I'm sure many of you have suspected that some day the men in the white coats would come for me. On the second weekend of last month it happened. Four men, wearing white coats, and may I add, exceedingly dapper, knocked at my door. They were carrying a long stemmed red rose and asked to come in. What could I do, a lonely female? Of course. I let them in. They were from the Sacramento branch of SPEBSQA (Society for the Preservation and Encouragement of Barbershop Quartet Singing in America). They sang two Valentine appropriate songs, then offered to sing their entire repertoire, but when I didn't seem to have much to offer for supper, they admitted they were newly formed and had only a few numbers. They were really nice guys, who threw in some hugs as well as the music. It was a Valentine gift from Norm (who was one of the four) and Betty Carol, who are active Barber Shoppers and knew I had been a member of the Sacramento Sweet Adelines fifty years ago.

Early last month my computer was in the shop for a week. I vacillated between being lost and being surprised at how many postponed projects I had the time to tackle. It makes no sense to be so dependent for fulfillment on something that hadn't even entered my life for the first eighty years. In the depths of my deprivation, I started thinking about the "necessities" of today's living that didn't exist in my earlier days.

The phone is the only one that has been ever-present. However, it has certainly evolved from those days. My first phone memory is of the wooden "box" on the wall of the sunroom. A chair was placed under it so I could climb up to reach it. I was five years old. To call out, you vigorously turned the crank to get the operator's attention. I liked that part. My father was upstairs, near death, with diphtheria, and my mother was up there, also, as his nurse. It was my task to answer phone inquiries, as well as take messages from the wonderful women who daily brought food. I met them at the fence and carefully carried in their offerings. It was a lot of responsibility for a pre-schooler. My dad was laid up for 13 weeks and, during the quarantine period, I was alone most of the time while my mother took every precaution to keep me from getting infected.

We still had that type of phone into the thirties. Our number could have been 56, or maybe as high as 126. To place a call, I'd crank the phone and when the operator answered, it could go something like this, "Hello Lois. Can you connect me with Myrtle? Oh, she's gone to the dentist. Could you please give me a buzz when she gets back? How's Maude? Is she home yet from the hospital?" etc. etc. We didn't need answering machines. We had party lines. If we were gone a few hours, as soon as we'd arrive home, there would be a call. "Darlys, this is Lucy. I saw you drive by on your way home. Agnes is trying to get hold of you. I think she's going to invite you to a shower for Beulah and Bud." The party phone balanced the lack of a town newspaper.

The first long distance call I personally received came the year I was seventeen, when I was home from college for Christmas vacation. I'd already gone to bed when my father hurried up the stairs to summon me to the phone. It was a call from Virginia, made by a college student on whom I had a crush. Hearing from him so personally put me on cloud nine. He did ask me not to tell his parents he'd called. My father checked to see what the call had cost, and it was astronomical for those times. I knew EKG was putting himself through school on a shoestring, so couldn't believe he had spent that kind of money. All too soon, I needed a parachute to come down out of the stratosphere. I learned he had been spending Christmas with his roommate, whose girlfriend worked for the phone company. She had offered to bootleg a Christmas call to California and he wasn't sure his parents would approve, so called me. Oh well, it was a great temporary "high."

The cell phone has increased our "busy-ness." Now, we can't even meditate as we drive or walk. It has plenty of good points, but is overboard. The Finns, whose technology in that area has been leading edge, claim their babies are born with a cell phone in their hands.

We always had electricity in our home, but I have experienced living without. We spent weekends at George's family's ranch, and at that time it was too expensive to bring the lines that far. I would repeatedly walk from a lamp-lit room and forget to take a lamp with me. The non-existent light switch in the next room just didn't work.

My family had indoor plumbing by the time I arrived. However, George and I once rented a small house with one bedroom and path. The path led to a two seater out back ... the one which had a resident black widow spider under the seat. As I'd mentioned in an earlier 2nd Wind, that did more for hasty elimination than Ex Lax could ever achieve. As a joke, we hung an outdated Montgomery Ward Catalogue on the wall, but we did have regular toilet paper available. I have, however, experienced having to use catalogue pages. I don't recommend the colored ones. They're too slick to accomplish the task at hand, so to speak.

My first memory of an automobile was a ride home from having had a tonsillectomy. Some kind, and affluent, parishioner had offered transportation. I don't remember the tonsil part, but I have a mental picture of me, between three and four years old, on my father's lap, in the back seat of the car. Our own first auto came four or five years later...a second hand 1921 Dodge touring car. The gear shift was in reverse of the present day "four on the floor." I started driving it at nine, and in it we crossed the country in 1925. The "highways" were mostly by-ways.

