“It is a mind-wandering time
Remember the old times
when illusions were distinct
Remember the old times
when a friendly chat
was all we needed
to brighten up our hearts”
― Rixa White
I’d spent the morning working in the yard.
I was tired, thirsty, and hungry. I’d started early in hopes of completing what I wanted to get done before the heat took command of the day.
I almost made it–my goal was in sight but the sun had burned its way through the clouds, raising both the temperature and the humidity.
I waved the white flag.
As I ate my peanut butter toast and drank my third glass of chilled water, I read through my Facebook feeds. What I found became the theme of today’s story–meter readers.
I grew up in the Waterloo/Cedar Falls part of Iowa. As a kid, and even as a young adult, our meters were read manually by a man who came to every house every month.
The interesting part of this was the meters were located INSIDE the houses. Not a problem because commmon practice was to leave doors unlocked.
As I rehydrated, other posts of meter man experiences sparked my own memories.
I remember being home, all of us going about daily routine, when a sharp knock would be heard on the back door, the door opening as a strong male voice sang out, “Meter Man!”
If, by chance no one was home and the door locked, the meter man would leave a card in the door frame. This card had pictures of the meter dials so the homeowner could read his own meter and mail it into the power company.
The degree of trust, goodness, and honestly for members of our community does not seem real or remotely possible to me today.
It was such a great memory I had to share in case you had similiar experiences and wanted to take your own walk back in time.
Everybody needs his memories. They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door.”
I am…
B…simply being.
~Peace~
B...simply being... 