The Crab Chronicles

Things Your Grandmother Couldn't Do

I have long been fascinated by the fact that young women today [most of them] have no idea how lucky they are to live in America in the 21st century. They don't understand how much the world has changed for women just in the last 50 years. 

Let's say right now you are a young woman in 1972, instead of 2022. What is life like for you in 1972?

In 1972 most women would never dream of wearing pants to work or to church. Now, as far back as the 1930's women could wear pants in public, but it was risky. Actress Katharine Hepburn got in trouble in Claridge's hotel in London for wearing trousers. As this article in Vanity Fair notes, "Even in 1951, when Claridge’s Hotel in London informed Hepburn that women were not permitted to wear slacks in the lobby, she elected to use the staff entrance instead."

Women could actually be arrested in many places for "masquerading as a man." When I was a kid I never saw my mother wear pants anywhere except around the house until about 1971, and then my grandmother was horrified.

As late as the mid 1980's when I was looking for my first professional, career-type job, I was told by the paralegal school to never wear pants to a job interview, always a suit with a skirt.

In 1972 you are expected to get married and "settle down" and only work if there is no other choice. There are plenty of women who work because they want to work, and want their own careers, but they are the exception, not the rule. Most girls take Home Economics in high school because they are expected to get married and "keep house ' -- and in that traditional scenario the wife does all the cooking and cleaning and stays home with the children.

A few years back I wrote a tongue-in-cheek articles called Pure Candy Never Hurt Anyone, featuring excerpts from some "ladies books" from the 1920's that belonged to my grandmother. One such book notes that if a woman keeps her house clean she won’t ever get divorced, saying “…when the bride has begun to look upon her household as a fascinating hobby with endless possibilities she has mastered the first big secret; she is ready to try out the recipes for happiness which follow.” No specific recipes for “Happiness” are included.

After my father died in 1996 I opened the door to the food pantry in my parents' house and found my mother's little basket containing a lipstick, compact and comb, so that as soon as she heard Dad's car in the driveway she could comb her hair and fix her makeup so when he walked in she would look presentable and have his drink waiting and his dinner cooking. It's the way she was trained [in 1957] to keep a husband happy.

It's sort of amazing she wanted to keep Dad. When my mother started teaching in 1957 after she married, my father went to her school and said from there on out he would collect all her paychecks because she didn't have enough sense to handle money wisely -- and the school allowed it! When my father died in 1996 Mom had to leave the JCPenneys credit card in his name because the store wouldn't let her change the card to her own name.

In 1972 if you want credit, you better have a man. If you applied for a credit card and you were married, most companies required you to get your husband to co-sign and often the card will have to be in his name. Many banks would deny a single woman a bank credit card, automatically, if she didn't have a husband or father to co-sign for her. (Of course, laws varied from state to state.) It wasn't until the Equal Credit Opportunity Act was passed in 1974 that that changed. According to the US Department of Justice website:

The Equal Credit Opportunity Act [ECOA], 15 U.S.C. 1691 et seq. prohibits creditors from discriminating against credit applicants on the basis of race, color, religion, national origin, sex, marital status, age, because an applicant receives income from a public assistance program, or because an applicant has in good faith exercised any right under the Consumer Credit Protection Act.

Many banks wouldn't open an account for a woman. If you applied to open a bank account in 1972, chances are good you would need a man to help you get the account open. My father opened my first account in 1979.

You risked getting fired from your job if you got pregnant, even in 1972. A lot of businesses would fire a pregnant woman. In 1959, my mother was fired from her teaching job in the middle of the year because she was visibly pregnant. The Pregnancy Discrimination Act of 1978 said a woman couldn't be fired for being pregnant, but she could still be fired for other reasons. Even if you kept your job, there was no paid maternity leave by law. It was up to the employer whether a woman got ANY leave after having a baby. Usually it wasn't paid leave, either, unless a woman had saved vacation time.

Your husband had the right to demand sex from you anytime. There was no such thing as marital rape. Once you got married, you had to be ready to hop into bed anytime. Horrifyingly, there are still states [source] where a husband can get away with marital rape.

If you were unmarried and had a child, your child would often be called a "bastard" and there was a lot of shame around that. Now it's common for children to be born to unmarried parents but that wasn't always the case. I never knew any child whose parents weren't married when I was growing up in the 1960's and 70's.

