My Brain, Peanuts, Remembers The City Pool

 

Waitsburg City Pool or Gawdawful like it
The Waitsburg city pool (or gawdawful like it)

 

A Swimming Pool Fool

When I was a little girl, I was a swimming fool even though the pool in our little town left a lot to be desired.  First of all, it wasn’t heated or filtered so they had to drain it every week and refill it with water they piped in from the South Pole.  Not being a filtered pool, you’d think we would have all gotten a horrible disease like typhoid fever, leprosy or at the very least, Polio, but the water was either too cold to sustain microbial life or nobody could ever stay in long enough to catch anything.

The Magic of Turning Nine

Until I was in the fourth grade, all my summer mornings were spent begging and pleading with my mother to take me to the swimming pool.  But when I turned nine, she decided I was old enough to go to the city pool on my own. So every morning I’d get up and kill time by playing hide and seek with the neighborhood kids until the magical hour of 1:00 o’clock when the city pool opened.  My mother would fix me a tuna sandwich and make me wait half an hour before I could head out to the pool lest I get a cramp and drown. For some reason known only to 1950-ites, the most dangerous thing a person could do in the fifties would be to down a tuna sandwich and then dive directly into a body of water.  You would get a cramp and you would drown.  Period.  End of story.

leading cause of drowning in the 50's
Leading cause of drowning 1950-style

The Art of Towel Rolling

The towel you brought to the swimming pool said a lot about how well your parents had their acts together. The parents who had their acts totally together bought their children their own beach towels every summer with a cute picture of a whale or a beach umbrella emblazoned across its front.  Other parents who didn’t have their acts quite as together didn’t mind if their child brought whatever towel happened to be hanging on the towel rack that day.  And then there were the  parents who didn’t have their acts together at all.  These were the parents who were big believers in sun-dried kids.

My parents fell into the middle category.  I would take some dingy towel off the towel rack everyday and fold it in half length-wise and roll my swimming suit up in it.  Then I would put on my thongs (which is the fifties speak for flip-flops)  and I’d head out across town to the city pool to join the small group of children who were also addicted to the swimming pool as much as I was.

The Regulars

Looking back on it now, there were about five of us who came every single day without fail.   Most of them were sun-dried kids and for a while I forsook my towel to fit in.  (I’d tell you their names but I’m not sure they had any.)  Anyway, we would simply find a dry spot on the cement and lay there until we got hot enough to brave the frigid waters of Antarctica for another ten minutes of splish-splashing hypothermia.

Jackknifes, Cannonballs and Cutaways

Most of my activity at the pool was waiting in line to go off the diving board.  My  ‘go to’ dive was a jackknife.  My friend, Susan Weber, was a whiz at a dive called the cutaway. While us girls worked on our dives, the boys were perfecting their cannonballs — a dive that never made any sense to me because why make a big splash if you can’t see it?  But I do remember the boys who were a little on the hefty side being much better at the cannonball than their skinnier counterparts.

After Swimming Hunger

I have never been hungrier than I was in the fifties.  Being a kid lends itself to a lot of hunger.  The hunger you feel from only eating one bite of breakfast before school and counting the seconds until lunch.  The hunger you feel after waiting for lunch to find that you are too finicky to eat hamburger gravy and sandy butter sandwiches. And then there’s the  hunger you feel after school from being too picky to eat a decent breakfast and lunch.

Seven Bowls of Cheerios

But the hunger I felt after swimming all afternoon in the city pool beats them all. It’s the kind of hunger that only seven bowls of Cheerios swimming in a soup of sugary milk can satisfy.  Sitting at the kitchen table, eating Cheerios with the late afternoon sun pouring through the window and knowing that after you finish your last bowl, the Three Stooges will be on.  Does life get any better than that?

I think not.

Cheerios from the 1950's

Until next time . . . I love you

How to Be Healthy

Welcome Dear Readers to another video I made.  Today I thought it would be fun to browse through Women’s Health Magazine. 

 

Until next time . . . I love you

Things That Got Flushed That Hadn’t Oughta

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Retrospectively Funny.”

Welcome Dear Readers.  The Daily Post’s writing prompt inspired me to dig up this old post I wrote about something that wasn’t funny at the time . . .

Toilet with flowers Linda Vernon Humor

I don’t mean to brag, but I have been using “the facilities” on my own now for over fifty years, and I know, firsthand, some crazy things that got flushed that hadn’t oughta.

Once, when I was four, my mother bought a batch of the most beautiful red apples you ever saw and displayed them on the table.  I asked for one, and my mother gave it to me.

I was an apple lover from the get go!

I took one bite and spit it out.

