ROLLER SKATES—AND KEYS

Last Sunday I was watching the Signed, Sealed, and Delivered marathon and on one of the issues they were singing a song with these words:  I’ve got a brand-new pair of roller skates, you have a brand-new key…

Now I have to admit that it has been awhile since I last roller skated.  And I don’t know much about today’s skates.  I do not know if they need a key.  If they don’t, I got to wondering if today’s youth even knew what those words meant.  But they took me back to my childhood and the skates I used to have…and the key that went with them.

Once you got your skates (often as a “special” birthday or Christmas gift—or more likely handed down from an older brother, sister, or cousin), they were yours throughout your skating lifetime. 

Our skates were a two-piece, all-metal affair without a “boot” attached to them.  That’s because they were worn on the outside of your own shoes, were completely adjustable, and long-lasting.

All because of the key. 

Each of these two pieces had a set of wheels situated near the toe and heel ends, and were held together with a pair of bars.  If I remember correctly, the bars had rounded sides and slid inside each other with the flat side against the skate.  These bars had a slit in them for a short bolt to fit through.  Its nut rested underneath the skate between the edges of the bar.  This made them adjustable in length.  The toe piece of the skate had two clamps—one for each side of your shoe—that fit about level with the base joint of your big toe and your little toe.  Underneath the skate, holding these clamps was a screw that had a square end.  The back end of the skate had a metal piece about an inch high with slits on either side.  It was shaped in a curve to accommodate your heel and keep your foot in place.  A flat leather strap was threaded through the back and around your ankle, like a belt, to keep your foot in place.

The key was vital to making your skates fit.  At one end of the key was a hexagonal opening that fit over the nut and tightened it at the length needed for a good fit.  It was also a convenient place to put a long string or leather thong so you could hang the key around your neck, in case you needed it.  The other end was a square opening that fit over the screw for the clamps, so the clamps could be snugged against your shoe while skating, and loosened when you were done.  The middle of the key was wing shape to make it easier to tighten or loosen the clamps.

Since we lived in the city, there were cement sidewalks where we could skate for hours.  And there was always our favorite playground, the road, where we could skate, too.  A chore our mothers often gave us was to run to the neighborhood grocery store for a loaf of bread or something else needed for the next meal.  It was fun going on our skates.  It depended on which grocery store we went to whether we skated up a hill and then sailed back home, or sailed on the way to the store and skated up the hill coming home.  Our town had so many hills that wherever you went, you went either up or down!

I preferred to go to the store that was down the hill.  You see, all the sidewalks we skated on had a full, dull sound.  But the house at the bottom of the hill, after you turned towards the store, had a sidewalk with such an interesting hollow sound.  I never could figure why it sounded that way, ‘specially since the cement seemed just a solid as the other sidewalks.

Every once-in-a-while we were able to spend a Saturday at the roller rink, an indoor skating rink.  However, we were not allowed to use our street skates there.  We had to rent their skates with the wooden wheels which were supposed to be kinder to their polished wooden floors.  Our metal wheels might have dents or imbedded something-or-other in them which might damage the rink’s floor.

These skates were the luxury skates, because they had boots on their wheels.  As times got better and finances became easier it became the “in” thing to have your own skates for the rink.  In our teen years, it just wasn’t “cool” to skate outdoors anymore.  So often, under the Christmas tree, there was a box holding a pair of booted “rink” skates.  These came at a time when our feet did very little growing, so it wasn’t necessary to buy multiple pair to keep up with changing foot sizes.

For me, like for most of my friends, high school graduation pretty well ended our skating careers.  Once in a while I would take our kids and go skating.  In our area, rinks came and went, as it didn’t seem to be a lucrative business.

By the time skating rinks were “back in” again, it was the grandchildren I was skating with.  By this time, rinks were no longer allowing wooden rollers on their floors.  Since wooden wheels had become the norm for street skates, rink wheels had progressed to neoprene, or some other newer product.  And although the skates still had four wheels, they were now in a straight line instead of on four corners.  The last time this old lady went skating, she barely was able to keep her balance, even though the rink owner had a supply of old-fashioned non-inline skates.

I am content to leave the joys of roller skating to the younger crowds, as it should be.  But I shall forever keep the fond memories of my youth’s skates—and their keys. 

What about you?  What are your fond memories of roller skating?   