Forget about being a lawyer. In 1972 most law schools wouldn't admit females, and even if a woman did graduate from law school and pass the bar, many law firms wouldn't hire a female lawyer. I started my paralegal career in 1985 and there were no female lawyers at my firm, and few practicing in Knoxville. Finally, my firm hired a female lawyer but she had to work in the office and was never to be seen in court arguing a case. In my next job there were no female attorneys. I had been a paralegal for 8 years before going to work at a law firm where there were female partners. During my years at that firm in the early 90's I heard an older lawyer who was interviewing a female lawyer tell her "If we hire you, we expect you to put this job first, and to work as many hours as we need you to." Work/life balance be damned. Most of the female lawyers at the firm worked 10-14 hour days.

You wouldn't be allowed to sit on a jury. Most states didn't allow women on juries in 1972. There were exceptions. It wasn't until 1973, however, that all fifty states said women could serve.

You might be arrested for living with your boyfriend. Many states had laws in 1972 banning couple from living together before marriage. In 2013 a law was passed making it legal for unmarried couples to live together in every state.

If you were gay, you could be jailed for being gay. Before the 1970's it was common for gay bars to be raided and everyone hauled off to jail and charged with being "disorderly." The brilliant mathematician Alan Turing was convicted of gay activity and chemically castrated, and he killed himself [source]. In 1952, [source] "the American Psychiatric Association listed homosexuality as a form of mental disorder."

You couldn't consider just any career in 1972. Many industries wouldn't hire a woman. The acceptable jobs for women were teacher, nurse, librarian and secretary. You would probably not find a job as an architect or a welder.

You couldn't be a mom unless you were married. Single women were not allowed to adopt in 1972, only married couples. / Even in 2003 when I was doing my daughter's adoption, there were several "christian" agencies who wouldn't work with me because they thought only couples should be allowed to adopt.

 

I am very glad to see the progress that has been made, just in my lifetime, for women in the United States, but there are still many places in the world where women are mutilated, not allowed to hold jobs or drive, and/or are forced to cover themselves in public. Middle Eastern countries have particularly onerous laws restricting women's lives. We still have far to go.

left, me in the early 1970's

Twenty Questions with Tori Whitaker

The newest novel by author Tori Whitaker is A Matter of Happiness and I am delighted to say I've gotten to know Tori a bit and she agreed to be interviewed. We have some things in common. Tori is close to my age, lives in the Atlanta metro area, and was formerly a marketer for a law firm. She writes vividly and meaningfully about the past, which particularly fascinates me.

A Matter of Happiness explores two timelines, a modern story of Melanie and another one of her great aunt Violet, a jazz age rebel. (I love the idea of an inheritance sparking interesting events. I realized only recently that inheritances play a big part in 3 of my 4 novels.) 

Toni's first book was Millicent Glenn's Last Wish, and it's one I want to read soon. Mother/daughter relationships are always fascinating.

BIO: Tori graduated from Indiana University, is an alum of the Yale Writers' Workshop, and is recently retired from a national law firm where she served as chief marketing officer. She spent a decade in Detroit because of her husband's career in the automotive industry. The two now reside near their children outside Atlanta and have been married for forty-five happy years. [from her website]

Tori has a lot going on, promoting her new book, but she graciously agreed to answer not only the standard Twenty Questions but a few more, too!

 

THE STANDARD TWENTY QUESTIONS

What is your full name?
Tori Whitaker [no need to use Victoria]

Where would you live, if you could live anywhere in the world?
Near my grandchildren, which is where I am now.

What is your favorite movie and why?
Most recently, it’s Top Gun Maverick! It’s got wounds from the past, conflict between characters, high tension and action, redemption, character arcs, and love.

What was your least-favorite subject in school when you were a kid?
Science. I was always the one who loved history, social studies, and writing.

What was your nickname when you were a kid?
Tori

Do you believe in God?
Absolutely.

What sound or noise do you love?
Birds chirping outside on a summer morning. Geese flying into Georgia from the north in fall.

If you could do anything other than what you do, as a profession, what would it be?
Maybe be a history professor. But I don’t have a master’s or PhD.