That’s because this apple was a deceitful type of apple, the kind that looks like it’s going to be delicious but, instead, tastes like dry, sandy-mush.

A couple of days later, I must have forgotten how horrible the apple tasted because I asked my mother for another one.  And she agreed, but only if I promised I wouldn’t take just one bite and spit it out. Who me?  Heavens no! Mother! Please! Don’t be ridiculous! She handed me an apple.

I took one bite and spit it out.

Even Eve didn’t have so much trouble with an apple.

Later in the week, I happened to walk by the beautiful red apples that were still sitting on the table (now we know why) and asked for another one. My mother wisely said no because there wasn’t any questions in her mind, by now, what I was going to do.

Well for some reason, I was set on it.  I began begging dramatically.  “Please Mother! Please!  I won’t spit it out! For the love of God,  I beg of you! I must have an apple if I am ever going to thrive!”

My mother acquiesced, handed me yet another apple along with a stern warning that she better not find this one in the garbage with one bite out of it

I took one bite and spit it out.

Ok, now I had a big problem on my hands.  Where to dispose of a big, beautiful red, sandy-mushy apple with one bite out of it.  I had to think, think! And quickly before my mother discovered the truth!

I made an emergency executive decision to flush it. So I went into the bathroom, looked both ways, threw the apple with one bite out of it into the toilet and pushed down the handle.

I was amazed when it actually went down!  Fabulous!  I dusted off my four-year-old hands and resumed playing.

Later that day I happened to walk by the bathroom just as my father was lifting the entire toilet, itself, off the floor.  I was flabbergasted!  I had no idea it would “do that!”

I still hadn’t put two and two together until I saw him reach his hand down the pipe and pull out a big beautiful red apple with one bite out of it.

Uh oh . . .

Shame quickly set it.  I couldn’t have felt worse if I would have gunned down Santa. But that’s another story for another day.

Suffice it to say, I’ve been privy to lots of things that got flushed that hadn’t outta — but it all started with that beautiful red apple with one bit out of it.

Until next time . . . I love you

Flipping Through A 1953 Magazine

Welcome to Friday, Dear Readers!  And on Fridays this blog takes some time off  from goofing off to pursue more leisurely pursuits like flipping through old magazines.

And to that end, here’s a magazine from 1953 I found stuck between two cookbooks at the Thrift store yesterday:

Isn't it wonderful?
Isn’t it wonderful?

Come on, let’s look inside:

Is it just me or is this little guy wearing a saucer on his head?

1953 Heinz Baby Food ad
The aliens have landed and you’ll never guess where!

This says:  “Every Woman is Beautiful Thru Pregnancy”

Uh . . . not in this outfit she isn’t.

1953 magazine humorous commentary, Linda Vernon Humor
Gosh! When did my hair get so ugly.

The note at the top of this page says: Painted for the Green Giant Company by Norman Rockwell.

Just think! In 1953 you could still hire Norman Rockwell to illustrate your ad!

 1953 Green Giant Norman Rockwell Ad

Uh . . . judging from the color of their complexions, I think it might be a good idea for them to lay off the Libby’s Tomato Juice for a while.

1953 Magazine humorous commentary Linda Vernon Humor
“Mommy, do you think we’ll ever eat anything but tomato juice again?”
“Of course not, darling, why would we?” “Mommy, do you think we’ll ever stop dressing like twins?”
“Of course not, darling, why would we?

Something in me longs for the days when gunning down Mother if she didn’t fix her children a snack of canned meat that had been “deviled”  was considered wholesome fun!

1953 Ad for Underwod Deviled Ham
Haha! Now be sure not to riddle me with bullets until after I’ve prepared your snack, you little rascals!”

While big brothers are chasing little sister (who has a a 35-year-old woman’s face) so that they can lasso her around her neck (good luck with finding her neck),  the important thing here is that they won’t scuff the floors thanks to Simoniz self-polishing floor wax!

1953 magazine humorous commentary Linda Vernon Humor
My mother had a stove just like the one in the background.

Well, Dear Readers, my scanning elbow is starting to act up again so we’ll quit for today, but I hope you enjoyed this little romp back to 1953!

Until next time . . . I love you

33-Word Trifecta Writing Challenge: Stupendous News!

LInda Vernon Humor 33-words about bigfoot Welcome Dear Readers! This week’s 33-word Trifecta Challenge is to ponder the resurgence and ultimate triumph of nature and growth and light.

 I hope the good editors don’t mind that I have taken the liberty of putting my own spin on what I would consider the ultimate triumph of nature.

Stupendous News!

