Down the years with patsyv
As some of you know, I am no spring chicken. I recently celebrated my 83rd birthday.
Let's see. What do I remember?
The 20s, I have to admit, were a time I do not remember, although I experienced a couple of those years. The stock market crash did not interfere with my morning Pablum.
The 30s were Chicago's "Century of Progress" exposition (my favorite spot was the Brownie Mountain, where you climbed up a big cone-shaped hill, went in where a lady shoved you down a long circular slide, ending up on a bale of hay. "Can I do it again, Mom? Please! Please!), the great depression, and some of my earliest memories, including one of my father experimenting with bathtub gin production. I have a great story to tell on
that one, but cannot find a category. I also remember, as a small child in Chicago, my parents taking my brother and me to Colosimo's, a gangster-run nightclub. We were
there for dinner. All of a sudden the lights came on and a bevy of pretty ladies in tiny sparkling costumes came out on the stage, right next to where we were sitting. They
started throwing cookies out in the audience. As any four-year-old would, I reached up, trying to catch a
cookie, but my mother clapped her hand over my eyes, grabbed my hand and hustled us out of there. This was the first great disappointment of my life.
The 40s were WW II, rationing (meat, butter, sugar, shoes, gasoline. I still have my ration books--you never know when you might need them.), writing to my brother overseas in the army, buying my first car -- a 1947 Crosley sedan, and meeting and marrying my husband in 1949. (I always said he married me for my car. Have you ever seen a Crosley? It looked like a refrigerator lying on its side, with wheels.)
The 50s were mostly kayaking, square dancing and newlyweds trying to accumulate a few possessions. We hiked across the Grand Canyon, kayaked down Glen Canyon (before it was flooded out by the dam), rafted the Grand Canyon the last year there was high water before the dam was finished, kayaked the Salmon, Clearwater and Selway Rivers in Idaho. All this, and we lived in Illinois.
The 60s were more sedate. We moved to the Front Range of Colorado. Hard work, not much time for outdoor stuff, although we did buy a Land Rover and joined the
Mile High Jeep Club.
The 70s were awesome, spent in the high mountains of Colorado. Skiing, kayaking, hiking. It was like being on vacation all year round. One day, my husband of 25 years had a mid-life crisis. He decided he wanted to live in Las Vegas, a city he hated. Go figure. He left, I stayed put.
The 80s were more leisurely. I spent a lot of time shopping in the outlet malls of Kittery and Freeport, Maine, and then Birch Run, Michigan. I have all sorts of lovely clothes with the price tags still hanging from them. What was I thinking?
The 90s just zipped by. My Mom and I spent several summers traveling across the country, camping out in a Dodge conversion van. She did the cooking and I did the
driving. We went from Maine to Ontario to Arizona and back to Florida. Not bad for two old ladies.
Now you know as much as I do.
Here are a few of my reviews you might be interested in reading:
My review on kayaks and canoes: Cruisin' down the river....
My hike across the Grand Canyon: A Mile Down and a Mile Up, one step at a time.
A visit to Glacier National Park: The Bear that came for lunch.
Search for unclaimed assets: How I found $2,902.41 on the web!