If heaven exists, what do you think it is like? My parents there to greet me in a reunion.

Do you have siblings?
Yup, two younger brothers.

What is your favorite memory of childhood [something specific]?
When I was five, my grandparents took me to a museum, and I vividly recall standing before an old Ford Model T. I attribute that day to my first falling in
love with history.

If you had to choose between one week traveling around the USA by car, or one week traveling around Europe on a train, which would you choose and why?
I can travel by car in the US any time. I’d choose Europe! Because I love history, and it’s so old and rich there.

What inspires you?
I’m inspired by knowing that I once had very little self-confidence, but I stuck it out to achieve my dream of being published—even after two books
didn’t get bought. When I feel discouraged in anything, I try to think of the times I overcame challenges without giving up.

Which holiday do you prefer, Christmas or July 4th?
Christmas by far. As a grandmother, I relish all the traditions. We host our family and have a fire, holiday music, a candlelit dinner, and more. And
like my grandmother before me, I make a tree ornament for each grandchild as a gift. I still have the ones I received as a child, and it’s
special every single time I hang one.

What project or idea are you most passionate about, right now?
Besides finalizing what novel I’ll write next, I’d say the idea of downsizing. I recently retired from my corporate “day job” and my husband and I don’t
need this much space anymore.

Do you know how to cook?
Love to cook!

What is your favorite thing to cook/eat?
Gosh, so many things. But basically I crave anything with potatoes. Twice baked, mashed, oven roasted in olive oil and rosemary. I’m part Irish.

If you could go on vacation anywhere in the world, for 2-4 weeks, all expenses paid, where would you go and why?
Back to Europe to countries I haven’t visited … Austria, Germany, Italy, and Switzerland.

Who do you love the most in the world?
My family.

What question has nobody ever asked you, but you wanted to answer?
Sorry, now I’m stumped!

BONUS:

What sparked the idea for A Matter of Happiness? - The first tingle of inspiration came because my husband restores old classic cars and I wondered: what if someone found something in an old car that'd been stored for a 100 years

Did you have a person in your life like Aunt Violet? Not really, but I did have a great grandmother who I called Grape Grandma when I was young.

Did you go to Detroit to do your research? I researched and wrote during the height of COVID, so no. But I did live in MI and work in Detroit for 10 years in the '90s so I had some familiarity.

Were you already familiar with Kentucky bourbon distilleries before you wrote the book? Yes. We toured the Bourbon Trail 9 or 10 years ago (and again when everything opened back up after COVID, though the book was mostly done)

Why don't you drink coffee, tea or sodas? I just never started the habit.

Have you ever been to the Atlanta History Center? Absolutely!

How many grandchildren do you have and what do they call you? 2 and I'm proud to be called Grandma

What are your favorite things to do with the grandchildren? Among my faves is to take them to historical places.

Funeral Food

I was chatting with a friend the other day and we talked about the Southern custom of taking food to the family when someone dies. I didn't know until well after I was grown that in other parts of the country that's not done. People may actually hire caterers to provide food after a funeral. Wow.

In the South this is sort of how it goes. Phone rings. Mama answers. "Hi, oh dear. Bad news. Oh no. That's terrible. Is everyone at the house? Okay, let me look in the freezer and I'll be over there in just a little while."

My mother often made extra food -- chili, spaghetti sauce, soup, etc. -- and froze it. When something happened, i.e. a new neighbor moved in, a family welcomed a new baby, someone died -- she pulled it out of the freezer, thawed it, and took it to the house.

Sometimes that would generate stories.

A cousin of Dad's lost her husband and she wasn't really a cook but she had a number of grown children, so Mom bought a beef roast, and carrots and potatoes, and slow cooked everything in the crock pot, then took it over. She put everything in a large pan on the stove and turned the burner to low. The cousin told her later it was such a nice gift because nobody else brought anything that first day, and as her children came in they would get a plate and eat, and because it was a substantial amount of food, Mom's food fed like a dozen people over the course of the evening.

I'm sure the next day they were inundated with casseroles, cakes, etc.

