‘Tis been quite a few fortnights since last I blogged. Stuff happens. Life happens. My wife and I bought a house. What do you want from me?
In the spirit of neighbors and hoods – – being a full-blown, tax-paying, pride-of-ownership-having mama jamma has my blogger-senses barking up Good Ol Days Tree, and hearkening back to the quaintness of old-timey suburbia. As the wee-est of lads, while indulging in 5am reruns of Leave it to Beaver and Andy Griffith, I was always a bit jealous that my “good ol’ days” – – which, at the time, were the “good now days” – – didn’t involve any of the perfectly picturesque portrayals of pop-culture Americana that shone in glorious black and white on the telly.
No freshly baked pies on the window sills. No 5-cent Dr. Peppers. No milk man.
For whatever reason, I have always carried this odd sense of “missing” the old door-to-door moo juice delivery man – – even though my family never partook in the vintage urban ritual. Perhaps it is flashes of the Beav and the boys of Mayberry assimilated into actual memories of my days gone by. The point is, such a character represents a proud spirit of community togetherness – – a motto whose candle is sadly burning out.
So, to pay my respects to days that were truly good. I give you – – Gil.