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There are a lot of memories I relish from those long ago childish days, but there are a number of them I could have done without, too. Doing the supper dishes was a natural part of growing up, as were raking yards, washing windows and walls and beating the living mischief out of braided scatter rugs. Looking back on these things, some folks sigh and wish for the good old days. I used to be one of those until I took a real good look at what I was hankering for.

In our family, helping with chores under Mama's watchful eye was like breathing - necessary if you wanted to say alive. With that I had no fight, but checking out the tools we used then and now was like day and night. The riding mower we whine of using today was once an unmotored, rotating, bladed monster pushed by boy power, unless, of course, the family had only girls. Then the oldest girl was handed the task.

When most children decide to clean their rooms today, an allowance should be forthcoming - their outstretched hands certainly are! If my siblings and I didn't clean our rooms, there was also an outstretched hand. It belonged to Mama and had a thin, reedy whiplike switch attached. This brought our attention back to the job at hand and added amazing speed and expertise to our efforts.

A wringer washer filled a tiny room next to the freezer room. Neither of the rooms was attached to the house and neither had heat or air conditioning. The washer room had no door so we wouldn't suffer in the summer heat. Unfortunately, that missing door did nothing to keep out the freezing winter winds on a wintery wash day Monday. The big house had gas heaters (one in the den and one in the living room) and a big old attic fan. Air conditioning was for the foolish, wasteful rich folk and since we had plenty of quilts on the beds, who needed heaters in the bedrooms? When we went to our rooms, it was to sleep, not play video games, watch television or any other time waster.

The games today are delicious fun, but wasteful of brain cells. We lived on a farm and had more toys than any of our city cousins; most required incredible imaginations to play. The massive gas tank in the cow pasture was my gallant steed. It saw me through many a battle and though it never moved, in my mind, it was faster than the Lone Ranger's Silver or more beautiful than Roy Roger's Trigger.

A tray hanging from the ceiling of the feed house, when free of full grain sacks, made a swing large enough to hold at least two children. When we added a third,

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