When my grandfather died in 1972 he and my grandmother had just moved to a new house in a small town where they had never lived before. We all wondered what food might be brought over, if any. My grandmother's brother had lived in that town for many years, so as it turned out a lot of people took food to the house. Unfortunately, nobody brought over any meat. Lots of casseroles and cakes but no meat. Mom ended up buying something and taking it back to the house. I don't recall if it was fried chicken or ham, or what it was. In 1972 options were limited.

That experience led directly to Mom pledging to always take meat to the house when someone dies.

When my father died in 1996 we got tons of food at the house -- a dizzying array. Most of it was given away to family members, because we couldn't possibly eat it all.

A lot of fried chicken came into the house, and a lot of it was awful. Unless you can deliver really well-made, delicious chicken, take something else. If you don't cook, grab a bucket from KFC if that's the only option.

The greatest food gift came from a neighbor my brother and I didn't really know. Mom and Dad knew her and her husband, who was a judge. I was outside when she came walking up the driveway and she handed me a bag and we chatted a few minutes. She said rather apologetically "It's nothing fancy, just some mac and cheese." She left, not realizing how thrilled I was to hear the words "mac and cheese." I quickly walked into the house and found my brother and we had a whispered conversation about her wonderful gift.

She had made wonderful mac & cheese -- the real kind -- and divided it up into 4 of the little aluminum loaf pans you can buy at the grocery store. What made that gift so perfect was that it was simple comfort food -- nothing fancy or elaborate. We decided to freeze two, eat one and hide one in the fridge. Brother and I ate one that night. It was delicious. The other two were thawed out later and enjoyed. By giving us something easily identifiable and homemade and comforting, she was so brilliant. I thought using the little loaf pans was really clever. Right after someone dies, you are inundated with food and overwhelmed with grief. When things calm down, weeks or months later, it's lovely to have delicious food to pull out of the freezer and enjoy. To me, mac and cheese is almost a one dish meal.

We had seen so many strange casseroles brought to the house from well-meaning friends, and so many platters of veggies and sandwiches. It was July, and of course it was Augusta so it was really hot. One lady brought by a platter of sandwiches from a fancy food shop and they were covered with edible glitter. They were not really any better than the sandwiches from the regular stores, but after a few hours of being poked at and handled the edible glitter made the sandwiches look really bizarre and unappetizing.

So the lesson to be learned from this blog is simple: when someone dies, take mac and cheese! [unless there's a lot of lactose intolerance in the family]

#southernfuneralcustoms, #funeralfoodinthesouth, #southernfood, #adviceforfuneralattendees, #realmacandcheeseisbest

Not Mama's Meatloaf

As a child, you couldn't pay me to eat meatloaf. My mother loved green peppers and onions and every bite of her meatloaf was full of both. I wouldn't touch it. I would eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead.

When I became a mom and had to start cooking real dinners every night I figured out how to make meatloaf I liked, and my kids would eat. Below is that recipe. It's included in the little cookbook I published, What's for Dinner, Mom? -- which came out just a few months before Mom died. She had been after me to publish my own cookbook for several years and I'm so glad she got to see that done.

 

Meatloaf, Baby!

1 lb. ground sirloin                1 large egg

tablespoon Soy sauce             1/4 cup red wine or Sherry

1 cup breadcrumbs              tablespoon olive oil

Onion powder                         Garlic powder

1 Tbsp. Ketchup                    teaspoon baking powder

 

One of the keys is to NOT use cheap meat, like ground chuck. Use ground sirloin. Yes, it's a tiny bit more pricey, but it's worth it. One of the criticisms of beef is that animal fat is bad for your heart. I like to buy the leanest ground beef possible, and add some heart-healthy olive oil to my meat mixture.

Another key is if possible, let the beef sit out on the counter and warm up before you start making the meatloaf. I don't know why, but all beef should be room temp before cooking. Makes it more tender.

I like to get a mixing bowl and put my meat in it and leave it under a towel for a while to warm up, then I add my eggs and baking powder first, to be sure those ingredients are in there.

My mother's trick for making meatloaf great is to add in lots of flavorful liquids, until the meat is pretty soggy. You don't want dry meatloaf.

I recently started adding Italian seasoning to my meatloaf. Gives it more flavor.

Once the meat mixture is ready, I just dump it into the pan and form a roughly rectangular shape in the middle of the pan. I then cover the top with either ketchup, or toothpick in some slices of bacon. I bake at 350 for about 30-45 minutes. 