WITH IMPROVEMENTS, WE NEED WISDOM

Today one of my friends told me she had been in an accident.  Snow?  No.  Icy Roads?  Nope.  A snow white-out?  No.  Although all these could have been a possibility, the problem was not due to this winter weather we are having full-blast; the problem was due to texting.

We have come a long way in our written communications. 

When I was a kid, all we had around the house to use to write a note was a pencil or pen and a piece of paper.  However, other than writing letters which I mailed, I do not remember leaving notes for any of my family. 

My mother was a stay-at-home Mom, so if I wanted to go anywhere, all I had to do was ask, and if permitted, then go.  If Mom needed us for any reason, she usually opened the door and yelled for us (yes, Mothers used to use their vocal chords and yelled outdoors if they wanted one of their kids.)  

When we heard them, we knew we had better get home, it was something important.  When my children went out to play, they could roam the neighborhood as long as they did not go out of the range of my voice.  If they did not come shortly after being called, it spelled TROUBLE!)

Back to when I was a kid.  Our neighbors had the niftiest “message center.”  It was their enamel kitchen table.  No, their mother did not work, either, but the older kids were constantly on the go, so when something needed said or done, it was written onto the kitchen table with a pencil.  All it took to erase it was a wet rag and some soap or a little cleanser.

I remember the day we moved up to a typewriter.  My oldest sister was taking typing in high school, so to help her out, my mom and dad got us a typewriter.  No, it wasn’t a brand new fancy thing.  And it was a used one, but it was magic!   Of course, we all wanted to type on it, but we had to take turns.  After all Barb, the oldest of we three, being in high school and needing to practice, had dibs.  Then I had to wait till Margie, the middle child and the one in junior high, did what she needed to do.  I, a lowly grade-schooler came last.  But that was okay, I had other things to do.  But I did get my chances to use the typewriter, too, for we had it many years.  

What kind was it?  I think it was a manual Underwood.  Have you ever watched the TV program, Murder She Wrote?  Well the typewriter Jessica uses on her kitchen table is exactly what ours looked like.  And it took some effort to hit those keys hard enough to press through the carbon ribbon and leave an imprint on the paper.  Between typing and piano playing, my fingers became very strong!

If you think the typing was hard, try correcting any errors.  It was such a chore—especially if you were typing in duplicate (that means using carbon paper), cause you had to hand erase the error, on both copies individually, and try not to smudge them.  And if you wanted to change a whole sentence, that meant you needed to put in fresh paper and begin all over.  It took some doing to get that first error-free homework paper done, believe-you-me.

About the time I was in high school, we got a newer model of typewriter.  It was still a manual (that means it took finger power, not electricity to make it work), but it was much more compact and easier to use, not to mention lighter to move.

When we got married, my husband had his very own typewriter.  It had its own carrying case and was probably mid-sized between Jessica’s typewriter and the one we now had had at home.  But it was so easy to put in its case and carry from place to place, including from one destination across town to another.  And often, I just opened it and left it in its case to use.

I do not actually remember when I first got to use an electric typewriter.  However, I do remember how easy it was to press a key to get it to print.  I think I had a hard time getting one letter at a time, because if you hit the key too hard, or hold it too long, you would get duplicate letters.  Since I was used to the old manual typing, my first electric typing looked something like this:  FFFFouurrr ssscorrre and sevvven yearrrs aaaago…  Kind of hard to read, huh?  I wasted a lot of paper learning 

Then came the day of the computer.  Oh, how often I have thanked our dear Heavenly Father for this invention!  You do not have to press hard to type, it is so easy to correct a mistake, if you want to move a sentence from one section to another you can do it without typing everything all over again, and if you want to make a copy you can tell it to instruct the printer to make two or a hundred.  WOW! 

You don’t even need to keep paper copies in files, unless you want to.  Of course, to save it on your computer, it helps if you remember to save your work as you go and definitely before you accidently hit a wrong key and lose it or shut off your computer.  Something I sometimes have a hard time remembering.

We not only don’t need filing cabinets, we don’t need dictionaries.  The computer will tell us if we have spelled something wrong.  Of course, it what we wrote was a legitimate word, unless we use it incorrectly in a sentence and get “told on” by the computer, we can find spelling errors on checking our work.  But these errors are still easier to change…and print.

