Today I followed kids full of life and joy run and play on the new Chisholm Trail mural under Spring Creek Parkway. Nobody had to tell them how to play. No signs, directions, or coaches. No technology devices were required. It was glorious!
"May we be excused?," we asked Dad. "Yes, go play on Cotner," Howie would say. Cotner Boulevard was the nearest busy street. Nowadays Dad would be arrested for child neglect at a minimum. Did we run out into traffic? Of course not, but we knew we had free run of the neighborhood until after the fireflies came out or the mosquitoes got too vicious. Mom went off to spend quality time with Joy and Cascade, while Dad smoked his pipe and read the Lincoln Evening Journal.
Anita Bryant came up in a discussion yesterday when we lacked lemonade to make Arnold Palmers. I went looking for Anita's obituary, but it seems she's still alive. I bet she's rolling in her grave today, anyway. My generation automatically thinks, "it's not just for breakfast any more", when somebody mentions orange juice. We all knew that a "breakfast without orange juice is like a day without sunshine," just as we knew to "buckle up for safety", and that if "everybody won't pitch in to clean up America, it won't be America any more."
For the past month I've been thinking litter thoughts 24/7, with lots of googling trash bags, nitrile gloves, tree loppers, grab sticks, hooks, and nets. Glad that's over! Cheers!
© 2013-2015 Nancy L. Ruder
3 comments:
'Please, please, don't be a litterbug, 'cause every litter bit hurts.'
Worked on me.
Every litter bit still hurts, Seana, but kids have a tough time with the litterbug. They want to know how litter turns into bugs...
Huh. I always just assumed we were the litterbugs when I was a kid, but I guess it's a little down on bugs when I think about it.
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