 

Last night I made a version of meatloaf that used that same basic recipe, but improved on it a great deal.

I saw a recipe yesterday for a chicken breast stuffed with bacon and spinach and I thought yum, what a great idea, except I HATE handling raw chicken so we don't eat it that often.

So I made my usual meatloaf recipe, but then I set aside the meat mixture and started in on my filling. I cooked about 5 pieces of bacon in a skillet, then took the pieces out and put them aside. I took about 3 cups of spinach and sauteed it in the bacon grease, and added about 2 tablespoons of butter, lots of garlic and onion powders, and about 2 tablespoons of fresh Parmesan. (I should have chopped up some actual onion, but I was too hungry...)  I then chopped up my pieces of bacon and added them back in, stirring everything together. I took half my meat mixture and formed it as I normally would, and put the  filling on top. I then took the rest of the meat, formed it into what looked like hamburger patties, and carefully placed it on top of the spinach and bacon and kind of pinched the "burgers" together to form the top layer. The photo below on the right shows the meatloaf before it went into the oven.

I cooked it on 350 for about 40 minutes.

WOW was it delicious! I had some pre-made Bob Evans mashed potatoes and I ate a serving of 'taters, I must confess, but meatloaf just needs mashed 'taters on the side. I have been sick with pneumonia for a while so it was great to eat something that wasn't soup out of a can.

Here's a photo of the cooked meatloaf, and I must confess I had eaten a couple of pieces before I took the photo. I also included a funny photo of fresh spinach. I had left the bowl [piled high] on the back of the stove, forgetting how hot my stove top gets, and the spinach totally wilted. No biggie. I thought it was funny. I will still eat it.

#bestmeatloafever, #stuffedmeatloaf, #spinachandmeatloaf

The Patient Teacher

I was eight years old, in third grade. I was a smart kid, in the accelerated class at school, but I had a secret. I felt like I was really stupid. It was a familiar feeling.

In second grade I had been unable to read. I wanted to die of embarrassment every time the teacher called on me in class to read. I couldn't figure out how to sound out words and put the sounds together to make the words sound right. My parents were called. They had tried to help me, to no avail. They learned to read without using phonics. My teacher thought I might have to be put in a special class. I was unable to sound out words and read. Luckily, my grandmother taught me, and then I became a reading fiend. The feeling of fear and humiliation when the teacher called on me and I couldn't read a word was fresh in my memory, however, in third grade.

So in third grade my family moved from Augusta, Georgia to Knoxville, Tennessee, when my father got a new job. It was traumatic, leaving Augusta. I had aunts and uncles and cousins in Augusta. I had friends. I knew my way around. It felt familiar and normal there.

We didn't know anyone when we moved to Knoxville. Big city. Confusing. The bitter cold January day when we moved into our new house it was raining. The yard was a sea of mud.

I started school the next day feeling completely overwhelmed. Big school building. I kept getting lost. They put me in the accelerated class. I couldn't keep up, at first. I didn't know my times tables. I didn't know how the class worked. None of the kids played with me.

The other little girls had long, pretty hair, and their mothers put ribbons in their hair. My hair was always a mess. My mother let me go to school with it messy rather than have a fight about it.

All that was bad but the terrible secrets I harbored were worse, to me: I couldn't tell time, tie my shoes, or put my shoes on the correct feet. My parents had tried to teach me. My brother had tried. Everyone had tried. I couldn't do any of it. It was reading anxiety all over again. (Too bad we didn't have digital clocks, or velcro-closures for shoes.)

Only years later would I learn that I had pretty severe anxiety issues as a kid.

Finally, my family went to Asheville one weekend and we had a little reunion with Dad's brothers and their families. That included my cousin Tony, 7 years older than me. Unlike most of my older cousins, he was always sweet to me. I was the baby. I was usually ignored. Tony talked to me like he was interested in what I had to say. He made me feel relaxed and calm. I basked in his attention.

I remember sitting on the steps of the hotel, confiding in him about my humiliation at not being able to tell time or tie my shoes, or put my shoes on the correct feet. He said "I can help you with that, Dee. It's all simple." He said it with such calm conviction, I believed him.

