It's been said that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it! Well I
don't know about that but this book is chalk full of reminiscings from days gone by.
My friend, James A. Nelson wrote this collection of stories from his childhood and events
later in life. He is in hs 70s now and his homey style takes you right back to Grandma's
kitchen. He'll take you back in time or give you an interesting contrast between today and
yesteryear as he tells about, "The Way It Was And The Way It Is!"
Here are a couple of excerpts:
GRANDMA’S HOUSE
It was old yet new; it was Spartan yet grand. It looked stark and cold to many but in my
mind's eye it generated warmth and love, it was Grandma’s house. At this time in my
young life, I was sure, no finer house existed anywhere in the world.
A large bay window in the front room viewed the most elegant front
porch one could imagine, from its ivy-covered pillars to the broad, long front steps
leading, to the oaken front door. The porch seemed to beckon you with the words;
"This is a Grandma’s house." The top step had a squeak all its own that
seemed to say "Welcome," or words to that effect.
All the rooms had high-beamed ceilings, which made them difficult to heat in our wintry
climate. It didn’t matter to Grandma. She always said it made her feel like she was
living in a castle. Certainly this was easy to imagine for a small boy.
Her dream home was heated by central heating, meaning a large round, black wood heating
stove sitting in the middle of the living room. Its cavernous clanging double doors
welcomed each tamarack log inserted in its throat with snapping sparks and crackling
sounds of warmth.
LIFE IN THE FAST LANE
She was short, overweight, poorly dressed and had a look of sadness about her. He was
tall, thin and attired in a dark pin stripe suit with a narrow red and blue striped tie
held neatly in place with a gold tie tac. He had a brief case in one hand and a Wall
Street Journal tucked under his arm. He made an impressive sight along with his graying
hair. The teenager in the group had a ball cap pulled down over his eyes so you
couldn’t tell whether he was asleep or awake. I couldn’t make out what was
printed on his T-shirt – probably just as well. Only the cigarette dangling from his
hand told me he was partially awake, as it hadn’t slipped from his fingers.
All four of us were waiting at the bus stop for the 7:15 AM STA Express to downtown. We
were all on different missions with different objectives but we shared two things in
common, bus fare and life itself.
As I often do with strangers I tried to determine something about the character of
these casual fellow transient travelers, as we waited in overcast weather...
