Back when I was a boy! (as I pull-up my trousers and speak like an older man:) Life was simple for a teenager growing up in Small Town U.S.A. In 1978, the population of Woodstock, Virginia was somewhere around 2500 people. Continue reading Our Jericho Mile
Tag Archives: Americana
Shopping in the 60’s (The Good Old Days)
A four-year-old boy goes off to the grocery store, with his two-year-old sister in tow, to buy some laundry detergent for their Mother. It was only four blocks to the store. What could possibly go wrong? Continue reading Shopping in the 60’s (The Good Old Days)
Share this:
Video-Main Street in Woodstock, Virginia during the Forties
This is another in a series of short home movies that I’ve been editing (while learning how to edit:). It’s from a collection filmed by the late (uncle) Sam Smith of Woodstock, Virginia , my hometown. Continue reading Video-Main Street in Woodstock, Virginia during the Forties
Share this:
Me and Michael
I’m not a text person or a tweet person, having never really done either before. Today, I got to spend some quality time with my buddy Michael. Just like his Dad and myself as teens, we had gone months without communicating, but then side by side, we spoke to each other like it was just yesterday. It felt good.
Share this:
Aunt B’s Pictures
I was working in Aunt B’s basement yesterday, and she followed me down the stairs and began rummaging through some boxes, looking at old pictures. The more that I looked, the more that I was amazed. Continue reading Aunt B’s Pictures
Share this:
House Painter for Hire
Back before the days of OSHA, on a 32-foot extension ladder far, far away, a young man took his first steps up the ladder for a short career as a house painter.
I was in-between jobs, to the point of being desperate for gas money. Not Mad Max desperate, but pretty close. A friend told me of a friend who had his own little painting business and that he was looking for some temporary help during the summertime. Continue reading House Painter for Hire
Share this:
Self Medication
I was sitting at a bar one afternoon, hanging out with the regulars, just sipping on a beer and shooting the breeze. I hadn’t been born or raised in the area, but had morphed into a bar fly through osmosis, averaging four or five visits a week, and talking a good game while possessing the ability to drink to an unhealthy level while still working a job for 60 hours a week. That made you normal, just one of the guys. Continue reading Self Medication
Robin's Stories 