Remember when farm families did their own butchering, mothers stayed home, folks churned their own butter, canned vegetables and meat, shucked corn, thrashed wheat, used a washboard, walked to church and school and had corncob fights? . When girls (or at least my sisters) curled their hair with curling irons heated in the chimney of a kerosene lamp. . When kids learned to work on the farm, both at home and for the neighbors - and considered it a privilege just to be allowed to participate. . When, at school, the two big challenging recess games for boys were mumble peg and marbles. . When kids who had brothers in the service during World War II shared the worry and agony with their parents, to learn of some neighbor families whose son never came home. . When parents hung little flags in their doors or windows that contained a star for each son in the service – like the two stars on our flag for my brothers Alvin and Howard. . When we shared in rationing, and we painstakingly saved the foil from cigarette packages and turned it in for the war effort. . When grandma came to visit and brightened up life by making room in her suitcase for chewing gum for the kids and chewing tobacco for herself. . When grandma taught me to catch a chicken and wring its head off - all for the promise of her homemade chicken and noodles. . When we visualized the scenes when glued to the radio listening to Tom Mix, Gene Autry, Jack Armstrong, Inner Sanctum, and Lucky Strike Hit Parade. We thought we had almost everything - looking back, we had a pretty good quality of life. At times I find myself wishing for the return to the more simple ways of life.