Picking the creosote from the tarry side of the telephone pole

[michaelboy]

There was a time when all the streetlights came on at once. Before the days of light-sensing electronics, neighborhood lighting was usually controlled by an electro-mechanical timer and this timing was often used as a standing order for kids to come home on summer nights. Many of these lamps had the large socketed (Mogul E39) incandescent lamps which were laid bare for anyone handy with a slingshot or BB gun. The reflectors were reminiscent of wrinkled pie plates but now they remind me of the emotional security I felt growing up on Shepherd Terrace. Whether it was playing kick-the-can, fiddling around with calcium carbide, or picking berries from the large mulberry tree, it was good to know that my parents made most of the tough decisions.

I couldn't imagine it ever being different then and now I can not envision it still being the "old way".

Yet, at night, kids still sit out under streetlights; play games and share stories of broken hearts and mended loves. So in the often brutal turn of life, some things happily never change.

Ollie Ollie Oxen-Free.

* * *

The old transformer on the telephone pole was exploding and made the night sky light up like the best of thunderstorms do. My sisters and I were glued to the picture window behind the couch as the sparks and 'lightning" flew. In our eyes, it was a good thing that the power had failed. After all, we had candles lit and it felt like we were "roughing it" in our own disasterous imaginations. Fire trucks and the police cars came as a man from Ohio Power coiled up the wire that led to our house. It had the pretense of survival without the loss of any lasting true comfort that we felt.