A soggy drip into the '50s

Every time I check into this blog, I see my brother's latest cartoon. This morning I'm thinking he must've been pretty prophetic when he chose to post it a week or so ago. It's been raining off and on ever since-----and he stuck the date of May 21 on it. Could that mean . . . ?

I hope not because we have a celebration going on in Sandpoint this weekend. For the past few years, we Loves have missed the "Lost in the '50s" weekend here because of trips to Boise. This year they changed the date by a week so we'll get to take in whatever we want.

I hope it doesn't rain too much on the parade of vintage cars tonight. By the hundreds, they cruise in from all around the region to appear in all their spit-shined splendor as drivers crank up the tunes and crowds line the downtown streets waving and marveling while the meticulously reconditioned wonders roll past.

Seeing these classic Chevys, Fords, Studebakers, etc. takes us all back to memories of cars parked at our own houses during the seemingly blissful, idyllic bee-bop era. Let's see. We had a war hero for a President during a time of relative peace. He played golf a lot and seemed to have more than his share of heart attacks.

Most of us helped christen in the era of the television set. I think my family had our first TV by 1955, and at our North Boyer house, the "Friday Night Fights" were a staple as were "Gunsmoke" and "Lawrence Welk" on Saturday nights. I can still do a pretty fair job of mimicking Lawrence when he'd feign popping that champagne cork with a thumb in his mouth.

Okay, so you can do it too! I saw you just give it a try as you read the line above. How about that other bodily exercise of holding onto your wrist until the your hand turned purple----or even the longtime favorite of cupping one hand over your armpit and pumping your arm against the hand to create a rather disgusting sound. Hard to make much noise, though, with a sweatshirt on! Ya gotta dress down for that exercise.

At our house, another favorite was sitting around during our moments of boredom touching our noses with our tongues. We were pretty good at all that stuff cuz we had to entertain ourselves most of the time, since we weren't allowed to watch television non-stop. That's how it was in the '50s. There was a clearcut family pecking order, and we followed the rules.

After dinner each day, we sat around the kitchen table while Mother and Harold discussed farm happenings or horses and puffed on their cigarettes. To make the time go faster while they talked, we'd try to catch that smoke overhead and blow smoke rings. I never did master that one.

The '50s to me included Lincoln School, 4-H meetings at Lucille Hudon's, visits to the Delamarter house, summer mornings spent fishing with a homemade pole off the Sand Creek bridge, hours sitting on our barnyard granary step with a herd of horses nuzzling at my hair or daily, carefree romps through the pastures to visit the Hereford cows and their calves.

Our family car for most of the '50s decade was a purple '49 Ford with a stubborn stick shift that caused trouble for this precocious soul when she started it up, put it in reverse and backed it into the fence-----all while my mother was gone to town. Went and got Mr. Best to put it back for me before her return. She found out anyway, and it wasn't a peaceful day when that revelation occurred.

In the late '50s, we thought we were pretty hot stuff when Mother and Harold purchased a 1958 brown-and-cream-colored Ford ranchwagon. Mother took the three of us older kids on our first three-week road trip that summer---to her native Michigan. The four of us still look back on that "worldly" experience as a defining time in our lives.

Yup, on this soggy day in North Idaho, it's easy to get lost in what most folks often view as a better time in our lives. Now, I think I'm gonna go to the bathroom and stare into the mirror while touching my nose with my tongue!