Baby Boomers – Page 3 – Hot Dog Cool Cats

Living in a Strange New World

Now the Cool Cats and I were born in a civilized time, I would say. Imagine not have television with modern resolution, quicker imaging, full cable service, and the best yet, Netflix. That is why I know, without a doubt, Momma is old, because when she was born, the radio was the entertainment box where you listened for weather, some skits performed by faceless actors, news, both local and world, a variety of music from diddly to country to current (no Top Ten at this time, in this region), oh, and the local death announcements. How bizarre, how bizarre!

On Saturday nights we could tune in to WWW.Wheeling, West Virginia to hear those sad honky tonk songs. From Morguefile.com Radio stare 2.JPGBy mzacha — On Saturday nights we could tune in to listen to WWW.Wheeling, West Virginia to hear those sad honky-tonk songs.
From Morguefile.com
Radio stare 2.JPGBy mzacha

Therefore, it was no wonder it was a very big deal indeed, according to Momma, when the first television arrived in homes, especially in the country, when the only fun happened on the radio or at the church social, back in the 1950’s. The idea of having a box in your living room that showed people, and programs from all over the world, was more than a country brain could comprehend.

When one of the small community got a television, the ‘have not’ children (or so they thought) were pea green with jealousy and curiosity. They would wait till it grew dark, walk down the road and surreptitiously, peak in the living room window. The lights were off, but they could tell that the TV was on because the room was bathed in a blue hue. The lady of the house, (a June Cleaver double), always saw them (and probably heard them) standing out at the window, so would graciously usher them in, tell them just take off our shoes and go sit on the couch to watch TV.

In those days, television stations that were accessible came from the Maritimes. Most of the day, the screen had a test pattern, with news and shows only in the evening.

We could sit and watch snow on the screen for hour. Somehow it made us feel connected to the rest of the world out there. From Morguefile.com IMG_0240.JPGBy preetnan — We could sit and watch snow on the screen for hour. Somehow it made us feel connected to the rest of the world out there.
From Morguefile.com
IMG_0240.JPGBy preetnan

Overjoyed by the ringside seat, they would go and sit in awe, watching ‘snow’ or a silent Test Pattern of a First Nation’s Chief Brave, in full Head Gear.

A few minutes later, the neighbor lady would tell them they’d better leave now, or their mothers would worry about them, so the children would thank her and walk back home, dissecting what they had seen and how was it even possible. No one at school ever taught them anything that was relevant in the world they lived in.

By the time most families had television, the TV stations had full programming. By now, it was old hat, so they no longer questioned the why’s and the wherefore’s. Yet still it was very gratifying at the end of a day to tune in to some one else’s reality and dream of being anywhere accept the place you lived. It was food for the soul.

Changes were rumbling through the world and you’d better believe, even the country folk, had no intention of being left behind…………

Now it is not like changes stopped once television was born. No, it has evolved at a fever pitch intensity so Baby Boomers have just had to get with the program…or be left behind.

Here I watch National Geographic Channel intently, where silky chickens befriend two legged puppies, and cats ride around on horses backs. This is the world as it should be, according to my Policies and Procedures for All Creation. — Here I watch National Geographic Channel intently, where silky chickens befriend two-legged puppies, and cats ride around on horses backs. This is the world as it should be, according to my Policies and Procedures for All Creation.

I am so glad Momma has stepped up because it is so relaxing to grab a spot on the couch and watch another world…the only thing that bothers me, well, two things, actually. I hate when dogs bark on television. Am I under attack? Are they right here in the room with me? And when the door bell rings on television. I am fooled every time. I super charge, out to the door, to drive those pesky interlopers off my property with my ferocious bark and Momma laughs at me. I am never convinced she has full respect for what I bring to this family.

All In All It’s Just Another Brick in the Wall

Momma told me this story… so it is mine to tell you. She seems to think there are a lot of what she calls Baby Boomers who will say, ‘Been there, done that and no thanks, I don’t want the T Shirt.’

Momma and WonderBoy are much kinder teachers than the teacher from H-E-Double Hockey Sticks. They are never sarcastic but they do laugh at me, sometimes. — Momma and Wonder Boy are much kinder teachers than the teacher from H-E-Double Hockey Sticks. They are never sarcastic but they do laugh at me, sometimes.

In the good old days, all adults just pitched in and made sure kids behaved the way they wanted their own to act. Maybe it was the threat of corporal punishment but no one dared sass back. You bit your tongues and listened, especially to your teachers who put up with students every day, week in and week out.

