One of my memories (that happens to come to mind more often than i wish), was when we passed signs for body shops. I remember askin’ Daddy if that's where u went when u broke your arm or leg n needed a new one. Do u remember the Art Linkletter Show? Kids really DO say some of the funniest things. Its amazin’ how little minds think n reason.
We had a game called roadside whist. Two kids on each side of the car looking for animals and competing for points. Point values ranged from one point for a cow to 100 points for a deer because there were a lot more dairy farms and deer hunters back then. If there was a cemetery on your side of the road all of your animals were buried and you lost all of your points.
Blind curves was a tom boy from her earliest years, even after puberty. A nickname once scorned, she eventually learned to wear proudly, free from spanx and leering men.
For a mom who was an artist and worked for a museum, neither one had an ounce of creativity when it came to traveler games . Perhaps I should call what it was; How to keep your kids from whining , screaming and pinching each other. Besides the license plates from different states, remember that nice tender spot under the arm , opposite the bicep muscle, the triceps in their relaxed position ? Kind of like the blind spot in the rear view mirror, two pincer fingers you never saw coming until it was too late. Shriek! In the end, it was my parents who suffered. Between the pincers and screams, the three of us would take turns whining out these words; “how many more miles?” As if we actually knew how to determine hours from that answer. And when we finally saw road signs signifying , destination ahead! each one of us would fling ourselves with an outstretched hand over the back seat. First kid who touched the windshield yelled out; “I got there before you did”. Jeez, back in the days when we did not wear seatbelts. Your sign game was so much more interesting. Now, I will look at road signs with new eyes and great stories, thinking of you. Hmm, what would David P. write about that one? Slippery Road…
As for the miniature cruelty wars and pinches and whines, believe me, we were not at all immune to these sorts of petty resentments and tortures. There were plenty. But Mom was also more than ready to step in with absoltute, fear-inducing authority, including a slap across the face if we crossed that fine, imaginary line of too much cruelty or complaint. It was complicated... But if I'd made that the story, I doubt those gone missing characters would have gotten their proper due.
When sibling battles turned into seismic occurrences in our home , my mom took out her handy yardstick that lived in the front hall closet. She would threaten us , shaking it back and forth like a child’s wobbly plastic sword. Our cue to run up the stairs and hide in our bedrooms. The ‘kid years’ flew by and one day, dressed in my purposefully ripped kneed bell bottoms and jean shirt, I held my ground mid stair , and grabbed the end of that stick. Hanging on for all I was worth .( at 80lbs. that is saying a lot, I am a powerhouse of 98 now).
Anyways, the ruler never took a step out of that closet again. I was less defiant and mom never needed it. I think looking back on that day, some sort of a current passed through that stick like a lightening rod, harnessing electricity until it dissipates into the ground. I understood.
David, I can’t help thinking you’ve met William Least-Heat Moon along your travels on Blue Highways! My niece, who plays violin in the Naples (FL) Philharmonic Orchestra, sent me her copy of “Blue Highways.” “River Horse” is a somewhat newer book by Heat Moon. As I’m a bit of a gear head, that was a terrific read. My family didn’t travel much for various reasons, but I remember calling out license plates to see who saw the most states. Later, the most car models. Hudson Hornets for one. . Thanks, David, for the blast from the past.
…putting on a comfortable old flannel shirt.” I can’t think of a more apt description, David.
I’m glad to have heard back from you. The “blue highway maps” didn’t shout out “Take the next right, or, Speed limit 70 mph”. We were required to view the map thoughtfully, discern dots of different sizes and colors, and most importantly settle on the route we would utilize. Planning ahead was central to those days.
This occurrence from 1980 offers a humorous illustration of paper maps. My wife and I had a full month to travel from Tallahassee to Appleton, Maine (to visit a dear high school friend and dine on lobster + corn on the cob at roadside stands) as well as Baxter State Park for a week in the back country. Upon finishing that trek we were longing for a shower, a cooked meal, and a soft bed. Having traveled from Appleton we chose to get on I-95 and drive north. The first exit sign displayed an odd mix of letters and numbers? As did the next exit. Designations of Section, Range, and Township! Unpopulated and boding poorly for petrol. A quick huddle with our paper map suggested continuing north to Holton, ME, would meet all our needs. Almost. The two hotels in town were booked up. The first suggested a KOA nearby. The second one indicated if we continued north a bit further we’d surely meet with success. Which we did after clearing the border crossing into Canada! An enterprising fellow had developed lodging and dining from the use of WW II surplus Quonset huts. And we checked in. The owner/proprietor was an older man who was both night clerk and cook…at about 10:30 at night! He asked if we cared for anything to eat (we practically shouted “Yes”) and he offered us menus. He put the cost on our tab. The next morning was a repeat performance. As we ate, more leisurely than the night before, he asked of our plans. Having none he suggested attractions we’d enjoy. Three days on Prince Edward Island, the camp grounds deserted, after the ferry crossing from Cape Tourmantine. Bay of Fundy. (we believed the signs warning of the height of incoming tides!) I thought then, and even today, that our hotelier was a goodwill ambassador for Canada. We found Canadian citizens to be friendlier and far more helpful than average US citizens at that time.