Dear Monster Quest:

Stupendous news!!  I’m elated to inform you that hidden cameras have revealed Bigfoot exists, and he’s agreed to a reality show!

Not quite as stupendous news.   He has an agent.

LInda Vernon Humor Big Foot
“And another thing, Maury. I don’t work for peanuts. It’s nuts and berries all the way or I’m a no show, got it?”

Until next time . . . I love you

Manifesting Fingernail Files

Welcome Dear Readers. Since I’m going to be on a vacation for the next couple of days, I’ll be fishing some things out of the archives for you.

Manifesting

I don’t know if I’m doing something right or if I’m doing something wrong when it comes to manifesting.

For instance, I am a recently converted White Cake Fanatic, and I am always in search of my next wonderfully delicious piece of white cake with white frosting.

Today when I got done getting my back adjusted at the chiropractor’s office, I was offered and accepted a piece of the most delicious white cake I’ve ever had.

It was so good, it was worth putting my back out for.  So that should tell you something (I’m not sure what, but if you find out e-mail me).

Being offered white cake unexpectedly like that made me think that maybe I actually manifested it.  Or at least my inner sweet tooth did.  Which is wonderful and thank you, Universe (Uni) for arranging that.

Then there was the manifestation that happened the other day.  37, (my husband) and I were both in need of a fingernail file.

Of course, there wasn’t a single one to be found so I made a mental note to buy some next time I was out.

I don’t know why I bother making mental notes at all since  my mental note system is horribly flawed. I think Peanuts, my brain, must be filing  my mental notes using the Dewey Decimal System — which I have always found unnecessarily confusing.

But anyway, the good news is that it turns out I didn’t need my mental note anyway, because I completely manifested a fingernail file all by myself!

For you see within the pages of this 1936 Wear-Ever new method of Cooking booklet I found at the thrift store THE VERY NEXT DAY was a . . . well guess . . . .go ahead guess!

Okay, never mind I’ll tell you. 

A fingernail file!  I kid you not (mainly because I don’t even know who you are).

It happened while I was showing 37 the1936 Wear-Ever Cook booklet — and I was pointing out how it looked more like a 1960’s booklet rather than one from 1936, because it was turquoise and space-agey.  I should know, as I consider myself a fake expert on the subject.

37 was listening and  pretending to be interested when . . . well sir, right then and there in the center of the booklet was a fingernail file! 

(I was even going to end that sentence with three exclamation points but when all is said and done it was only a fingernail file after all — manifested or no.)

Aren’t you absolutely floored that I managed to manifest that fingernail file so quickly and without even really trying? I know! Me too!

Of course, I would have been a teensy more excited about manifesting it, if it didn’t make me slightly sick to my stomach to find a fingernail file in a cookbook.  But still . . . I’m manifesting stuff aren’t I?  And that’s the important thing.

Until next time. . . I love you

My Brain, Peanuts, Notices Some Little Things

Hello Dear Readers and welcome!  Before we go kicking and screaming (in a good way) into the weekend, I thought it would be fun to share with you some random things that crossed the path of my brain, Peanuts.

  You want me to throw what in where?

 

Someone stuck a sign on the trash can outside my grocery store directing passersby to only throw “trash” into it.

Apparently so many people have been throwing stuff in there that’s not trash, the grocery store employees were unable to get any work done so they had to make a sign for the trash can that says “Trash.”

Well who can blame them?  They are probably sick and tired of people throwing away bag after bag of perfectly good cash or bag after bag of perfectly good puppies or bag after bag of perfectly good babies.

These people have work to do people!

And their job descriptions do not include fishing large amounts of cash and/or puppies or the occasional baby out of the trash all the live-long day!  Do you mind?

 Now that’s the attitood I like to sea!

Here’s a nice little sign I saw while waiting in line at Fresh Choice. As you can see, they offer salads to go Mon – Fry only.  You’ll also notice they are offering their customers a special as well, but they are being kind of crabby about it.  The sign tells us it’s $4.99 Salad Bar Only but it sort of feels like what they really wanted to say was $4.99 Salad Bar Only You Stupid Idiot.

Here’s bit of wonderful news from junk mail:

Now that’s a handy piece of news from the National Association for Continence!  I am totally amazed that two out of three people with bladder control symptoms (and what symptoms are those? . . .  well, we can guess can’t we?)  don’t do ANYTHING about it — which means . . . well, let’s not think about.

I am more amazed, however, that there is actually someone walking around right this very minute with a business card that reads:

National Association for Continence, Managing Director

Which proves, once again, Dear Readers, that it’s the little things that make life worth living! Have a wonderful weekend!

Until next time . . . I love you