However there was one teacher (isn’t there always), who no one ever forgets. She was small in stature but made up for it in her ability to keep students on their toes, by being relentlessly unforgiving if she caught them drifting off to dreamland, rather than being present, feet on the floor, head out of the clouds. She actually expected students to be connected to the subject at hand, (Geography in her case) while in her classroom. Momma tried to mind her p and q’s, concentrate, come up with the correct answer but out of the blue, like a snapping turtle, the teacher would attack, centering Momma out for admonishment.

A blankmap - a.k.a.Geography Class Torture. From Morguefile.com MAPS_earth-map.jpgBy Prawny — The dreaded blank map – a.k.a.Geography Class Torture.
From Morguefile.com
MAPS_earth-map.jpgBy Prawny

Pity the student she brought up to the front, handed him or her a pointer and asked where, say Burma was. If the student pointed to the incorrect place (purely by accident), in a most irritating, sarcastic voice she would say, ‘Don’t tell me. Burma must have moved. Strange they are not talking about it on the news.’ The poor student would turn every shade of red as their fellow students tittered.

It is not hard to believe that this kind of walking on egg shells approach, makes one at the top of their game. Hey, everyone wanted to do well. That is why Momma would be so disappointed at the results of the exams when she got them back. Although it would be a passing grade, the teacher From H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks would routinely mark questions that were correct, wrong, and deduct points accordingly. One day after class Momma went up and asked her teacher about it. Putting on her sweetest smile the teacher would say, ‘You know what, Quite Contrary, you are correct. I’ll just mark it in my ledger and next exam, I’ll add the marks on to your score.’

The Mark Ledger where you were measured against your peers. From Morguefile.com a oct nov 036a.jpgBy jdurham — The Mark Ledger where you were measured against your peers.
From Morguefile.com
a oct nov 036a.jpgBy jdurham

Momma would look at her like she had two heads. The next exam would not even be marked by her. It would be sent to a central marking location to ensure provincial marking was uniform.

Momma wrote her final exam and waited for the results which came by mail. She could not believe it. She had got one mark less than the highest score for all of the geography exams written that year in her province. Momma and the teacher’s favorite student, even got an acknowledgement from Board of Education, because they got the top scores in the province (which rightfully made the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks teacher look good).

In reflection, did the teacher from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks very perversity cause students to dig deeper, go further? Did she see something in Momma’s personality that made her need to challenge her to get the best performance? Was the teacher as devious as Delilah or as Wise as Solomon?

You probably are saying, ‘whatever’. Momma would never have to see her after high school. You would be wrong. The teacher from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks decided, since she thought so much of Momma’s parents, (translation – Grandpapa) she would not only move to the same city but buy a condo in the same building. Momma saw her all the time at unplanned / unsolicited drop bys, at the nearby mall where everyone shopped, at family meals, at the teachers’ place, and even at Momma’s place. However, the teacher from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks was now on Momma’s team all the way, mostly because Momma’s son, Wonder Boy was intelligent, perfect in every way, as well as the best looking boy the teacher ever knew. No one knows how someone as hopeless as Momma (in the teacher’s eyes), ever managed to have such a remarkable kid.

All these years later and Momma will tell you, if she is talking teachers with those she went to school with, it always comes round to the teacher from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks. Whatever methods she used, you can bet, she will never be forgotten.

All in all, it’s just another brick in the wall.

It’s All In The Game

I got to tell you this story about Momma because you know we are all a part of and a result of, this massive puzzle of life.

The Puzzle of Life where we either fit or don't fit (til you find your very own missing pieces. From Morguefile.com Puzzle.jpgBy FidlerJan — The Puzzle of Life where we either fit or don’t fit (til you find your very own missing pieces).
From Morguefile.com
Puzzle.jpgBy FidlerJan

So by now you know Daddy and Momma (who has no sense of direction) had been around the block, well, at least twice. So let me tell you Momma’s odyssey of finding Daddy in the Cardiac Care Unit (aka CCU) at The Big Smoke Cardiac Hospital.

The ambulance from the local hospital delivered Daddy to CCU so Momma had no clue where to start, except a room number that any reasonably functioning brain could find…..you’d think! But first, Information told her that she had to get the elevators that took her to the Cardiac Floor. Security said, ‘No, not these elevators, take a left, pass two entrances, take the third elevators to your right. Follow the yellow foot prints on the floor till you find a CCU Waiting Room.’ Sounded simple enough. How could anyone go wrong?