I’ve taken for granted that any of this could be of much interest. All based on Blue Highways. Please consider sharing about your life, adventures and misadventures, as you see fit. All the best.
Gary, if by "I can't help thinking you've met William Least-Heat Moon along your travels..." you mean read his wonderful book, then yes, I have met him, his heart, mind and soul. And reading it was like putting on a comfortable old flannel shirt. It felt like home.
My apologies for taking a few days to get back to you, and my thanks for being offered such a fun reason to get back to you...
What an enjoyable, hilarious ride down memory lane!
"Who’s Falling Rock?... Dangerous Curves...(I hoped Dad knew enough to slow down, and if we ever actually saw her walking along the highway, and to definitely not stop!)... Soft Shoulder... Blind Curves..."
The imagination you developed as a young boy has served you well on Substack. Your posts are original and it's fun to see where you'll take your topic.
Burma Shave signs brought a lot of fun to our travels as kids. In response to Micki Colbeck's comment, one Burma Shave read, "What's wrong with this barn, for an answer you pine, a barn's not a barn without a See Rock City sign."
One of my memories (that happens to come to mind more often than i wish), was when we passed signs for body shops. I remember askin’ Daddy if that's where u went when u broke your arm or leg n needed a new one. Do u remember the Art Linkletter Show? Kids really DO say some of the funniest things. Its amazin’ how little minds think n reason.
We had a game called roadside whist. Two kids on each side of the car looking for animals and competing for points. Point values ranged from one point for a cow to 100 points for a deer because there were a lot more dairy farms and deer hunters back then. If there was a cemetery on your side of the road all of your animals were buried and you lost all of your points.
Oh, man. I love this. The cemetery penalty is epic!
Loved it❣️
Thanks for a nice glimpse from your childhood🤗
You are most welcome, Danyce. Thank you for saying hi...
Blind curves was a tom boy from her earliest years, even after puberty. A nickname once scorned, she eventually learned to wear proudly, free from spanx and leering men.
"...a tomboy, free from Spanx and leering men."
Total badass!
You rock, Kimberly.
Dave you should make this into a book! It make a great light read for everyone> Love the way you write.
You're very kind, Teri. Thank you for such a kind note.
For a mom who was an artist and worked for a museum, neither one had an ounce of creativity when it came to traveler games . Perhaps I should call what it was; How to keep your kids from whining , screaming and pinching each other. Besides the license plates from different states, remember that nice tender spot under the arm , opposite the bicep muscle, the triceps in their relaxed position ? Kind of like the blind spot in the rear view mirror, two pincer fingers you never saw coming until it was too late. Shriek! In the end, it was my parents who suffered. Between the pincers and screams, the three of us would take turns whining out these words; “how many more miles?” As if we actually knew how to determine hours from that answer. And when we finally saw road signs signifying , destination ahead! each one of us would fling ourselves with an outstretched hand over the back seat. First kid who touched the windshield yelled out; “I got there before you did”. Jeez, back in the days when we did not wear seatbelts. Your sign game was so much more interesting. Now, I will look at road signs with new eyes and great stories, thinking of you. Hmm, what would David P. write about that one? Slippery Road…
Slippery road indeed, dear Lor.
As for the miniature cruelty wars and pinches and whines, believe me, we were not at all immune to these sorts of petty resentments and tortures. There were plenty. But Mom was also more than ready to step in with absoltute, fear-inducing authority, including a slap across the face if we crossed that fine, imaginary line of too much cruelty or complaint. It was complicated... But if I'd made that the story, I doubt those gone missing characters would have gotten their proper due.
When sibling battles turned into seismic occurrences in our home , my mom took out her handy yardstick that lived in the front hall closet. She would threaten us , shaking it back and forth like a child’s wobbly plastic sword. Our cue to run up the stairs and hide in our bedrooms. The ‘kid years’ flew by and one day, dressed in my purposefully ripped kneed bell bottoms and jean shirt, I held my ground mid stair , and grabbed the end of that stick. Hanging on for all I was worth .( at 80lbs. that is saying a lot, I am a powerhouse of 98 now).
Anyways, the ruler never took a step out of that closet again. I was less defiant and mom never needed it. I think looking back on that day, some sort of a current passed through that stick like a lightening rod, harnessing electricity until it dissipates into the ground. I understood.
