Memories are made of….
America once upon a time.
People listened to one another’s telephone calls on a party line and no one thought much about it.
A snoopy government meant the town council paid attention to where you banked.
Climate change was not a bad thing. Winter transformed herself into an invigorating spring and both the country’s mood and her flowers blossomed.
Proud Americans adorned with balloons and savoring cotton candy gathered at July 4 parades where horrible bands played wonderful music. They didn’t have to cast furtive glances, wondering which nutcase had the bomb.
The local front page carried little scandal and crime, but reported in detail about Mrs. Pendergast’s maiden Aunt Emily visiting from Tulsa, including the information she bakes a mean rhubarb pie.
When New Mexico became the 47th state in 1912, a Farmington resident driving to Santa Fe to celebrate that event would arrive early evening if he started early morning. That is assuming he did not have a flat tire. Fat chance.
The Model T’s New Mexicans might have driven around the terrain now known as Rio Rancho did not have a cruise control option. No Bluetooth either.
A cellphone is what happened when you ran a long cord through the jail bars and told the miscreant to call his mother.
When the girl got pregnant, the guy married her.
Rich kids always had it easier, but the Huckleberry Finns once lived in a society that cheered on the underdog. They elected leaders who would have blessed children with the benefits of a proposed New Mexico Early Childhood program designed to erase the embarrassment of our state’s dwelling dead last among all states in the child well being category.
A facebook was an album full of grainy family portraits.
About the only tattoo you saw around the neighborhood was the blue anchor on the forearm of your buddy’s older brother when he came home from the Navy. After listening to his tales of adventure, you would just as soon he didn’t date your sister.
Same-sex partners tended to face one another across a bridge table.
If you could handle a plow, drive a nail, run an industrial machine, you could get a pretty good job even if you didn’t know how to program a computer or invent a website. You were loyal to company, the company was loyal to you, and when it was time to trade the time clock for a fishing pole, you had a good life.
Prom queens were mostly girls.
The town’s richest guy lived in a mansion overlooking a valley. The poorest guy lived in a ramshackle house on a dusty street overlooking the dusty street. But, somehow, the distance between them seemed so much shorter than it is today.
Politicians indulged in routine chest-beating rants, but when it was time to compromise and meet the needs of the country, they put aside their petty egos and got the job done.
Newspapers were thicker, columns longer. Glad that changed.
Ned Cantwell – email@example.com – is made in America and proud of it.