^^^^^
A mother at 15. Dang.
A sister-in-law was a mother at 16.
My mother was married at 17 and (gasp!) didn’t have her first kid until 10 months later! Can you believe it! Kids those days!
I’d wager that many a man could, if he dropped his defenses enough to allow for a detached view of the matter, find in Ignatius a little bit of his own adolescent self.
Alas, adolescence extends well beyond the teen years for most of us, eh?
An old girlfriend (a real heartbreaker, that one) was an avid outdoorswoman — not huntin’ and fishing’, but hiking and camping in the wilderness. She’d have us take the car to the very end of the unimproved roads and then set out on foot from there, up the mountainsides or along the creeks or...
Disturbing realization?
A fellow I’ve known for nearly 50 years, a one-time relative by marriage, has had a couple of strokes in recent years which have left him somewhat physically and intellectually disabled. He can still walk (slowly), and talk (slowly) and reason (slowly).
Long story...
Yeah, I know now not to let my misty eyes get bigger than my bankroll, or my gumption. I have, in decades past, bitten off more than I could chew, or, perhaps more accurately, was ultimately willing to.
Should I acquire a vintage trailer, I’ll spend more for one in need of no more than a light...
^^^^
There’s a fairly recent form of vacation (“holiday,” as you Brits would have it) accommodations over here in the colonies called “glamping,” which is a glamorized form of camping. You might have canvas walls, but you ain’t sleeping in the ground. No, no, no. A fancy breakfast of unfamiliar...
... you find next to zero appeal in the very notion of living in a converted chicken coop (as I once did) or a drafty garret up three flights of rickety stairs (ditto), or a school bus (the ’47 Dodge I once owned but never actually lived in, although a friend did, in my driveway) or aboard a...
That stuff is hell on the pavement, ain’t it?
Many busy retail establishments around here have to repour their concrete sidewalks every few years, figuring, I suppose, that its better to salt the hell out of the concrete than to find themselves liable for injuries sustained by slipping on ice...
... you find yourself looking forward to a Friday evening spent watching Washington Week, and then The McLaughlin Group, and then Real Time.
And then heading to bed.
It’s no reflection on you or anyone else here to observe that among the people I know in the “real” world well enough to claim to actually know, those who project a public persona of high self-regard are the most personally insecure.
The surest signs of it are almost incessant references to...
I frequently get some variation on the “nice hat” commentary, to which I usually respond with a simple “thank you.” I long ago learned to avoid telling that I made the hat myself. It’s not that I’m modest about my handicraft so much as I wish to avoid a well-intentioned but ultimately fruitless...
I’ve long held that people with low self-esteem have a considerably firmer grip on reality than the run of humanity, and for that reason I generally prefer their company.
Cursory research discloses that the “very old” print ads I alluded to earlier aren’t quite so old as I recalled. One ad recommending 7-Up to infants dates from 1955, and another from 1956. I found none predating those.
7-Up was long advertised as a healthful alternative to other beverages. I’ve seen old (like, very old) print ads suggesting it be given to infants. It was once promoted as a good mixer with milk.
Echoes of that carried into much more recent times. Remember “crisp and clean and no caffeine”?
^^^^^
That series is often misattributed to Peter Max. The image below is of what I think was the top section of an outdoor store display. It’s paint on steel, currently residing on a bathroom wall. I’m still on the lookout for 7-Up signage dating from a few decades earlier.
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