Well, it seemed the Security Guard couldn’t count or maybe, he said three doors. Finally, Momma found the elevators, went to the correct floor, followed the yellow foot prints…till they suddenly stopped, in the middle of what, from the stillness, might have been the morgue. There was no one, anywhere, just rows of doors, no numbers and no names. Five or ten minutes later (Scout’s honour) a door opened, out came two orderlies, chatting away, oblivious to the fact they were pushing a freshly toe tagged corpse. When Momma asked for help, she was so unnerved, she barely concentrated on their response. Surely they did not mean to send her to another hallway that definitely looked like mankind had been swooped off to some unknown dimension. Momma went north and south, east and west, zigzagged left, right, forward, backwards till she ended up in the same spot where she had seen the orderlies.

Shining floor, deserted hallways. Where do you go from here? From Morguefile.com IMG_2999.JPGBy ArielleJay — Shining floor, deserted hallways. Where do you go from here?
From Morguefile.com
IMG_2999.JPGBy ArielleJay

Finally, like a mirage in the desert, a Volunteer appeared. He delivered Momma to the CCU Waiting Room (hey, the yellow footprints on the floor had reappeared, like a path in the Wizard of Oz.)

Let me tell you about Momma’s interpretation of the CCU Waiting Room. First line up, wait your turn. Spell your name, then the patients’ name. They look at you suspiciously, check with his nurse. They instruct you to take a seat. The nurses must always delay entrance by ‘preparing’ the patient, call back, give entry consent. Therefore many Visitors are lulled by the monotony of the long, dastardly hard waits, by playing the Waiting Room Game, I-Got–the–Sickest–Loved–One.’

There were rules to follow: 1) Everyone must participate. It was bad manners to do otherwise. 2) Everyone must fully commiserate with the strangers in their midst. 3) When your loved suffered a crisis, you must dish out the details so the listeners could recall about the battles fought and won by their loved ones.

Finally her name was called. Momma went in to visit Daddy. She pushed open the door to find a nurses’ station in the centre, a massive beeping computer monitoring system manned by nurses, interns, doctors from cardiologists to surgeons just ready, set, go for the next emergency. As Momma sat down she got a good view of the unit across from Daddy’s. Everything was identical. Hospital bed with a wan, semi-comatose patient, CHECK; monitors, tangled IV’s, CHECK; computer to left of patients bed so doctors had history, present condition, and test results at their finger tips, CHECK; television, mounted on wall to alleviate pondering their condition should patient actually wake up, CHECK and of course, the signature Crash Cart at the bottom of the bed, just in case the patient flat lined and need a little persuading to return to Planet Earth. CHECK.

Momma did not even have her book out to start reading when it happened. All of a sudden there were beeps, bells and whistles going off, like one of those Lottery Terminals. In came the doctors, in came the nurses, and in came the lady with the big fat purse. Momma was hustled out the unit to contemplate what she could have done that caused such a commotion. Would they think she was a toxic wife with a Munchausen Syndrome and ban her from in inner sanctum? She sat in a corner, eyes on book to avoid questions.

Five minutes later the door opened and just Momma’s luck, the visitor of the patient in the unit across from Hubby came in. He asked, ‘How is your husband?’ Momma was like a deer caught in the headlights. He went on in a pragmatic yet been-there-done-that’ way, ‘You understand he just flat lined, don’t you?’

Now this caught the ears of all the players of I-Got–the–Sickest–Loved–One. Momma had broken the cardinal rule. She had not shared all so the other visitors could trot out the glory days of their loved ones. Momma felt like a traitor, Peter denying he knew Jesus. She mumbled something, grabbed her purse and took the elevator to the Ground Level and went for a walk outside to sit on one of the benches in front of Legislative Assembly of Ontario, you know, where Premier Dad used to have a job. Nothing much is ever accomplished by the politicians at Queen’s Park, or the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa or even in Washington, DC anyway, according to the daily newspapers.

Older, wiser, still fun Momma & RIP Daddy

Yeah, your right! My Momma and RIP Daddy lived through some ‘been there, done that‘ experiences. It only seems or seemed to strengthen their ability to find the humor hidden along the way because, everyone has some stories they are hauling from Yesterday to Today to Eternity.’

Those Were the Days

Those were the days, said the Baby Boomers. When Men were Men and principals (and most parents) believed in Corporal (not Capital) Punishment.

