I finally ordered an airplane last night, so Larry, please get off my ass.

The only time I ever seen the aurora was when we lived in the big house.  (I may explain that later).  I think we moved out of that house when I was four years old, so it had to have been before that.  I remember it was a very cold night, and Dad came and got me out of bed to see something.  I suppose he had been out coon huntin' with Uncle Red and had just gotten home.  There was a big bay window on the second floor, and we stood there and watched the sky light up.  I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, it was morning.  I felt warm and happy, and so close to my father at that moment.  I have always wanted to see the Aurora again before I shuffled off this mortal coil, but it's getting a little too late.  Well, if that is enough self-pity for tonight, I'm going to bed.

We used to get most all of our mail by train. I think the only exceptions were things that were too fragile or too big for the mail bag.  The lady who worked at the post office was named Hazel.  Every afternoon just before the mail train was due she would put the outgoing mail bag in her little red wagon, and pull it over to the depot.  There was a pole there that she would hang the mailbag on.  There was a loop at the top of the bag, so when the train came through town there would be a guy standing in the door of the mail car.  He would kick out a bag or two of mail, and there was a hook on the side of the car that would grab the outgoing mail.  Hazel would load them on her wagon and take them back to the post office and sort the mail.  I always figured she took time to check out where everyone's mail was coming from, and spend a few minutes reading all the postcards.  I know she was a prime source of gossip.  I don't suppose any of you ever used a post card, but for a penny it sure was a cheap way to communicate.  Air mail was more, and you had to use tissue paper to cut down on the weight.  I remember spending one of the longest months of my life waiting for my Lone Ranger secret decoder ring.  It cost me a whole 25 cents.  After I finally got it, I figured it wasn't much use unless someone had one and could decode your message.  What the heck, I figured the Lone Ranger had one, so id I needed help I could send him a message.

I grew alongside the Wabash Railroad tracks.  I never wondered whether we lived on the right or wrong side of the tracks.  It didn't seem important back then.  One of my earliest memories is being just a little kid, and sitting on the front porch and watching the war supplies going by on the railroad.  There were train after train loaded with jeeps and trucks,  tanks and artillery pieces.  That made quite an impression on a little boy.

Our neighbors were as poor as church mice.  I can't remember a time when they weren't on welfare.  They had a bunch of kids, and the father had had polio and couldn't work, so they depended on their mom's salary.  Winter was really tough on them.  Occasionally a coal train would be shuttled over to a siding to make way for another train.  When this happened, all of us kids would run over and help the Underhill kids throw chunks of coal off the train, then go back after the train had pulled out and gather up the coal for them.  It may have been stealing, but it kept them warm in the winter.

So I misspelled explained on my last entry.  Get over it, I was having a senior moment.

When I was growing up in BC, no one had a private telephone line.  The phone itself was a wooden box hanging on the wall, with the receiver hanging on one side, and a crank on the other.  We were on line 48F, and the 04 meant your number was 0 short rings and 4 long rings.  When we called Grandma Lesley, her phone number was 48F22, so you turned the crank for two short and two long turns.  Of course roe first thing you had to do was listen to see if anyone else was using the line.  The bad part was that everyone on the same line knew who was being called and whether they needed to listen in to find out any good gossip that was flying around.  There was one old woman who listened in on every call.  Would you believe her name was Fairybell Leibert?  When the phone would ring I finally started saying hello to whoever was calling, then I would say hi to Fairybell.  Some times she would get pissed off and slam down her receiver, but very often.

I used to think that I was born at the greatest time in history.  As kids, my generation didn't have to worry about anything.  We all had plenty to eat, parents to take care of us, and living in a small town was perfect.  Then I realized that less than five months after I was born, World War 2 broke out, and then the Korean War.  I think every kid in town had someone from their family involved.  I had two uncles fighting in Europe.  I guess it didn't affect me all that much because they both came home.  I do remember that Uncle Bill sent me a stuffed soldier doll while he was gone.  I can still remember how it looked, but it seems to have gotten a little fuzzier over the years.  Dad worked at the Alcoa aluminum plant in Lafayette, and all the guys there were told that they would should not worry about getting drafted, because the aluminum they were making was a lot more valuable to the war effort than they were.  I guess that would kind of put you in your place.