I have a memoir teacher – I will pass She has me read my memoir Aloud, before the class. Shows me how to write a story true, With homework only I can do; A story from my past.

Monday is wash day. Everybody knows that. It always has been. I remember, when I was little during the Great Depression of the 30's, what it was like for Mother. Dad didn't help. After all, it was woman's work. I was too young to help, but I did watch. This is what I remember.

I found a poem in an old book written about something else. The poem supported the woman's right to vote, I think. Although the word wasn't mentioned, suffragette came to mind. I wasn't sure how to spell it so I looked it up. My dictionary said the word “suffrage” came partly from a word meaning “intercessory prayer” and partly from one meaning “to vote.” Does that mean that when a woman votes she is exercising intercessory prayer? That's funny. Let me tell you why.

“Yours till Niagara Falls” or is it “Yours till the Statue of Liberty sits down?” Maybe it's “Yours till the United States drinks Canada Dry.” Could it be “Yours till they feed the corn on your toes to the calves of your legs?” No, that doesn't sound very nice. I know. It's “Yours till the barn dances and the fire escapes.”

Whenever Mother and Dad had an argument, usually in bed at night, Mother had a litany of offenses Dad had been guilty of in the past. She never forgave him and she certainly never forgot. First on the list was when Dad punched Mother's brother, Uncle Johnny, in the nose and knocked him down. The second offense was the one I will now describe. Dad was officially listed as AWOL at the end of World War l. That sounds worse than what it was. I will explain.

Back in the 30's and the 40's small carnivals cross-crossed the country. It was before television and the Internet. Amusements were simpler back in the day. I'm not talking about the circus, just a carnival with some rides and a midway. They are gone forever.

I remember them. Dad allowed us one ride, a walk through the midway and a hot dog. What sights! What sounds! What smells! That was what childhood memories were made of. We went once.

The old rocking chair is empty on Thursday;
Grandma is no longer in it.
She is off in her car to the Senior Center, not far,
And buzzes around every minute.

You won't see her trudging off early to bed
From her place by her warm fireside nook.
Her computer's click-clicking long into the night,
Grandma is writing her book.

Grandma ne'er takes a backward glance
To slow her steady advancing.
She won't tend the babies for you anymore
For Grandma has taken up dancing -

Why write about screws and nails, you ask? Why not? They are a necessary part of life. I remember growing up during the Great Depression and during WW ll when good ones were hard to find.

Let's look back at screws, first. Phillips screws were unheard of. If they were around, we never saw any. All we had were the slotted ones and it seemed we seldom had new ones. A box full of assorted screws, nails and small fittings was a joy to sort through.

Oleomargarine. My, that is a long word. We call it margarine, nowadays. Back before WW ll, we called it oleo. You will find that name in old cook books.

I think most everybody likes pineapple. There's Pineapple Upside Down Cake, Pineapple Casserole and last but not least, Pineapple Pie. I like pineapple any way you fix it. Of course, fresh pineapple is the best, but that is only available part of the year.