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For my faithful readers, I usually attempt to recall my growing up adventures, which in many instances, are very similar to yours.
Life wasn’t necessarily better, although it was somewhat more relaxed. Things got done, but haste made waste.
For me, it doesn’t take very much to stir up those memories once again.
Sometimes, life turns full circle, kinda like a washing machine agitator.
And, as life would have it, our washing machine quit turning like a washing machine should and, yes, I was a little agitated.
To be honest, it sort of resembled one of our three great- grandchildren. A rather nagging leak sprang up from its bottom extremities.
I just wish a Huggie would remedy the situation. It would’ve been a lot cheaper.
Some things can’t be fixed, so my daughter and I visited the Sears & Roebuck store on the bypass and found the right washer that would match our dryer. Matching appliances were never a problem when you had a clothesline.
No sooner had the credit card been processed and we made it back home, then the deliverers were at our back door.
You know, I think they were impressed that I had already disconnected the old washing machine and set it out on the patio.
That’s where wisdom and age pay off. To tell the truth, I learned long ago to never let appliance delivery men see the mess under an old machine.
Mama and my Mary instilled that into me.
The door on the delivery truck opened and there sat my new washer snuggled in its very own cardboard box.
Heavens to Betsy, my thoughts raced back to Parr Brothers Furniture on Main Street where, as a young boy, I acquired many a cardboard appliance box.
The Sears delivery men gently uncrated the washer and with a fancy hand truck carted it into the waiting space between the wall and the hot water heater.
They remarked that everything was so clean and neat. I grinned and whispered to them that my wife had made me get everything clean before they got there. I’m just glad they didn’t look in the plunder drawer.
Of course, like good delivery men, they told me that some of their deliveries were much more involved.
Why, they even hauled away the old machine.
I was thankful. Our garage couldn’t take one more worn-out appliance.
But there was just something about that cardboard carton. I sure wanted it, but really couldn’t justify them leaving it behind for me.
I had to admit though, it was pretty sharp, as far as boxes go.
Sixty-five years ago, that empty washing machine carton would’ve been on the verge of becoming a young boy’s hideout walls. As squared up as it was, it had the makings of a World War II Sherman tank that would be the envy of every boy on Chesterfield Avenue.
You know, I wonder if there are any young fellas today who yearn for a good cardboard box.
Nowadays, computer games and television zap their creative juices. Oh well, they don’t know what they’re missing.
It kinda reminds me of the crowd of young folks I recently saw along a rural country stretch of the Tarheel State.
They were scattered beneath a recently constructed tree house having a good time.
Bless Pete, the only thing that beats a good cardboard box is a good treehouse. I better stop all this remembering before I launch into another treehouse adventure.
I smiled as the delivery men drove away.
It wasn’t because of the new washing machine, either. It was because of that washing machine box.
Remember, when you see us old fellas smiling, it’s usually because we’re remembering a delightful memory of long ago.
I’m looking forward to spring. As winter breaks its grip, the warm weather is bound to stir up plenty of other happy recollections.
Like I said, it doesn’t take much.