The first phonograph I saw played wax cylinders and had the big amplifying horn seen in the early Victor ads. An old maid and her two bachelor brothers, who lived across the street, obviously enjoyed children, and allowed a five year old Darlys to not only crank the phonograph, but to change the cylinders. Later we bought a cabinet model which had an arm with two different heads. It could play the thick 78 RPM Edison records, then the arm could be flipped over to play the new thinner records. Among the records we chose were several Fritz Kreisler selections. I'm sure they influenced me in my choice of the violin for my first orchestral instrument. After those first cylinders came 78 RPM, 45 RPM, long play, CD, DVD and probably some I've forgotten...each one enough better to persuade us to dump our old collection and start over.

Soon after our first phonograph, still in the twenties, a barnstormer came to town offering airplane rides. I think he charged $5. That was big money then. My father had been fascinated with the idea of flying, but he bought a ticket, then handed it to me. He never did get a plane ride. I'd so much like to re-live that day and have him be the one to take flight. My turn was coming later.

Our first radio was purchased in the late twenties. My father slipped out of a meeting early and when Mama and I arrived home, the living room was dark, but there was a glow in one corner and someone was talking. We were definitely surprised. We spent the first few days "surfing," notebook ready to record the stations. To hear a voice from Chicago or New York was unbelievably exciting.

You've certainly realized by now that not much of news value has occurred here this month. Whenever that happens, you are subjected to my reminiscing. Maybe there will be more excitement locally before I write again. If not, this history of "necessities" may continue. After all, I only got as far as the twenties. Until then, mourn a little for the "good old days," but really appreciate the blessings of NOW.

            Love,    Darlys

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    A husband and wife are getting ready for bed. The wife is standing in front of a full-length mirror taking a hard look at herself. "You know, dear," she says, "I look in the mirror, and I see an old woman. My face is all wrinkled, my hair is grey, my shoulders are hunched over, I've got fat legs, and my arms are flabby." She turns to her husband and says, "Tell me something positive to make me feel better about myself." He studies hard for a moment, thinking about it, and then says in a soft, thoughtful voice, "Well, there's nothing wrong with your eyesight."

    I was in the express lane at the store quietly fuming. Completely ignoring the sign, the woman ahead of me had slipped into the check-out line pushing a cart piled high with groceries. Imagine my delight when the cashier beckoned the woman to come forward looked into the cart and asked sweetly, "So which six items would you like to buy?" Wouldn't it be great if that happened more often?!!!

    A college drama group presented a play in which one character would stand on a trap door and announce, "I descend into hell!" A stagehand below would then pull a rope, the trapdoor would spring, and the actor would drop from view. The play was well received. When the actor playing the part became ill, another actor who was quite overweight took his place. When the new actor announced, "I descend into hell!" the stagehand pulled the rope, and the actor began his plunge, but became hopelessly stuck. No amount of tugging on the rope could make him descend. A student in the balcony jumped up and yelled: "Hallelujah! Hell is full!"

    I'd barely sat down in the rest room stall when I heard a voice from the other side of the partition, "Hi, how are you?" I'm not the type to start a conversation under those circumstances but I did answer, somewhat embarrassed, "O.K.!" The other person said, "So what are you up to?" What kind of question was that? At that point, I was thinking, "This is too bizarre, " so I said, "Uhhh, the same as you, it seems!" By then, I was just trying to get out as fast as I could when I heard another question. "Can I come over?" O.K., that question was just too weird for me, and I figured I'd better politely end the conversation. I answered, "No...I'm a little busy right now!!!" Then I heard the person say nervously ...."Listen, I'll have to call you back. There's an idiot in the other stall who keeps answering all my questions."

    Did you ever notice: When you put the 2 words "The" and "IRS" together it spells "theirs"

    A mechanic was removing a cylinder head from the motor of a Harley motorcycle when he spotted a well-known heart surgeon in his shop. The surgeon was there waiting for the service manager to come take a look at his bike. The mechanic shouted across the garage, "Hey, Doc, can I ask you a question?" The surgeon, a bit surprised, walked over to the mechanic working on the motorcycle. The mechanic straightened up, wiped his hands on a rag and asked, "So Doc, look at this engine. I open its heart, take valves out, fix 'em, put 'em back in, and when I finish, it works just like new. So how come I get such a small salary and you get a really big one, when you and I are doing basically the same work?" The surgeon paused, smiled and leaned over, and whispered to the mechanic..."Try doing it with the engine running."

2005 2nd Wind Issue Index