We started with telling time. Tony explained it in a way that made perfect sense. Within 5 minutes of talking about it, I could tell time on a traditional clock.

Next came shoes. He explained the curvature of the shoe matching how my toes curved and it made perfect sense. We next worked on tying the laces. That took a bit longer, but I knew if I practiced I would get it. I felt major relief.

I felt like the whole world was suddenly a beautiful place.

I had my cousin Tony to thank for that.

He continued to be not just my cousin, but my friend and my champion. He remains an important person in my life to this day, even though we both have gray hair and he has retired from teaching. (It shouldn't come as a surprise to tell you Tony grew up to become a teacher, brilliant at explaining things to his students.)

Still, to this day, I think of Tony more as a brother than a cousin. He makes me laugh and makes me feel okay about myself, and what a gift it is, to have him in my life.

above, me and my brother shortly after moving to Knoxville

right, me and Tony long after we had both grown up

Memories of Coleman

My son had a mug in his room this morning that had been in there a long time. He was horrified by its fuzzy moldy interior. I told him to just pour in some boiling water and dish soap and let it sit, and then I would put it in the dishwasher after dinner tonight. Funny how guys will often be dumbstruck with horror at a dirty dish, and yet have no problem doing very dirty jobs that involve heavy manual labor and lots of sweating. I've never felt like after doing dishes at home I wanted to get into the shower... know what I mean?!

Anyway, the moldy mug sparked a memory. I told my son about one of my most memorable college professors, a man named Coleman Barks who taught English at the University of Georgia for many years. Coleman had a funny collection of food fossils that he brought in one day and talked about in class, much to my amusement. He had a cup of coffee that was maybe ten years old and a bag of hot dog buns that were just gray-green fuzzed, about 15 years old. He had put them atop a filing cabinet in his office one day and just forgotten about them. Years passed. They became fascinating pseudo-science projects.

The class was Creative Writing, and below you can see me and my friend Gary. I am in the middle. Gary is beside me in the white shirt.

I didn't know in the spring of 1984 that I would return to school [the University of Tennessee in Knoxville] a few years later and get a master's degree in Creative Writing. Coleman's class was so different and so much fun that it started my fascination for writing, and my hunger to learn how to write really well -- a journey I am still on, obviously, as you can see by my Amazon author page.

The class was small, about 6-8 people. We sat around a big round table and read each other's poetry and short stories and discussed our work. Most people [including me] brought in poems. Coleman always had something fresh and fascinating to say about whatever we were reading. Most people are easily readable and they say very little that's interesting or memorable, but about 80% of what Coleman said took me by surprise.

Coleman also had us reading some of his poetry, and that was fascinating. He was a masterful poet and I learned so much from him. I only remember one poem specifically. (I couldn't tell you the name of it but there was a really erotic metaphor that centered around eating a peach, which shocked my naive little self. LOL)

One day he brought in his very nice, expensive camera, and we all took turns taking photos of each other, which is why the photo below exists. He got the photos printed and then we spent another class discussing them.

There was an eclipse that spring, and on the day of it we all went up to the roof of the building with our homemade devices and looked at the eclipse. I remember it got dark, and it was a really eerie experience. Some of us might have written about the eclipse but I don't think I did..

Years later, I was astonished to discover that Coleman had become the poet that brought Rumi to the West, and you can see more about that here. The cool thing is that you can now experience Coleman's version of Rumi through several videos on YouTube, like this one. There is even a wonderful 6 minute video featuring Coleman and Mary Oliver, another of my favorite poets.

I know Coleman is still with us but I believe he is quite elderly now and no longer appears in public. I think there may be health issues. I wish I could say to him, you inspired me. You're a magician with words. I will always be grateful.

You're lucky if you know anyone like Coleman Barks, anyone who surprises and inspires you. To know such a person is a gift.

#longlivecolemanbarks, #colemanbarksisagenius, #myfavoriteprofessorcolemanbarks

Grocery Stores of Yesterday

My Daddy used to say "If that ain't good, grits ain't groceries." Of course, grits ARE groceries, so whatever "that" was, it was good. I think one reason he liked that expression was because my mother hated any of us using the word "ain't." She was a stickler for good grammar, a trait she passed to me. Her mother was also a stickler, as was my great grandmother, Granny Butler. I am a 4th generation stickler. I digressed.