School desks. Fr:Morguefile By:Sgarton — School desks. Fr: Morguefile By: Sgarton

And by the very power invested in them, back in the 50’s and 60’s, the school principal had been assigned the duty to carry out corporal punishment by the school board, with the parents’ consent in order to make certain that the students who passed through their hands turned in to outstanding citizens, at some future date. If that was their mandate, by God some of those law-abiding, go by the Good Book principals, would comply, come hell or high water.

Enter Mr. Spare-the-Rod-and-Spoil-the-Child. Momma said they all lived in fear of him, except for a First-Cousin-Twice-Removed. Cousin, who was maybe ten years old at the time, absolutely lived to torment that poor man. The principal, after all, was only trying to fulfill what he had signed on for.

Now you could be sent to the principal’s office for a multitude of inconsequential actions as well as what side of the bed your teacher got up on. Your first office visit, Mr. Spare-the-Rod-and-Spoil-the Child counseled you, the second time, maybe a cuff in the ear to get you listening to him, but the third time through his door and if you were unfortunate enough to have been born a boy, you were guaranteed a lying on of the leather, a good strapping.

One day, Momma had the misfortune to ask for permission to use the facilities, when First-Cousin-Twice-Removed came running, no, thundering, down the hall, big grin on his face, yelling, ‘Catch me if you can’, Mr. Spare-the-Rod-and-Spoil-the-Child, in hot pursuit.

I swear, Cousin even slowed down so the principal could catch up with him. Mr. Spare-the-Rod-and-Spoil-the-Child, was a lot bigger and meaner than Cousin. He grabbed Cousin in his arms to take him to his office to finish his just reward. In a flash, Cousin had grabbed both ends of the principals’ tie and was strangling the poor man. As his face turned every colour in the rainbow, he tossed First-Cousin-Twice-Removed to the floor, sat on his chest, pummeling him with his fists. Once he had gained control, he dragged Cousin up the long hallway, in to his office, slammed the door and probably beat the bejeebers out of Cousin, if the wailing we heard accounted for anything.

We never knew for sure because First-Cousin-Twice-Removed never was a “kiss and tell” sort and he in no way held it against the man – just a case of, “You do your thing, and I’ll do mine”. Incidents such as these probably turn into a forgotten memory that make weaker folk end up on a shrinks’ couch. Well, at least, in today’s world, it is good for the economy.

Momma heard Mr. Spare-the-Rod-and-Spoil-the-Child meted out punishment to a son of a prominent citizen who felt they were doing a fine job of bringing up their kids, and did not need his help. The end result was Mr. Spare-the-Rod-and-Spoil-the-Child was encouraged to leave and he did, although he came back about ten years later, less punitive (maybe medicated??) but still largely feared since his snapping point was so unpredictable.

Yes, we had many principals, some wise, some well versed in child psychology and able to mentor us into what we have become today. One of them would make boys burn excess energy by running laps, rather than using straps. It was a self punish for unacceptable behavior.

Those were the days....From: Morguefile By: Seemann — Those were the days….From: Morguefile By: Seemann

Yet I tell you, First-Cousin-Twice-Removed turned out very well indeed and maybe some of it was because of the attention Mr. Spare-the-Rod-and-Spoil-the-Child gave him. And I can’t say for sure, but Momma was told the prominent citizens’ son made a complete bullocks of his life, so maybe they too could have used Mr. Spare-the-Rod-and-Spoil-the-Child’s help.

I’m no shrink, I am just saying……..who knows for sure?

Till the Cows Come Home

See Diva Gen willing Jakita to wake up. It appears Ruby and Tigger are asleep, as well.

No, no, say it’s not so, it can not be morning already! Didn’t I just fall asleep? Waking up is hard to do. Momma, please turn off the bedside lamp. Gen, stop being so positively Unbreakable Kimmy, even if we girls are as tough as h…ll.…I can not take a cheer leading Rah! Rah! Never Say Die Attitude in the morning. I am grumpy. Let your Leader Sleep. No fair, no grooming me. You know how I like that stuff. Between you and Momma, it is hard for a dog to get the rest she deserves. I drift back to sleep remembering my dream so like a story Momma told me.

Now Momma really did not live on a farm when she was a kid. I mean, can you count some hens, a couple of cows and a pig (sometimes), a farm? The hens were just a nuisance, although, Momma could abide them when they were peeping chicks or they laid an egg in the nest for her to find.

