As I sit at my laptop composing this note to you wonderful readers of Good Old Days, I can hear the hum of my husband's lawn mower. We've had a tremendous amount of rain this year, which translates to a tremendous amount of lawn mowing. But not for me. We have lived on this plot of five acres in the country for more than 20 years, but believe it or not, I have never mowed the lawn here. Never. Even though it looks enjoyable to me, I learned early on that the mowing was my husband's domain, so I gladly let him tackle it while I work on the landscaping and gardens.
Our August Issue
Those Long, Hot Summers
How We Kept Our Cool
Now That's Funny!
Collecting Comic Books
Totally Amused
Parks, Parades and Carnivals We Loved
Dear Friends of the Good Old Days,
I can still smell that pungent hot tar. I was 7 years old and my friend Nadine and I were sitting cross-legged along the edge of Water Street, poking at the emerging tar bubbles with sticks. It was another sizzling summer day in Ohio in my Good Old Days, and we, as always, were out in it. There was no air-conditioning in our homes, so it was no use retreating indoors to escape the humidity....
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Until I reached the age of 9 in 1962, our family made our home at the corner of McNary and Mechanic streets in Princeton, Ky. We lived in a drafty house with a dusty attic into which we rarely ventured.
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