So this morning I turn on my TV to Easy Listening, as always, open the LR blinds, and head to the kitchen to make my coffee. Decide to mop the kitchen floor and wash the rugs. THEN, make the coffee.
Once again, the music takes me away. This time it’s "Grandfather’s Clock." OMG, now that’s one I haven’t heard since . . . wow, a long time.
It was, of course, just one of the many – I thought at the time – silly little dittys we kids sang as we played and ran around the neighborhood.
Grandfather’s Clock, and "It’s Raining, it’s Pouring" , Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Mo, Catch a Tiger By the Toe ( well, some kids sang it different but MY Mom taught me some words are just too ugly and we don’t say them).
And then there were the popular songs of the day – like " Don’t Sit Under the Apple tree," " I’m Looking Over a Four-Leaf Clover," " I’ll Be Seeing You," "White Cliffs of Dover," "When the Lights Come On Again". All those heart-rendering, patriotic, romantic war-time melodies.
Do you remember them too?
My Beautiful Old Detroit Neighborhood. Mostly demolished now. One and a half blocks from my grade school, Grayling Elementary, and two streets over from the State Fair Grounds (where we spent many a summer day – all day – back in those long-ago times of my – can I say– perfect? – childhood.
There was a vacant lot two houses down from my house – just about in the middle of the block – great for playing baseball and kick the can. Of course we all knew the rules – come in when the street lights come on. Often of a summer evening, our parents were visiting back and forth on someone’s front porch. Keeping an ‘eye out’. Every house had a front porch, of course.
Back in those days, after school, or in the summertime when there was no school, we – mostly my (3) girlfriends and I – neighbors all – played together. And this is how it went. You went down the street to your friend’s house and stood on the sidewalk in front of her door – and called her name. (Sing-songy voice required).
Mar – il – lynn . . . (pause) . . . Mar – il – lynn.
Glor – ee – ah . . . . Glor – ee – ah.
Dee – Aaannn
Mare – ree
After one or two calls, the girl would come out to play. Or her mother would come to the door and say, "Marilyn can’t come and play right now."
On the opposite end of the street from the one that led to the school was a huge piece of property. Mostly filled with cinders and dirt. Probably a 4-5 acre piece of land. At the back the land rose about ten feet or so and that’s were the railroad tracks ran. And still do, of course. We spent a lot of time running around that land, sometimes catching frogs or tadpoles in the pools that formed and, god forbid – climbing up and "walking the tracks". Yeah, we did. When I think about that . . .
But that’s enough for today. Don’t want to repeat myself; most of these precious memories have been recorded in my first book, Sarah’s Story (available on Lulu.com--30% discount-- and Amazon.com.)
