do you hear what I hear?

By kateandcarla

December 1, 2011

Category: Uncategorized


It’s a new month, and I am soooo ready.

Which makes it all the more fun that the first topic I can’t wait to share concerns the old. Specifically, the old whirrs, dings, clicks and pops so familiar to us at one point in our lives that we never hear anymore.  Unless we visit a site like this one:

What I find most fascinating, however, is the way each of these little reminders is a ticket to another place and time.

The gas station bell that called the attendant to come fill up the tank?  Lockridges, Highway 2, Promise City.  Hello, lean-and-lanky Bob Lockridge.

The bubble-burp of the coffee percolator?  A constant on the white-with-gold-flecked kitchen counter at Arlene and Carl Thompson’s.  That would be Butternut brewing, thank you very much, three scoops per pot dipped from a round, red can with chocolate-chip-oatmeal cookies.

The National Cash Register drawer opening? Joe and Juanita Carpenter’s general store, immediately south of the stop light in P.C. The floors were oiled, the Coke machine was a reach-your-hand-in-ice-water classic, their back room was stacked with feed sacks and their shelves were stocked with everything from macaroni to medication for cattle. I even know of one little girl who came home from there with a blue-eyed, white-furred baby kitten (right, Suz?).

The 45-rpm record changer? My brother’s, I believe, a small, white suitcase variety with three records that played over and over and over, again. One was Elvis Presley’s Hound Dog. Can’t recall the flip side.

Kate and I have decided we’d like December’s blog to be a “celebration of conversation.”  Which is where you come in. 😉 What common sound from your past transports you? Where does it set you down? Who’s waiting when you arrive? What does it stir inside?

Can’t wait to hear.

Photo: The Jackrabbits, Tempe, AZ  (thanks, Beth!)


5 Responses to “do you hear what I hear?”

  1. My sound: the utterly distinctive hum that accompanied the “test pattern” which appeared on our one and only TV once the “programming day” had “come to an end.”

    Every once in awhile my brother and I would be allowed to stay up and watch Boris Karloff, Vincent Price, Lon Cheney, or Bela Lugosi on our own. We would inevitably fall asleep, to be awakened by the strains of the National Anthem. That would be followed by the image of a jet climbing into the heavens and the poem “High Flight” which began “Oh I have slipped the surly bonds of earth…” and ended “Reached out my hand and touched the face of God.” And, then, the hum would begin, continuing throughout the night. No infomercials, no reruns.

  2. Oh geez, of course, The Tingler. And all the Edgar Allen Poe inspired thrillers, too.

  3. The ticking of my Grandma Parker’s clock and the chime every half hour. I remember it being it in her kitchen. It also was painted almost every time the kitchen was painted. It is in my guest bedroom now and my goal is to have to running again and the many of layers of paint removed!

    • Clocks are magical! My mom has the cherrywood Seth Thomas mantel clock my dad bought for her just after they were married. I remember it chiming in every house growing up. (Good luck on the paint removal!)

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