Elizabeth and Bob are in their new home.
They seem to be content with the arrangement. Now you can get a good idea of their petite size in relation to the other happy couples. I look forward to finding more newlyweds for my collection.
Yesterday’s post elicited so many wonderful comments. I’ve loved reading your memories of childhood. It seems as if we all enjoyed hours of imaginative play outside, no matter where in the country we grew up. And yes, I also had to be in when the streetlights went on. Since there was a streetlight on the edge of our lot, I had no excuse. Those summers seemed endless, in the best possible way. Long days full of adventure, evenings on the porch….heaven.
One commenter mentioned the milkman. Did you have a milkman? We did.
Here’s an interesting thing about my childhood bungalow home. These homes were all built in the early 1950’s and each of them had a little door built into the outside wall of the house. The door measured about 12 inches square – maybe a little bit bigger. It was called a milkchute. The door opened to reveal a little shelf and another door on the other side. Inside our kitchen, the door was at floor level. The milkman would come to our house, open the outside door and leave our milk there. Later, we would open our door from inside the house and find that our milk had been delivered.
The milkchute also doubled as emergency access to the house. I can’t tell you how many times we were locked out and dad or mom would say “Looks like you have to go into the milkchute” and one of us would be lifted up and sent into the milkchute, head first. After wriggling our way inside, we’d go unlock the door.
Did anyone else have milkchutes?
We also had an eggman. I remember him so clearly – a man of few words, always whistling, always happy. He’d knock on the front door and mom would let him into the living room. He had a basket full of eggs from his farm and mom would pick out the eggs she wanted, putting them into a large melamine bowl. The eggman would give her change from a leather pouch that he wore around his waist. I wish I could remember his name! I can see him so clearly, all these many years later.
A simpler time, wasn’t it?