Thankfully, she never ever used it.
David, I can’t help thinking you’ve met William Least-Heat Moon along your travels on Blue Highways! My niece, who plays violin in the Naples (FL) Philharmonic Orchestra, sent me her copy of “Blue Highways.” “River Horse” is a somewhat newer book by Heat Moon. As I’m a bit of a gear head, that was a terrific read. My family didn’t travel much for various reasons, but I remember calling out license plates to see who saw the most states. Later, the most car models. Hudson Hornets for one. . Thanks, David, for the blast from the past.
…putting on a comfortable old flannel shirt.” I can’t think of a more apt description, David.
I’m glad to have heard back from you. The “blue highway maps” didn’t shout out “Take the next right, or, Speed limit 70 mph”. We were required to view the map thoughtfully, discern dots of different sizes and colors, and most importantly settle on the route we would utilize. Planning ahead was central to those days.
This occurrence from 1980 offers a humorous illustration of paper maps. My wife and I had a full month to travel from Tallahassee to Appleton, Maine (to visit a dear high school friend and dine on lobster + corn on the cob at roadside stands) as well as Baxter State Park for a week in the back country. Upon finishing that trek we were longing for a shower, a cooked meal, and a soft bed. Having traveled from Appleton we chose to get on I-95 and drive north. The first exit sign displayed an odd mix of letters and numbers? As did the next exit. Designations of Section, Range, and Township! Unpopulated and boding poorly for petrol. A quick huddle with our paper map suggested continuing north to Holton, ME, would meet all our needs. Almost. The two hotels in town were booked up. The first suggested a KOA nearby. The second one indicated if we continued north a bit further we’d surely meet with success. Which we did after clearing the border crossing into Canada! An enterprising fellow had developed lodging and dining from the use of WW II surplus Quonset huts. And we checked in. The owner/proprietor was an older man who was both night clerk and cook…at about 10:30 at night! He asked if we cared for anything to eat (we practically shouted “Yes”) and he offered us menus. He put the cost on our tab. The next morning was a repeat performance. As we ate, more leisurely than the night before, he asked of our plans. Having none he suggested attractions we’d enjoy. Three days on Prince Edward Island, the camp grounds deserted, after the ferry crossing from Cape Tourmantine. Bay of Fundy. (we believed the signs warning of the height of incoming tides!) I thought then, and even today, that our hotelier was a goodwill ambassador for Canada. We found Canadian citizens to be friendlier and far more helpful than average US citizens at that time.
I’ve taken for granted that any of this could be of much interest. All based on Blue Highways. Please consider sharing about your life, adventures and misadventures, as you see fit. All the best.
Gary… your addition to this little picnic offering is so tasty and enriching. Loved it!!!😍
Gary, if by "I can't help thinking you've met William Least-Heat Moon along your travels..." you mean read his wonderful book, then yes, I have met him, his heart, mind and soul. And reading it was like putting on a comfortable old flannel shirt. It felt like home.
My apologies for taking a few days to get back to you, and my thanks for being offered such a fun reason to get back to you...
Laugh-out-loud funny! Everything from the personification of road signs to memories of the celery sticks and pimento cheese...so great!
I remember that Kraft pimento cheese came in a jar that could be reused as a drinking glass. We had a cupboard full of those glasses.
Same, John. Perfect kid-sized little glasses.
I agree!
😊 Yep, no AC, no movie players, no ear buds...counting unusual license plates!
Oh what a joy this is
What an enjoyable, hilarious ride down memory lane!
"Who’s Falling Rock?... Dangerous Curves...(I hoped Dad knew enough to slow down, and if we ever actually saw her walking along the highway, and to definitely not stop!)... Soft Shoulder... Blind Curves..."
Such great prompts for a storybook.
The imagination you developed as a young boy has served you well on Substack. Your posts are original and it's fun to see where you'll take your topic.
Oh my gosh, what an absolute delight this game of your parents. It’s fun to think of this part of the origin of your fantastic imagination. 🚙⛰️
Such a generous heart, Holly. Thank you for such a kind note.
There was a song, "soft shoulders and dangerous curves" in the 1960s: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PkNCtQblf6U.
Burma Shave signs brought a lot of fun to our travels as kids. In response to Micki Colbeck's comment, one Burma Shave read, "What's wrong with this barn, for an answer you pine, a barn's not a barn without a See Rock City sign."
I love every word of this, Walter! And the song... throwback perfection. Thank you!
David, this is a childhood-memory-rich story. It brought me back to Burma shave and sides of barns with adds painted on. Bravo.
I thank you for the smile on my face, Micki. Made my day.