Remember When

Some folks were saying that 1944 was gonna bring changes. For me, those changes got an early start.
Dec. 25 had come and gone, but Mama decided to take down  the Christmas decorations before the old year ended.
Now, this was as big deal at our house. We usually kept the tree up until New Year’s Day had passed.
To be honest, the living room Christmas cedar had seen better days and was shedding all over the hardwood floor.
When I carried it through the front door that Friday afternoon, more dried needles fell all over the front porch.

Well, winter is almost here. Now, I like Christmas, but I sure dread all of this cold, nasty weather.
Days like this aren’t meant for a growing boy. I was made for clear warm days, when I can be outside playing, and out of Mama’s way.
You know, this dreary weather isn’t lessening my chores at all.
In fact, Mama, because she’s keeping a closer eye on me, is staying on top of stuff.

The mere mention of fruitcake can cause many a face to frown and crinkle.
My mug isn’t one of the them. To me, a slice of homemade fruitcake is the crowning touch to a cup of piping hot coffee.
Many of you have been done in by those poor, mass-produced, poor-excuse-for-fruitcakes sold by retailer merchants.
You know, I can understand your disdain.
Each year, my late Uncle John of Evans Oil Company would dole out those Georgia-made concoctions to his regular customers as a show of holiday cheer.

It was late October. The leaves were slowly turning colors, but the days were still sunny and warm.
I was up and at it for another day of school and could smell hot buttered toast coming from the kitchen.
I walked in to find some Merita and a bowl of Wheaties waiting for me on the white enameled table.
Momma was scurrying about to making sure I’d be at school on time. Shucks, school was only three houses up the street. I seriously doubt I would be late, but I could never convince her of that.