MAGAZINE MANIA

I have ever attended "Magazine University". Most editors insist their writers research a subject and know of what they speak. Shoot, I learned the ABC's of writing, and how to flush a boyfriend down the toilet when I was younger.I learned how to decorate my bathroom, train the dog, to deal with car salesmen, produce a video, buy the best washing machine...the list is endless.  I've thrown thousands of them away, everybody has.  Some I can't part with. Its unreasonable at my age to still be enamored of any story about the tragic Diana, or those velvety movie stars of yesteryear. I like to look back and remember old Olympic triumphs, the wonderful golfer, Ashley who died too young, or the heady times when Corazon Aquino took over in the Philippines.  And remember Michael Jackson when he was beautiful, brown and healthy rather than that pasty-white phony with a silly thin nose? Yes, I've saved hundreds of old magazines. I'm fessing up because I had my son, Doug build me another rack. This is number five. Its mounted from floor to ceiling and made of solid oak. Magazines are heavy.

He installed it yesterday, and I started filling it this morning. Now, I save magazines about a world  in chaos, and how to protect myself in case of Nuclear Winter. I know the Sicilians are fighting the Mafia and winning.The Shriners and other Fraternal Organizations are dwindling as the young find other pursuits. Who will fill their shoes? Traditional management techniques are out, and wikileaks are helpful. Optimists look at dirt and alarm us to a new resource literally going down the drain. In a struggling economy, thrift store shopping is for everybody. And, Oprah is Quitting?  Oh, no! I save mags about  political slug fests with the hope that the next crop of mags has better news for the people in this insane political climate. To keep my sanity I can always read about the best hikes in our National Forests and continually learn from the panoply of human experience which is all on paper. I keep as much as I can close by so I can take a cruise through the past once in awhile.

INSIDIOUS PAPER

On the road for three months? I've finally struggled through all the mail. The bag above is white paper recycle. Useless, waste of paper. I've dutifully replied to a round of senders, do not mail. I can't believe my request to be on the do-not-mail list has run out? I've quite forgotten how it works.

Once I reduced the junk, this is what I had left. One beer tray of magazines and a pile of things to attend to.
I believe computers will streamline communications. Though, in my Onearth Magazine, I just read that the carbon footprint for your cyber mail service is horrendous, just ridding us of spam.
Can we ever win?

MAGAZINE COLLECTING IS A HEAVY RESPONSIBILITY

One might ask why anyone would collect magazines? They take up way too much room, they are ubiquitous. Where can you store them? I'm chuckling at the truck loaded with boxes of magazines. Those are the ones saved from a larger load rising to the top of the truck's cab. I advertised on Craigs List, HAVE TRUCK OF MAGAZINES, WILL TRAVEL! The only bites I got were men interested in Porn. No takers. Yes, they are mine. I have narrowed the collection down by about 2,000 pounds. I've had special racks made for them. I can't resist trotting through them now and then to see the handsome, brown, Michal Jackson with his beautiful nose before he decided to surgically narrow it, or the gorgeous Diana before her tortuous and deadly courtship with the papparazi. Oh, the moments relived through my magazines, and the wonderful education they impart. Collecting may not be rational, but it is enjoyable.

DEPRESSION DAYS AND HOW "WE" COPED

Claude Guash, 82, of Murphys remembers well the depression years. "Times were thin," he remembers. "We had a restaurant in San Francisco and my dad sold dinners for $1.50, big meals with raviolis or enchiladas and salad, soup and bread. Lunches for 3o cents. Nobody had any money. My folks worked from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. but never seemed to get ahead. They couldn't afford to buy a home, they always had to rent. My father did the cooking and ran the restaurant and my mother was the cashier. Me and my brother went to the restaurant after school and worked until 7 p.m. Dad would give us 5 cents for the trolley but we'd walk the two miles and use the nickel for an ice cream instead. The tough years were before the war. You couldn't get certain things. No laundry. So we actually saved money by using paper table cloths. No meat Tuesday, meant we closed on Tuesday. With the gas shortages, you couldn't get deliveries for small restaurants. When I got old enough to drive, I'd go get everything from suppliers. But we made delicious minestrone soup with french bread and always had enough to eat. I took bread and jelly sandwhiches to school and would trade with a friend for his egg salad. In 1938 I remember church kitchens feeding people. But then, after the war got going, the shipyards were booming and things got better. Eventually, my dad sold the restaurant and made enough money to retire to Palo Alto."
Francis Harden, 87, of Sonora (above) and her older sister were raised by her mother, a single parent. One of the original multi-taskers, her mother sold magazines, baked and sold cakes, sold bread for a Campbells Co. and gave piano lessons in her home. (See the original story on Francis in "friends and neighbors" magazine. Francis lived in Berkeley. The depression affected people differently in different parts of the country.
to becontinued.