I wanted to write today about groceries. Sean wrote about the Piggly Wriggly over at Sean of the South.The last Piggly Wriggly I know of is on Hilton Head Island and I love going in there. My parents had a timeshare one block away, for years, and we all knew the Piggly Wriggly very well. Last time I was on the island, a couple of years ago, I took my son in there. It's now really crowded and touristy, alas...

One of my earliest memories is going shopping with my mother, at a tiny grocery store in Augusta called Carpenter's 50/50. We walked in, and I got my own tiny child-sized buggy, and if I was lucky, an icy cold Co Cola in a small bottle. I followed along behind Mom with my small buggy, just like a grown up lady. Carpenter's did not resemble the enormous stores of today in any way. It was small, badly lit, and smelled like musty old fruit. It was old school. First of all, there were usually only 2-3 choices of whatever canned or boxed good you wanted, not 55 choices like today. Second, the cashier had to look at the price on each item and physically tap the cash register. Nothing was scanned. Scanners didn't exist. Thirdly, there was no offering of a choice of bags. Your groceries got put in paper bags, period. If it was necessary, there might be a double bag situation.  The bag boy went to your car and loaded everything into the trunk or back seat. You tipped him, usually .50 or a dollar.

I still remember being small enough that Mom would sit me in the buggy and grab a box of animal crackers to distract me while we walked around the grocery store -- other stores, where I didn't get my own buggy. Often my brother would be in the buggy too. If we misbehaved, there was no time out. There was Mom's hand swatting our butts.

In my parents' view, any time a child bothered anyone in a public place, they were scolded and told to hush, and if that didn't work there was a swift removal, to the car. I now see parents all the time letting their kids scream and run around crazily and bother people, and I am appalled. Just remove the child. (My mom used to say when a child acts out in public it's because the child is overtired and that's the parent's fault.)

I digressed again.

When I was a kid, some grocery stores offered S&H green stamps when you paid for your groceries. I was always in charge of stamp handling, because I was a busybody. When we got home, the stamps had to be licked and neatly pasted into paper booklets. When there were enough completed booklets of stamps, you went to the green stamps store and "bought" things. I remember buying lamps, lamp shades, suitcases, serving bowls, etc.

When we moved to Knoxville, we ended up shopping at The White Store most of the time, because it was 5 minutes from our house. It was a big, well-lit, well-stocked store. I think they gave green stamps but I could be wrong about that. We always wound up taking forever to check out because one of the cashiers loved my mother and would always chat with her. She called Mom "Miz Eva." Mom never corrected her. [Mom's name was Elva] Other cashiers referred to Mom as "Eva" or "Elvira" or "Miz T." It became a running joke amongst our family.

I also vividly recall going to the A&P store in Knoxville, in the early 70's, because they offered matching kitchen items. There would be a display of dishes or glasses or flatware at the end of an aisle and it was usually pretty, nice stuff. You bought a certain amount of groceries and then you could buy 1 glass, or one casserole dish, or whatever. I always remember wanting to be rich enough to just go in there and buy the whole set at one time. Mom decided she liked the stainless flatware they were offering once and we shopped at the A&P exclusively for months until we had all the knives, forks, and spoons Mom wanted.

Whatever grocery store we went into, my mother bossed the guy in the meat department like she was the Queen of England. She was always smiling, always polite, but she would say things like "I know you didn't run that through the grinder enough times. I'm going to stand right here and watched you grind that piece of sirloin THREE TIMES." I watched my memaw act exactly the same way in a grocery store. She would also criticize the meat. "Why look at that hen, it looks like it died of starvation. You get on back in the back and find me a nice fat hen. I'll wait."

Just FYI, I've never been dictatorial with anyone in the meat department of any grocery store. (I also don't wear girdles or bright red lipstick either..)

In later years, Dad often went with Mom, on Saturdays. He was tasked with getting heavy stuff like dog food or sodas and putting those items in his buggy, then he could go into the book section and read until Mom whistled for him. In any store, we could locate each other by the Family Whistle. I taught it to my kids, too. It came in handy before we all carried cell phones in our pockets.

Going grocery shopping when I was a kid was always fun. I miss those days.