So far, so good.  These new inventions do not take either much wisdom or self control to use.  If we do need to write and print something, we have a marvelous way to do it.  However, I am not so sure the newest way to send messages is the best.  Oh, not because there is anything wrong with the invention, but the human element involved.

The invention?  Texting.

Cell phones, although I will tell you up front I hate them, have changed our world.  But I am not sure for the better.  Oh, it’s not the cell phone I doubt, it is the intelligence of the human race.  I will gripe about this at some other time, what we are talking about today is the texting angle of the thing. 

I do have to agree that it is handy-dandy for what it was meant for.  If I cannot connect with someone I have phoned, I used to have to keep calling back until I got them to be able to tell them something, or I had to send them a message via mail or computer e-mail.  Now I can leave either a voice message or a text message.  (Yes, I have finally learned how, if I don’t forget between use—you know, use it or lose it applies to texting, too.)

The problem is some humans just do not believe they can live one second if they are not either on a cell phone talking—or texting.  If you are in your own home or space (other than driving your car—a lethal weapon), that’s fine.  If it is important, by all means, again, go for it (of course if you are driving, pull off the road and stop).  But, if you are in a situation where it is neither safe nor convenient, if it is something that can be done later, and definitely does not infringe on anyone else, either their space or SAFETY, control yourself.

It would be a shame for you to cause an accident, like my friend’s where repair is going to be needed on three vehicles because someone crashed into hers and pushed it into another, or you hit a person in a wheelchair in a crosswalk and dump him onto the ground (like what happened here in our town last summer), sending him to the hospital for an extended stay, or you have to live with the fact you committed vehicular homicide by killing someone.  All of this not only has harmed or cost someone else, but also extracts dearly from the one causing the accident while texting.

No, I am not zeroing in on the teenage population.  I have seen too many persons classified as adults indulging in this immature behavior to blame just one age bracket.  Texting while driving should not need to become a police matter, nor a matter for additional laws.  Any policing needing done should be on the shoulders of each individual involved in this act to make sure he or she behaves in a mature, responsible manner for all concerned.

RUBBER PANTS (AND DIAPERS)

I was so surprised the other week when I was walking through WalMart and saw a display for rubber pants in the infant section of their clothing department.  These were the first I’d seen since our children were babies.  Of course, I had very little reason to need these since we finally ended the task of potty-training our children (almost fifty years ago).

For those who have no idea of what I am talking about, let me fill you in.

In my days as a young mother, there was no such things as Pampers—or any other disposable diaper.  Disposable means you have to replace over and over.  Our diapers, once bought, lasted for as long as we needed them, for we used good old fashioned cloth diapers.  There were thin gauze-like diapers similar to the diapers I’ve seen sold in today’s markets.  But the best, more absorbable, and longer lasting, were the flannel diapers.  Through the years I’ve even seen the special diaper pins, but I never saw the rubber pants needed to go with them.

Wet diapers, being what they are—wet diapers—needed some kind of a barrier to protect the laps of those lucky enough to be cuddling the baby when the water works erupted.  That’s where the “rubber pants” came in.  Although, I do not remember them actually being rubber so much as a pliable plastic (which became more rigid with the washings they received).

So when a baby was changed of a wet diaper, we’d just lay him or her out, take off the rubber pants and the wet diaper, and scoot a clean diaper under him.  Of course if the diaper had more of a “discharge” in it than just urine, the step of washing him clean fell in there, too.  Then we would powder him (heaven forbid!  Powder?!  How Barbaric!), pin him up, and put the rubber pants back on.  He was again ready for cuddling, smelling as sweet as babies can smell.

But what did we do with the wet diaper?  Soak it in the diaper pail until the next day when we would wash the diapers—yes in the washing machine.  Of course, if the diaper was soiled, we would dunk it in the toilet to get rid of most, if not all, of the residue and resign it to the diaper pail, too.  How often did we do the task of diaper washing?  Well, it depended on how many diapers we had and how often a clean one was required.

A good supply of cloth diapers was anywhere from four to six dozen.  Where did they come from?  Not only Baby Showers, but a lot of us expectant mothers spent time sewing, knitting, or crocheting things for the little ones comming our way.  The most common diapers were twenty-seven inch squares of hemmed material. 

