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Remember When

  • Don't make too many New Year's revelations

    Resolutions always come about from revelations. You know, it never fails.

    Whenever a new year dawns and we get to studying about ourselves, trying to figure whether lifestyle changes are needed, that's a revelation.

    All those plans and promises to do better are just resolutions. Revelations don't come into play until you resolve to do better.

    Take "Little Bill," for instance.

    Every year, when Christmas was over and school started back, I resolved to study more, mainly because teachers had six weeks worth of tests lined up.

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  • Put on a little Guy Lombardo

    My goodness, Christmas seemed to slip in on us and now we are facing a brand new year.

    I seriously doubt if the Evans household will splurge on any extravagance celebration to welcome in 2008. We will face it with a month- old great-grandson who has no idea what may lie ahead.

    Two events of major concern for us are paying property taxes by Jan. 15 and celebrating my 75th birthday in February.

    That's as good a reason as any (not the taxes) to pause and look at New Year's past.

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  • The colonel's fruit lasted longer than the tricycle

    Most folks picture Christmas in many ways.

    Families gather around a roaring fire with a glittering Christmas tree shining in the background and brightly colored packages scattered around it.

    I remember a lot of Christmas celebrations just like that.

    But there was a very special one that was as pretty to me as a Norman Rockwell painting, thanks to the generosity of a man on a Christmas Eve long ago.

    During those lean years of the Depression, Christmas was sad for folks who couldn't afford to give the smallest of presents to their children.

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  • Burned-out bulbs work good, too

    You know, I used to think we did a pretty good job decorating for the Christmas season.

    Of course, we didn't have inflatable snowmen or Santa's out in the yard. Reindeer with bobbing heads didn't grace the front of our house.

    There were no icicles hung from porch overhangs, nor blinking lights transforming to rows of running lights adorning the banisters.

    I guess we didn't do up Christmas very well.

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  • We never misplaced our hall telephone

    Let's get one thing straight – the fact I grew up in simpler time doesn't mean I'm simple-minded and reject progress.

    We've come a long way baby, from plowing with mules, to walking on the moon.

    Alas, behold the multi-colored, multi-functional cellular telephone.

    Now, when I was a lad, telephones came in one color, black, which was OK by Mr. Henry Ford, who was a genius in the manufacturing of black automobiles. The only exception was the white version of the telephone, which only showed up in Hollywood movies and in the hands of paper doll cut-outs.

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  • Our doorbell is getting a workout

    An early Christmas gift arrived at our house last week, just a couple of days before Thanksgiving Day.

    I have been blessed with a great-grandson who weighed in at 6 pounds, plus some small change.

    It's been almost 30 years since a newborn has been under our roof.

    I must admit that this blessed event has been an eye-opening experience for me.

    I never realized all the stuff it takes to support a tiny little person.

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  • Naming the turkey a bad idea

    I don't know if it was tradition or custom, but a couple weeks before "Big Thursday" or Thanksgiving Day, my daddy and I journeyed down to Tradesville to pick up our big ole gobbler.

    There was a man my daddy knew who raised turkeys just for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Of course, they didn't come all plucked, dressed and oven-ready. These were honest-to-goodness strutters that looked right at you and lowered their wing feathers until they touched the ground. The toms, or male turkeys, were proud fellas and couldn't resist showing you just how important they were.

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  • There's no place like home

    It had been simmering for a few days; I hit a stretch where it seems like I couldn't do anything right. It was one mess right after another.

    I was all of 6 years old, with a whole year of grammar school to look back on.

    Shucks, I was doing my best, but my best just didn't seem to be pleasing anybody.

    I came to the conclusion that nobody loved me anymore.

    That had to be it; I was getting jumped on at the supper table on a right regular basis.

    They wouldn't even let me have a piece of white meat chicken and I was tired of drumsticks.

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  • Daddy was a lot better at shearing sheep

    The Christmas of 1941, was just awful. Pearl Harbor got bombed.

    Just when folks were beginning to see a little daylight with the Depression winding down, we were jolted into the cold reality of war.

    All the work I did trying to get that new J.C.Higgins' Roadmaster bicycle was wiped out by a single letter from Sears, Roebuck and Company in Greensboro, N.C.

    "Your recent order has been canceled due to the war effort," it read.

    More than 60 years later, I still vividly remember Sunday, Dec. 7, 1941.

    Momma shouted the news to me while I was playing outside.

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  • I'd rather hunt a hot biscuit

    With avid deer hunters such as a son-in-law, a son and a grown grandson, I have been out of the loop for a great number of years.

    My last hunting trip was on a snowy December day just after I returned from overseas.

    You know, I sensed on that cold, dreary morning that hunting no longer held my interest.

    While some family members display mounted deer heads on their den walls, my thoughts linger on picture show memories of Bambi.

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