by Dream Hozie
When I was a kid, about 6 years old, around 60 years ago, it was kind of a badge of honor that I could rattle off the names of the different cars when they drove through our neighborhood. It was even more of an impressive feat to know the year the car was made, which I was pretty good at, too. Of course in the U.S. of the 50′s, there were probably less than a dozen carmakers, and maybe only 20 or so model variations. Very few foreign imports came to America then.
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We made up games to entertain ourselves.
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A gallon of gas or a pack of Camel cigarettes were only about 25 cents. A phone call at a phone booth cost 5 cents. So was a Coke.
Something now extinct, along with most phone booths: penny candy. Penny candy was very prevalent. Adults would eat it, but, God, it was just an absolute treat for a kid.
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I wish I had saved some things other than memories. It could have possibly made me more attractive to my heirs.
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The electronic and technical revolution of the last 50 years has changed the way we live. I personally prefer a lot of the progress that time has brought my way. A good central air conditioning unit is much preferred to an open window, or that box fan of my youth. I also enjoy the microwave, TV, cellphone and the Internet.
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When I was a young person we had telephones. Yes. We shared the lines with our neighbors via what was called a party line. To know when the call was for my family, we received 2 short rings. The neighbors knew when a call was for them, when the phone rang with 1 short ring, followed by 1 long ring or two long rings. We had a three-party line. If you heard the phone ring you could pick it up and listen to the conversation of your neighbors and vice-versa.
The honor system was adhered to as a common courtesy most of the time, but juicy morsels could be heard “accidentally on purpose” at times.
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I’m not allowed on Facebook by my children, due to my inability to know where to draw the line when communicating with them via this new mode of party line. Too much private information dispersed to too many people without regard to the sensitive nature of some of the content. I know it is a great way to know about others’ activities, but sometimes there is so much information it’s too much of a good thing.
Like it was recently when I was invited to a crawfish boil in my home state of Louisiana: I enjoyed too much of a good thing.
Crawfish are THE seasonal specialty food.
In the late winter to springtime local inhabitants of southern and central parishes of Louisiana eat crawfish in high regularity and with great enthusiasm.
Many restaurants will have boiled crawfish on their menu during crawfish season. Birthdays and any parties of every kind have crawfish boils to entertain and entice guests to attend.
During the early stage of this season, I had ordered and eaten the three-pound-size portion of crawfish off the menu of a very good restaurant, about three or four times prior to that recent “major” crawfish boil. I had waited over six months; it was a crawfish draught on the menu at this restaurant prior to this season’s orders. When crawfish were back on the menu, I was, well, very happy, and didn’t think I could get enough. Wrong.
The crawfish boil was greatly anticipated. It was conducted by a master crawfish craftsman. Conducted by a crawfish composer. He was a longtime crawfish farmer and is a connoisseur of cooking these mudbugs. Our delicacy: the pick of the litter. As anticipated, it was a great feast. Five bags of select crawfish were correctly seasoned and boiled to perfection for a party of about 20 men, women and children. Everyone was able to eat all they wanted. More than they wanted.
After eating approximately 10 pounds of crawfish, I’ve now made myself sick to even think of any more crawfish this year.
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Like getting the two-for-one margaritas at a Chili’s last year during Memorial Day weekend. After 10 margaritas, I haven’t wanted one since. A sickness and aversion to a once desired drink, now hinders my ability to destroy the bad memory of something I once enjoyed in moderation.
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Too much of a good thing creates callouses on the strings of our heart.
“Too much of a good thing” happens very often even when the original intent is almost always the opposite. Take a little booze and a little pill. Take it to excess.
Knowledge is power, the old saying goes. Power corrupts.
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There is a great reckoning coming.
I don’t have access to the time for each person’s particular time, but it’s best to be ready in case it’s your day today. Scary if you look at it as a negative thing. Great news if you’re ready to see the widow maker.
Uncertainty prevails for the majority of us mere mortals. The violence that is revealed in the news on a daily basis from around the globe gives one pause to rethink our sentiment that we are unique and invincible.
Get a grip, though, and realize the insanity brought about by religion and politics is as old as the cave dwellers.
Smell the roses along life’s path and vote for freedom anytime you get the chance.
Be wary of religious fanatics and power mongers in church and in the government.
The old adage that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely is certainly appropriate in this day and age. So, keep your panties on, get low, and drive hard.
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Like the sand in the desert, my life is being piled up and gobbled by the sands of time. Strewn about and layered with the shifting of the winds that blow across the world that I have inhabited. Some faint memories remain of my youth in pictures that flash occasionally for me to see in my private viewing room.
Particles of life keep their presence only by the words that attach themselves to a memory that is recounted, only in part, and only to remain briefly, before being blown away into the desert of time.
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Spring has sprung in Cottonport, and lawn mowing has begun for me and lots of other folks round about these parts.
It’s amazing how fast nature kicks in growing leaves, flowers, grass, and weeds once the moon, stars and sun line up with the announcement that Spring is here.
I understand it’s still cold, and snow is the order of the day in some of the northern parts of the U.S., but where I live the pollen is flowing pretty thick in the airwaves and new birth is spewing forth for plant and animal life all over the place.
This is the time of year when love is in the air in greater proportion, somebody said. The birds and the bees seem to be holding classes now, as their presence is so ubiquitous these days.
Along with some of the goodness in birth and growth we’re enjoying comes the mosquito and weeds that dampen the process a bit.
Balance is part of the way most things of life work. The good with the bad. Sweet and sour. The yin and the yang.
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Dream Hozie
(11/25/1947 – 09/13/2021)
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