It all started when my mother decided she didn’t like the color of our house any longer. In 1947, when the house was built, my folks decided to stain the cedar shingles a dark brown. It was a decision they both agreed to and were happy with with for about 10 years. Then my mother decided she wanted the color much lighter, so she wanted it painted.
My father was of the opinion that since the shingles were stained they could never be painted. He insisted that paint would never stick and he would not put it on the house. My mother on the other hand did not believe a word of his reasoning and she wanted the house yellow.
They had lively discussions about it for months and always came to the same conclusion. Mom wanted it painted. Dad didn’t. Finally in a moment of exasperation, my father declared that if my mother wanted the house painted she could do it herself. And in equal exasperation she declared she would.
With the impasse ended my mother ordered paint and brushes and my father began to worry. He began to think about mom on a ladder. Once the paint arrived, mom started at the bottom and intended to work her way up. Meanwhile Dad began to build an elaborate scaffold system for Mom to work on.
With the scaffolding in place Dad was confident Mom could paint safely. He relaxed. In fact, he would settle himself in a chair every afternoon and cheer her on. It was the talk of the neighborhood- my mother was the one painting the house while my dad was the one sitting in a chair encouraging her in the work. Men would stop on their way home from work and visit. Women would bring snacks so Mom and Dad could keep up their strength. The neighborhood kids just enjoyed the fun of someone painting a house.
My brothers and I were enjoying the unusual drama. Finally our parents had settled the dispute and devised a plan. Mom was pleased because the house was going to be yellow. Dad was enjoying his afternoons in his lawn chair.
Now I know it seems strange that Dad would go to all the work to build a safe scaffold for Mom to do the painting when he simply could have painted it himself. But once my mother decided to paint, nothing was going to stop her. And there was the matter of his statement that he would never paint those shingles. No, the only course of action for Dad was make it safe for her and then make the best of it.
That summer our house was transformed from a dark brown to a shade of yellow that both my parents loved. And my mother, she became part of the neighborhood folklore.
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I had to go to the grocery store today to get milk and bread. Now back in the ’50s, ’60s, and ’70s it was a lot easier to get these 2 items and save on gasoline as well.
When I was very little, my mother had a bake day like most women did. I really don’t remember this clearly and sometime in my young life this changed. The change was the Bread Man. Every week he would roll his truck into our driveway and my mother would purchase the bread, rolls, hotdog, or hamburger buns that we needed. He would make his way down the street, going into every drive that welcomed him. The transactions were conducted quickly and without fanfare. He sold bread, we bought bread. He also sold those wonderful little chocolate cupcakes with the cream filling. Sometimes we would manage to “find” a dime lyin
g around the house and use it to buy these delightful treats. I still buy these things and they still taste as good as they did when I was a kid.
The Milk Man also made his appointed rounds. He came twice a week, if I remember correctly. My mother would leave the emty glass bottles on the porch and he would pick them up and replace them with full ones. (Conservation and recycling at work again!) He came fairly early in the morning and once a week he would leave a bill. If we needed more than we normally got my mom would leave a note for him. Milk men were delivering into the mid 1970’s in my home town and some folks would still like to see them coming down their drive.
Milk and bread were not the only things that were available at your door. The dry cleaners had a pick up and delivery service. Once a week we would send out the dry cleaning and the following week it would be back at which time he would pick up more. I have no idea what we were getting cleaned because my father did not wear a suit to work but we helped keep the cleaners solvent.
The Jewel Tea Man and the Fuller Brush Man completed the shop at home experience. These guys each had their niche. The Jewel Tea Company had all kinds of neat stuff from jewelry to knicknacks. My mother was for some reason leary of our Jewel Tea guy and would only open the door a crack to speak to him. I wonder if she heard some awful story about him. At any rate, she bought very little from him. Now the Fuller Brush man sold cleaning supplies and of course, brushes. This company started in 1906 and is still around today.
So you see how easy it was to shop from home. That’s how it used to be. Now we sit with our computers and shop but we still have to go out to get the milk.
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