Nostalgia is Wasted on the Young

We Seniors have a lot of advantages over the younger crowd. Supposedly, we have a lot more disposable income. We get Senior Discounts. We don't have to apologize for working out with 25 pound weights on the Arm Curl machine; stuff like that. One thing we definitely have on them is years, lotsa years. And all those extra years mean that we have a lot more experiences; more things to remember. More nostalgia.

My Darlin' Darlene isn't real big into nostalgia. I think that's because I really am, and she gets a little weary of my rehashing. She calls it "living in the past". The way I see it, I have a lot more years back there than I have coming up, so I may as well enjoy them while I can.

I love nostalgia, and I know I'm not alone. Just this morning, while waiting in the check-out line, I noticed a display of Retro-Candy. There were Zagnuts, and Clark Bars, Teaberry and Black Jack Gum, and Nikl-Nips. Remember Nikl-Nips, those little wax bottles filled with syrupy liquid ? Well FYI, Nikl-Nips are now 89 cents. I get awfully nostalgic for nickle stuff.

I love to look at old cars, specifically cars of the 40's and 50's. I really like period movies that show a lot of old cars. My Darlin' Darlene puts up with me saying, "Wow, look at that '52 Hudson !" "Didja see that '49 Pontiac ? My Uncle Harold had one just like that, and ....." And on and on. There's lots of nostalgia in old cars.

Speaking of old cars reminds me of an incident that happened back in my college days, involving a beautiful Oldsmobile. It was on a Saturday afternoon in November, and I was at work at my part-time job at Muller's Shoes, when I got a phone call. It was from my buddy, Chas. He sounded absolutely distraught, "Lehr, you've gotta get over here right now ! You're never gonna believe this ! This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me ! You've gotta come over to my Grandma's !" end of phone call. I had never heard Chas like this before, so I made my excuses to my boss and took off.

Fully expecting the house to be on fire, or dead bodies in the kitchen or something just shy of World War Three, I arrived at Grandma's house and ran inside. Chas was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, white as the proverbial sheet. "Lehr, you're just not gonna believe it. What do you think is the worst thing that could possibly ever happen ?" I, dumbfounded for a moment, finally said, " I have no idea." "Look", said Chas, as he threw open the back door leading into the garage.

Now, Chas was living at his Grandma's house while she was spending the Winter in Florida. He had the place all to himself with no restrictions other than, no parties, no drinking, no girls, and above all, no driving of Grandma's Oldsmobile. Grandma informed him that she had jotted down the odometer mileage.

I stepped into the garage, expecting the worst, viewed the situation and was immediately engulfed in paroxysms (I love that word) of laughter. Chas was not impressed with my empathy.

Apparently, Chas had located Grandma's car keys, and had decided that he would take a spin, no doubt, to pick up some girl and bring her back for an evening of Cokes while watching "Sing Along With Mitch". No, that was on on Wednesday nights, but I digress.

Sitting, quite forlornly, was Grandma's Oldsmobile, minus the driver's door. That was funny enough to me, but what caused my uncontrollable laughter was not the missing door. Sitting on the door sill was a fireplace log that Chas had propped against the interior light switch so as not to run down the battery. That just killed me.

Another buddy, Fuzz showed up then, with forbidden Drewery's (that oughta take you back). Chas had given up on me for a moment and queried Fuzz, "Fuzz, what am I going to do?" Fuzz was no help either, as he was convulsed also, writhing in laughter on the floor of the living room, spilling Drewery's all over the carpet.

We finally gathered ourselves, and listened to the miscreant's tale. Chas had decided that the no driving rule was not applicable, at least occasionally. He figured that if he just undid the speedometer cable, no one would be the wiser. So, he had opened the driver's door, slid under the dash while dangling his legs outside of the car, and undid the cable. Here was Chas's great mistake, and there always is one when we connive to deceive. After successfully undoing the cable, he slid behind the wheel and turned to look over his shoulder while backing out of the garage, forgetting about the open driver's door. He soon remembered it. The garage wall snapped that door off slicker than whatever. Chas said that he caught hold of the top of the door, so it never even fell over onto the concrete. Whoop-de-do !

He again pleaded with us as to what he should do. Being a real genius in this kind of crisis, I suggested that if he would back the car out of the garage, we could take a few more of the fireplace logs, and stack them. Then we could take a couple of boards that Grandma had lying there, and make a ramp. Then if he gunned it back into the garage up the ramp, he could take off the roof and she'd have a three-door convertible. Having decided to imbibe along with Fuzz, at this moment we both hit the floor, re-convulsed with laughter, spilling Drewery's everywhere.

Chas did get Grandma's car fixed, although I don't believe she was ever informed of his transgression. I've often wondered, but have never asked, how he explained the two cigarette burns that Fuzz and I inflicted on her blonde dining table, during a forbidden party.

Nostalgia is a blessing, if for no other reason than it affords us an avenue for publicly purging the guilt for the sins of our youth. Geez, that Chas is a funny guy.

Have yourself a wonderful day, because it's a wonderful day out there.

Later,

Don Lehr (Michguy)