But what is it about cows? Momma could not connect with them. Even when she tried to bribe them with fresh clover as a treat, they would chew their cud and flick their tails in disdain, at her feeble attempts to nurture them. Getting them to move was like dancing with a Douglas Fir Tree. They went when and where they wanted, at their own pace. And so behind their backs Momma called our two cows, Bossy and Pansy, Dim and Dimmer.

Maybe it was Momma. Maybe they saw her sitting on the fence, admiring the neighbors’ sheep and horses who contributed nothing to her well-being. The cows felt under appreciated. They gave their milk, from which came cream, yummy homemade ice cream, and butter. In return, Momma gave them attitude. However, no matter how many times Momma looked in their eyes, set so far apart, they always appeared devoid of any emotion, unreachable by human contact.

Momma would sit on the fence, mezmerised by the horses grazing in tandem. — Momma would sit on the fence, mesmerized by the horses grazing in the grass, (such a gas) in tandem.

Another thing, it seemed nigh to impossible to keep those two cows in a paddock. They lived for the Great Escape to Greener Pastures. Or maybe Grandpapa bought the wrong color cow lick…if it was a blue; they went in search of a pink cow lick…or was it the other way around? Whatever it was, Momma could not tell you how many times she and her Sister would go out to the field, to take them back to the Halfway Brook for water and they’d be, like Gone. Baby. Gone!

Now, they were big, they were clumsy, how they got the fence knocked down and plodded down the long gateway, without anyone noticing, is still a mystery. But they would be off, roaming across the two lane highway, with cars, swerving to the left, to the right, to the centre, to avoid them. I mean, who wanted to tango with a full-grown cow. Imagine the damage to the car, not even taking into consideration that it might be the driver’s unplanned ticket to the Pearly Gates. When Bossy and Pansy turned into Runaways, bent on a Suicide Mission, Momma’s family would invariably hear car horns, and someone yelling, “Sacre Bleu, Tabernac”, so they would head in that direction to round them up and bring them home, dragging their tails behind them. On other occasions, the cows went to the woods, ending up catching their horns on the thickets. Their continuous ‘Moo’ was a great GPS locator. More often than not, they took the back road to the alley and plodded on, stopping for an occasional feed of grass, to sustain them along the way.

Momma says this is the one of the days Pansy (middle front) and Daisy ran away, taking the neighbor's cows with them. From Morguefile.com DSCF9355.JPGBy milza abc03.jpgBy inkogutto — Momma says this is the one of the days Bossy (middle front) and Pansy (right) ran away, taking the neighbor’s cow with them. **Dim and Dimmer’s Great Escape.**
From Morguefile.com
DSCF9355.JPGBy milza
abc03.jpgBy inkogutto

The only thing Momma liked about cows was the possibility of a calf. Now Bossy was a good-looking orange brown cow but all the years of battling to load her in the truck, getting her in to the Bull’s pasture, was just for naught. She was just so ornery that no bull, even on Viagra, was getting close to her. Pansy was smaller, more even-tempered, a black and white cow with pansy shaped splotches. She stepped smartly in to the truck, let the bull do his thing, once she was in his field and came back with calf.

At Pansy’s first twinge of labor pain, instead of going back to the barn, she managed to jump a fence and took off, deep into the forest. She had not been anticipating the kind of pain that this particular birthing caused. Once Momma’s family saw she was missing, the search was on. Poor Pansy was too weak to moo. After two days of searching, she was located, laying down in a clearing, dwarfed by massive trees, chewing her cud, a set of twin calves, one moving around on unsteady legs, the other no longer living, by her side.

It was quite the ordeal to get Pansy back to the barn and interested enough to let her calf, Willie, suckle. Since the Local Farmer‘s Bull who serviced the neighbor hood cows, was getting up there in years, Willie was sold to the Farmer once he was old enough, to continue the ‘family’ business. Also, it was decided that Pansy would be retired – no more trysts with the Bull. Pansy had more than earned her keep.

One day Momma’s parents decided to just give up the farm. There would be no more melt in your mouth, egg yellow, rich homemade to-die-for ice cream. That ended the day the hens, the (sometimes) pig, along with Bossy and Pansy were put out to pasture, to live happily ever after in the green field at the Local Farmers’ homestead.

Born to annoy, nip at your heels, herd... honestly.... — Born to annoy, nip at your heels, herd… honestly….

You know, I could have herded those cows for Momma. I got a way with cows (and hens). Like Lady Ga Ga, I was born that way! I long to get back to my roots to visit an Animal Farm and outfox all those in subordinates. I’m game, as long as it is not before nine o’clock in the morning!