However, when I was expecting our middle child, my mother saw a “formed” diaper.  She made me a couple and I sewed up several dozen of them.  I do not remember the exact measurements but they were like twelve inches wide and maybe sixteen inches long?  In the middle of the length of both pieces (a front and a back), a half circle, maybe two to two and a half inches deep by four inches long would be cut out to form a crotch and accommodate the legs.  These four half circles were sewn on one of the long pieces in that crotch area with the straight sides together in the middle.  This made it more absorbent.  Then the back and front were sewn together, leaving a space of about two to three inches open to turn the diaper inside out.  (I made sure when I sewed them together that the circles were on the outside so that when it was turned inside out, they would be on the inside.)  Then I sewed the open spotclosed and then all around the diaper about one-quarter inch in from the sides to give it a finished look.  By having the circle sewn on the one side, only, I used that side towards the baby and was able to keep most of any staining on the inside of the diaper and the outside, where people could see, was smooth.  Sometimes, to add variety, I would do the back side (the side not against the baby) in either a color or a print flannel.

These diapers, just like the square diapers, could be folded to adjust to the size of the child, from newborn up.

Washed diapers, just like about everything else at that time, were line-dried, even in the winter!  There was nothing softer than a freeze-dried diaper!  It was also a matter of pride to show the world the Lord had blessed us with a little-one.

Diapers were not only used as diapers!  They were also spit-clothes at burping time, with the formed diapers fitting so nicely at the neck.  What on earth did we do with them after the baby was grown and no longer needed them?

After they were potty-trained, the diapers didn’t lose either their value or their worth.  The nicer looking ones were set aside for the brother or sister we hoped to provide.  And NOTHING makes a better cleaning cloth…especially for shining windows…than an old diaper.     

Cloth diapers were, and still are, expensive.  Even the flannel to make them was somewhat dear.  But I really feel sorry for today’s parents who spend a good hunk of their paychecks for disposable diapers, week after week.  Our cost was a “once” expense.  Yes, we had to spend more time on the care of the baby, if you count the rinsing of the diaper from the diaper pail, the washing, drying, and folding for storage.  But that was time we spent thinking about our new addition, dreaming over what they might become, and praying for their safety and good health.

Enough about the diapers.  Back to the subject of this blog, the rubber pants.

Rubber pants came in many sizes from infants to at least size three, and the sizes, like infant clothing today, usually were the same as the age of the child.  Infant, three month, six month...so a size three was for a three year old.

I remember as a young mother, going into the drug store and seeing a display of rubber pants, and was amazed to see some size three rubber pants for sale.  At that time, babies were started to be potty-trained soon after attaining the age of two, when they were able to stay dry all night.  When progress was being made, training pants replaced diapers during the day, and the chore was usually finished well before the age of three.  So my immediate thought to myself was, What child is not trained prior to being three?

Well, one of mine! 

Our middle child was born in early January.  His sister was due in December, almost three years later.  No matter what I did, I just could not get that boy to comply to my wishes that he use the commode!  I begged his father to let my rebellious one know I was not the only one who was not satisfied with his performance, or lack of it, by giving his a swat on his rear.  And before you start with the cry, “Child brutality,” it was perfectly acceptable, praise the Lord, to discipline a child by using either a hand or a hairbrush, or even a belt on that particular part of a child’s anatomy that God had prepared for that purpose!  (I wish it still were.  Maybe today’s children, and especially those who have to exist with them, would be better off.)  In typical male fashion of that day and age, he ignored me.  It was, after all, part of the wife’s job, to do this particular training of the child.

When I was still in the hospital after the birth of our daughter, (yes, we could stay longer than a couple hours or overnight…usually up to a week.) Jerry came to visit me with a big smile on his face and his chest puffed out.  No, in this instance it wasn’t pride of our daughter.  His big news was that he had potty-trained our son.

I asked him how he was able to do in a couple days what I couldn’t do in almost three years, he replied, “It was simple.  When he dirtied his panties, I gave him a swat on the rear and told him ‘No more.’”  I am so glad he did that, but a whole year after I had asked him to do it?

But, again, what caught my eye with WalMart’s display is that all the rubber pants on that rack were size three!  Our truly needed sizes were infant to three.  Of course, the thoughts of today’s young mothers is that potty-training should not even be started until the age of three, when the child has a better grasp of the whole procedure.  All I can say is, I credit you for having more patience, not to mention MONEY, than we, in our day and age, ever had.