Of all the wildflowers of fall, goldenrod gets my vote as one of the loveliest. After all it was chosen as the brand symbol for Goldenrod tablets. (As the writer in the linked post notes, it’s difficult to find information on these tablets used by many children throughout the twentieth-century. – I learned of them from my parents, and I have seen one personally.)
In later years, when, for whatever reason, allergies became an epidemic, sufferers steered clear of goldenrod, considering it a trigger for symptoms.
Modern day research proved ragweed, a plant that blooms during the same season as goldenrod was the real culprit.
When I pulled into the post office parking lot, one Friday morning this past spring, this cool truck was right behind me. The care that went into its customization was evident, though some may call it a rust bucket.
I love the individuality expressed by its owner, who was quiet polite, holding the door for me in a debonair manner, his appearance resembling the truck.
What a disappointment when I opened the box. The little white ceramic prize we used to find wasn’t there. At first I thought they just missed this box, but there wasn’t the usual notice on the top, letting shoppers know this great, tasty, basic black tea also offered a bonus gift.
Apparently some accountant decided the company needed the small amount of money it cost to give customers a bright spot in an otherwise mundane day was too costly to the company.
Like so many other little perks that gave me an inexpensive pick me up, I’ll have to adjust, it seems to the disappearance of the Red Rose prize.
Years ago I framed a copy of a Vermont Life Magazine, printed back when it was a full size publication. It’s since hung on my bedroom wall, the featured words and picture offering encouragement throughout the seasons whenever I glance at it while preparing for an evening’s rest.
The back cover of the magazine, the side that I see, depicts a lovely red farmhouse surrounded by flowering crab apple trees.
The quote below the picture reads:
Spring has come, like the silver needle note of a fife. . .
It’s difficult to explain why I’m so moved by such simple words and the photograph of a modest country house. The combination just seems so symbolic of New England’s values: tradition, nature, hope for the future. . .
It doesn’t matter if I stop and ponder upon the photo and the simple simile in the delicate spring season during which it was written, or on a dark, dreary evening in late autumn.
A friend who’s made his career the sales, care, and repair of television sets says this thrift shop find from a while back was likely manufactured in the late 1950s or early 1960s.
Didn’t check to see if it still works, but it’s a great piece of history.
They don’t make ’em like this these days. Quality and workmanship have gone by the wayside. Today’s TVs are barely as thick as a piece of paper. Not to my taste. To me TVs should always be furniture pieces.
Growing up, we displayed photos and plastic floral bouquets on the expansive top of the television. At Christmas Mom and I arranged a display of deer and other creatures within a forest, complete with cotton ball snow.
Sure, the TV’s energy attracted dust, but back then there was more time. It was rather rewarding to move each individual display piece, and swipe a damp cloth across it.
(The shows were better back then too. Except for a few selections, screenplay craftsmanship has gone down the tube over the past few decades.)
Spotted this last week at my favorite second hand shop:
It’s almost spring but I guess someone forgot to put this little apple away after Christmas at the thrift shop. Or, like me, they decided to leave a trace of Christmas cheer on display until winter is over.
Either way, the sight of this beautifully crafted, glossy little apple made my day.
I almost asked to purchase it, then decided to leave it, to perhaps offer a moment of delight to the minority of others like me, who can be lifted from the depths of late winter depression by a moment of whimsy.
A lovely selection of nicely framed prints awaits thrift shop browsers. At least the one in the right foreground I believe to be a Currier and Ives. The others are similar in style, but I’m not sure of the painter.
We must consider the beauty of winter, even as we struggle with ice and snow.
There are many trade-offs as times change. Home life is much easier during the cold season than it was back then, but at least in earlier days there wasn’t the necessity of traveling treacherous highways daily.