Of Radio Days & Memories
The last few days brought pleasant memories. . . It was about 1970 . . . . I was a young mom . . . very young by today's standards. . . a stay-at-home mom with two children under the age of three when we bought our first home.The house was in a tiny village in that little corner of the world where Vermont, New Hampshire and Massachusetts sort-of-meet. A mere 300 souls inhabited that quiet village whose life centered around the village green. Our house joined a few others to surround the green which also had a country inn-past-its-prime, the town hall, general store, post office and library (only opened on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons).The house had been occupied by the same family for a quarter century and was always called, "the Anderson house" -- even after the Anderson's were long-gone and we were paying the mortgage, re-roofing, and gardening there. It was a large house; we had little money and were grateful to relatives who offered furniture from their attics which I stripped, sanded, painted, stained and recovered. And so we created a home with an interesting, if eclectic mix of styles that we loved; our rooms always brought smiles to the faces of visitors.
One of our prize possessions came from the home of a family friend who had lived in the same house all her married life. Their home was at the end of a short, narrow lane, a small cottage style with seven rooms, two large porches front and back, a wonderful grape arbor, pear and apple trees, French lilacs and the tiniest tiniest garage you can imagine. The husband died first; they had no children; the widow became frail and forgetful. The only relative, a New York city cousin arranged for her to live in a nursing home and asked us to house-sit (and that is yet another story!). Later when we purchased our own home 50 miles away, they offered the contents of the house to us.The house was packed with the stuff and things of their long life together: Mission and Stickley. Lots of the heavy, ornate oak. The dining room table was claw footed with a matching glass fronted tall chest and buffet typical of the 20s and 30s. Tall, Victorian pressed-back chairs. But oak and other pieces from this period were NOT desireable at that time; you could NOT sell them; it was almost necessary to PAY someone to cart them away.But we accept their offer.Among the furniture was a tall floor-model tube radio from the mid-1930s. It was in pristine condition, it's cabinetry was smooth and glistening without a scratch or a dent. The original purchase papers were folded into an envelope and tucked into the back. And, wonder of wonders, it played. And so the radio, along with other treasures from the house moved with us to our new house in the tiny village.The tall radio stood proudly in the dining room and was often a topic of conversation ~~~ which was, really, all we ever asked of it. But one day a friend and neighbor who had moved to the village about the same time we did stopped by for coffee. I am certain she had seen the radio before but I doubt she'd ever commented on it. On this day, however, she did make note of it and then asked:
"Does it still play the old radio programs!!!!!!!!"
This page includes:
To give the pages texture and dimension,
This page features original ephemera ~~
The angle of the photograph creates a wonderfully sensuous feel. 
This was our destination, the Mt. Washington Hotel, nestled beneath Mt. Washington, a real beauty and one of the few 'grand old ladies' of the 19th/20th century.
Sunrise over Mt. Washington~~ and the Hotel. 
