After my wife’s latest essay was published I could not help but looking back at my own life – in addition to the few “sights, smells and sounds” Jean wrote about several days ago.

Perhaps this list might get us into another trip down memory lane.

The smell of the coal stove, or the dry dull odor of the ashes I had to take out after shaking the stove. The coal bin – where you went to get chunks of coal and carry them to the house putting them in a box behind the stove. The sound of Dad opening the stove door and tossing another chunk of coal on the hot bed of coals --. I remember once that sound was interrupted by a few choice words as Dad’s fingers got between the stove door opening and the heavy piece of coal -- that really hurt!

Another hurt both my Dad and I experienced was around the old garage where we kept coal and some assortment of wood to start the fire. We were obviously intruding where yellow jackets (not bumble bees) were living and they did not like visitors. I saw Dad throw down his hat or some other quick move and then I felt a sting and next thing I knew both of us headed for the back porch. Our attempts to get in the house were impaired because Mother was holding the screen door shut tight (and laughing at the sight of us two guys running in circles around the back yard trying to flee the bees). Evidently we finally convinced Mother to let us in.

Post Office when baby chicks were shipped in – the peeping sounds of those little biddies filling the post office with that familiar exciting sound of little yellow balls of feathers making their presence known.. I know my memories from my own childhood days are there but even as an adult in Bainbridge, Ohio, where years later I preached for a short time – those sounds and odors were still there, the curious fragrance of the feed mash used for the chicks as well as the bedding. Do you remember those?

The smell of the bookstore a few days before school started. Was it just the paper, or the products like pencils, crayons, and the glue that was used to pad the paper into tablets? There was a bit of pride, at least to me, that now I was already for school. Some, my wife for one, did not enjoy school – for me, it was all excitement. We came from two entirely different backgrounds and even though I was not as good a student as my wife, I looked forward to school beginning but she would have rather stayed at home in the country. One of our friends of years past knew that when August came along, his summer was through or shot – only a few weeks and he “had to go to school”. What drudgery for him to have gone to the bookstore to get his schoolbooks.

The smell of hay and straw at the fair. Not having been a country boy, I still found a peculiar enjoyment of walking through the cow barns, or the horse stalls and inhaling that strong scent of bailed hay or the “used smell” of straw that had been mixed with horse or cow manure as bedding. Yes, even the manure of the farm animals smelled good to me. If you didn’t go to the fair, perhaps the same memories conjured up when the circus came to town. The closest we get to this today is when an Amish buggy goes through town.

Going to the “help yourself” pop box, where the refrigerated water was used to keep the pop cold and reaching into the ice-cold water you would search out the pop you wanted. Seems to me you would get your bottle opened and then pay the storekeeper. The unique sound of removing the bottle cap and hearing the fizz of the carbonated beverage is a classic memory. Besides, those cork-lined caps could be used as a badge if you wanted one; just remove the cork carefully and reach inside your shirt and refasten the cork into the metal cap as you sandwiched your shirt between the cork & the cap -- great badge!

The smell of gasoline being pumped into the family car? My brother and I would stick our necks out of the back window to sniff that smell of gasoline. Walking into a filing station or garage had its share of odors, maybe even fragrances. The service station employer airing up a tire to check for leaks, then putting the tire into a half-circle metal tank, filled with water, as he watched for bubbles to surface indicating what area to find that leak. Then he would turn the tire around to that spot and mark it with white chalk. The metal tank full of water even had an old smell. If a tire had to be patched or vulcanized, that presented another even more memorable smell of the rubber patch being vulcanized to the tire. There might be the sound of loud bell announcing a car had driven up for service outside and the service attendant would have to stop what he was doing and go pump gas or whatever the customer might need.

Everything was “full serve” at filing stations then. “Check your oil?” was a common question after the attendant started filling your gas tank. They would pop your hood open; check all your fluids, carefully looking under the hood for anything that might not be in good working order. “Your left rear time needs some air…” There was no charge for he air either. Whatever the need, the attendant was quick to tell you. Anyone over 60 misses that kind of service.

The dentist’s office. Whoa, some memories of that might not be so pleasurable. But the antiseptic smells of alcohol, mouth washes or maybe just the “clean smell” of the instruments having been steam cleaned with freshly prepared cloths or towels.

The bakery – couldn’t you just spend all day just smelling the rolls, donuts and other sweets? The fragrances emanating from the room where the ovens were, and the lingering smells of flour, yeast and spices – they were all there! Fortunately some fragrances can still be enjoyed in the visits to the larger stores that have their own bakery – or the visit to a bakery itself.

Did your grocer have a “tab”? Our grocer was a “mom & pop”, or neighborhood grocery that ran a tab for their customers. As you stood at the counter ordering your groceries, one item at a time, “Leroy, give me a box of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, better give me a box of All Bran too…” and the owner of Kiger’s Grocery would turn around, get that long wooden rod with a spring-loaded gripper and reach up on the shelves and nudge a box of Corn Flakes off and he would catch it in mid air, then reaching to another shelf to get that box of All Bran. And on throughout the entire list, each time he would write down the items you wanted. When you were done, he would tear off a carbon copy of the slip from that pad and hand it to you. When payday came, my folks would go to Kiger’s and pay the tab for the week. (Without a doubt this is one of the origins for the expression, “put it on our tab[let].”

Cleanliness was assumed in those days too. Cookies were displayed in a row of boxes with lids covering each kind, and lifting the little lids Kiger would reach in with his bare hand and pick out the cookies and put them in a brown paper bag. (Not all cookies came that way but some did.) If someone was ahead of you, you just waited your turn and visited with the other customers while their order was being filled.

This little store is also where I learned you do not steal. I remember well the time I was passing Kiger’s and slithered over by the boxes of fruit in front of his store and reached down and picked up a piece of fruit – it did not reach my mouth before I heard his voice, “Hey, Bill, I saw that!” He probably went to the box where he kept our tablet and added it to our family tab. I believe that is the last time I tried to steal fruit.

Finishing Dad’s lunch box left-overs. I would often take my Dad’s lunch to him at the factory (ride my bike the mile or so from our house to Anchor Hocking). Sometimes I would sit there and visit with Dad while he ate his lunch or I might just give it to him; when he came home that night he would put the little mason jar of cut-up mixed fruit left over (usually a banana and orange combination) in the Kelvinator – that was my treat the next day.

Were you one of the “special kids” whose Mom wrapped your lunches in Wonder Bread or Taystee Bread wrappers? I always thought those were special – my mother used Cut-Rite waxed paper and I yearned to be like those kids whose sandwiches were wrapped in recycled big-name bread wrappers!

Well, these should be sufficient to re-live a few moments from those yesteryears. But like they say, “Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be…” or is it?

THE WORDWRIGHT