bunk beds for the children. We were finally set to go. Oh I couldn't wait for the next day to arrive. I had the kids so  psyched up they were wired and ready and were hurrying their father in combo, "Hurry daddy, hurry. Let's go camping." Of course, they had no clue what camping was.
Then the first crack of thunder sounded accompanied by buckets of rain, dark skies and the dismal fact that there was not going to be any camping that day. If you have ever attempted to calm down two youngsters that were gung- ho on an outing you probably realize the problems we were having.
Wally's brother lived just one block away from our house. I called them and said, "What am I going to do with these kids, they are out of control." They were going to go to the lake with us that day too. Then my sister-in-law said, "Well, why don't you just come on down in the camper. You can park it in the driveway. The kids will think they are camping. We can play cards while it rains."
That's exactly what we did. We had BLT sandwiches and had a ball.
The following week the fan belt broke on the way to the lake. Yes, another story because as you know there were no cell phones in those days, but once again Wally's family was following us.
Oh how I wish I still had pictures of that old potato chip van. We had such fun in it.
 Aww the memories...

The Boxcar Children Were My Friends

When I was a little girl my books were my friends. We lived in the country in the the 40's and 50's. There were no siblings close to my age. My sister was much older and my brother was four years younger. I didn't care for dolls which was a good thing because there was no money for such things. Of course, no video games that the children have to occupy their time nowadays.
I can remember getting my library card when I was seven years old. I think I may have it somewhere even now. (I found it!)
That library card was to me like a drivers license is to a teenager. I can vividly remember "signing" my name to that precious card. I felt so very grownup. It was the key to so many things. I could see new places, do new things. I could experience other little girls pain and cold and hardships. I could try to solve mysteries. I can remember laughing and crying. I hated for a book to end. I would tell my mom about the books that I read. I even used them as an excuse to stay up later than my bedtime with something like, "Can I just finish this chapter, then I will go to bed."
 I could use my imagination to the fullest every single time I held a book in my lap. I can remember an almost jittery feeling when I opened up the brand new Little House On The Prairie books. I was one of the very first to read them. I can see them in my mind's eye to this day. They even smelled and felt new. The pages were slick and the covers were shiny.
I can remember reading Heidi for the first time. I asked my mama so many questions about pronunciation and meaning of words. She finally said, "You need to go get your tablet
 and write the words down that you don't know. Then use the dictionary that your dad has. Well, that wasn't my favorite thing to do. My penmanship was not one of my talents. It was time consuming. I was short on the virtue of patience in those days. When I wanted an answer I wanted it now! I complained to my mother, but she persisted and told me I would thank her someday.
 I laugh to myself now that my children and most of my grandchildren are grown. The only thing I thank her for in that department is the opportunity to read as many books as the library would allow which was seven. My parents went to town twice a week. Sunday of course, for church. The other day was either Friday or Saturday.
 The librarian told my mother that other children my age liked to read also and many wanted the same books I read so I had to learn to share with strangers at a very early age. Sharing also, was not in my top ten of things I was willing to do without a stern face from my mother.
When my children were small and even before they were born I told them stories I made up. When they were older they always had a book to read.
The other day I was visiting with a friend and referred to the Boxcar children books that I had read as a child. She said, "Oh, I loved them too!" For a few days I thought about those books. I even looked them up on line. Like most things in my childhood they are listed as "vintage." Hmm. Just the other day I stopped at the library and asked if they had those Boxcar children books. He just looked at me. I said, "They are vintage. I read them as a child." He smiled and said, "Let me look on the computer and I will check to see if we have them." He brought me a CD. Yes he did. I gave him the same look as my mother gave me. He said, "I will check to see if we have them in books as well." Long story short they did have them. I was disappointed to say the least because I could remember the book covers from all those years ago. These books had shiny new covers. They also had a bar code printed on the cover. My librarian in Cherokee, Iowa where I grew up was Mrs. Irene Leeds. She knew every book, every location and for that matter most of the children as well as their parents.
When we got home from town, I sat down in my easy chair and looked at this shiny new book with some trepidation. I didn't want this book to change. I wanted the same little book that I had loved over sixty-five years ago. I opened it up and there it was. My little Boxcar Children book in all it's glory. The pages were soft and colored a light brown with age. They were older than me. I was born in 1944 it was born in 1942. I was in Heaven. As I read I got a lump in my throat.  They assumed their grandfather was mean and evil. They lived on the run. They walked at night so they couldn't be seen and slept at night.
They washed dishes with sand and cold water. I can remember doing that while camping. They used a board for a shelf that was propped on bricks. I did that. They used dishes that they found in a dump and washed and used. I didn't do that, but my dishes didn't match and had some cracks just like little Ben. He loved his "dear pink cup." Oh they just loved their boxcar that they had found. It was old and rusty and overgrown with weeds. It was their home and they loved it.
I guess what I am saying is take your children to story time when they are little. I know and see that a lot of you are. Teach them to know how precious books are. They are your friends when you are all alone. They are there when there is no television. They are always there when others are gone. Maybe, just maybe when they are old they will have fond memories of their favorite books like I do.

May Day Memories

Today over sixty five years ago I can remember my mother making me a new outfit for the school May Pole Dance. I was very young. My parents were poor, but I never knew it. My new outfit was made out of flour sacks. Gold Medal flour sacks to be exact. I was a chubby little girl so my mother made a "dress". The top of it was sleeveless and said Gold Medal in great big letters. The skirt was blue with pink clovers and little white flowers. The skirt was sewn to the top. Then she made a jacket which matched the skirt. It had buttons and long sleeves. Unless I unbuttoned it, which I would never do, a person would think that I was wearing a "store bought" outfit. It was very pretty.

I can and always will remember that outfit because that was the day that my mother taught me to be a lady and to sit like one in the car. You see flour sacks when washed were very limp. Mother had to starch the material with Linit Starch and iron it. I had to put it on carefully so that it didn't wrinkle. Sitting in the car was a trick. I was taught to gather my skirt carefully and smoothly so it too, did not wrinkle. When I arrived at school that evening I was a success. I was not wrinkled.

My mother made me lots of clothes from feed sacks also. They essentially were made from the same type of coarse material, but they made very nice clothes.
I looked at the calendar today and was a little surprised that it was May 1, 2019. That little girl that danced around the May Pole would never have imagined that date. And I'm here to tell you that she had a vivid imagination. Some folks say that she still does.
The reason I titled this post A Bruised and Battered Holiday is because in my mind it is. I Googled May Day. Oh my goodness. It has been celebrated and condemned and banned and celebrated again since forever. Not just in the United States, but in many many countries.
I saw that it was first celebrated by seeing some of the myths and the early years  A.D. I saw that it was a Communist and Pagan Holiday. I read that music and spring and new beginnings were the reason that it was and sometimes is recognized as a day or a space of time to celebrate with music and food and fun.
Be that as it may I can remember having fun with my children when they were young. We made May Baskets. They were made of construction paper and cupcake papers. Oh so full of popcorn and a little bit of candy. I taught them how to sneak over to the neighbor's houses and hang the little baskets of goodies on their door handles and run really fast back home. Such fun we had.
In later years I stayed home with my children and cared for children in my home. We had crafts then too. Yes, we made May Baskets. Again, another fun activity. I didn't give paganism or communism or any other problems/obstacles a thought, because what we did was celebrate Spring and have fun with our neighbors.
I didn't make any May Baskets this year. But I still have the fun memories. That's what we do as parents, teachers, and grandparents. Just think how long ago that little girl danced around a May Pole. Now that's a memory!