Retirement’s Comic Relief: Take time for time travel
Before leaving town on 100-mile trips to Grandma’s house during each summer in the 1950s, we always stopped at the gas station first. Someone emerged from the station wiping dirty hands with a rag as Dad rolled the window down. “Fill ‘er up with regular,” Dad said. We stayed in the car. The fellow pumped gas, cleaned the windshield and sometimes popped the hood to check the oil. All for 17.9 cents a gallon. Doing 70 mph on the highway, we each strained to hear the AM radio over the noise of wind blowing past open windows as we sweltered in summer heat. Mom and Dad ...
