I remember attic fans in the summer and radiators in the winter and if you backed into it trying to get warm, you burnt your ass.
I remember linoleum floors.
Stovetop percolators.
Gas stoves you had to light with wooden matches.
I remember glass bottles of milk with cardboard stoppers on the porch.
Wall phones with 15-foot cords hanging in the kitchen.
Screen doors with long springs to close them. Loudly.
I remember rugs, not carpeting.
Clear plastic furniture covers.
Doilies.
Mothballs.
I remember newspaper shelf lining.
Wood piles.
Clotheslines.
Picket fences.
One-car garages.
I remember fried bologna sammiches.
Jello salads.
Sweet tea.
Bacon drippings.
Morse code.
I remember Saturday baseball at the park.
Bicycles on the sidewalk.
Mowing lawns with push mowers.
Hand watering the yard.
Sweeping the curbs.
I remember dressing up to go shopping.
Skeleton key locks.
Tick-tock clocks.
Three TV stations.
Floor lamps.
I remember running boards on cars.
No seat belts.
Ashtrays.
Ovaltine.
Pocket combs.
I remember Sen-Sen breath tabs.
Blackjack gum.
Two movies and a cartoon at the local theater for 25 cents.
Drinking from the water hose.
Peeing outside.
Lightning bugs.
I remember playing tag.
Wrestling in the yard and getting chiggers.
Beans and spaghetti sauce on the stove all day.
Hating meatloaf.
Cutting the crust off bread.
I remember sock-hops.
Yo-Yos.
Cherry cokes.
Peter Plenty trucks.
First love.
I remember... way too much.