Are you ready for another post about old car radios? No, neither am I, but there it is; Hubby is out obtaining more of the darn things this morning, courtesy of someone who used to seem like a really nice person.
It’s not really the donor’s fault, if it comes to that. He’s kindly offering to give away a whole bunch of radios that fit cars from the 50s, 60s, and 70s. Somehow it’s become common knowledge among the crowd that delights in such things that my Darling Husband simply cannot resist accumulating more and more pieces to add to his collection. He claims that each one of these carcasses may hold some part that will be absolutely essential when he’s repairing someone’s radio. The part in question will, of course, not be obtainable by any more usual means. DH says with a straight face, that “I really need this one” and (his very favorite) “You just never know when this will come in handy.”
His stockpile now contains several hundred radios—or at least parts of radios—and I have my suspicions that they are breeding up there in the dark confines of his storage units. I have to say that occasionally he does drive up to the unit and come home triumphantly bearing a chassis that is, indeed, just what he was looking for. I am expected to agree each time that it is a good thing he got that several years ago so it would be right at hand (in a manner of speaking) now when he needs it. I do it because of my great affection for him, and also because he extended me the same courtesy over the last 50 years in the matter of sewing fabrics. It’s what makes a marriage last, I guess.
If nothing else, Hubby’s hobby provides fodder for my little blogs. Sometimes I feel as if I’m repeating things I posted her some time ago, and no doubt that’s the truth once in a while. Life is like that. There are lots of things, good or bad, that repeat and repeat in our lives. Luckily, the good ones seem to outnumber the annoying kind by an overwhelming margin.
In a little while the annual SCARS two-day meet will come around again. The acronym stands for Southern California Antique Radio Society (Google it) and the group meets several times a year. As far as I’ve ever been able to figure, the whole premise of the thing is to give the
old farts hobbyists a chance to visit and exchange the same old stories they shared last year, all while each guy tries to sell off the precious antique he bought at last year’s meet.
Okay, I exaggerate. I actually enjoy myself when the meet comes around. All the members are knowledgeable about their specialties and I love watching the faces when they find new treasures. As for me, among the radios, phonographs, boxes of tubes and other electronic stuff, I can find old lamps and pictures, jewelry and lunchboxes. If it’s old, it’s there.
The other day, Hubby, with a big grin, came into the room where I was urgently concentrating on a game of computer Scrabble and said, “I have another song to get stuck in your mind all day!” (We do this to each other; I think it’s because of mutual affection, but I could be wrong.) He hummed the first couple of bars, the rat!
He asked me to look it up and see where it came from. The song was “Pony Boy” (My Pony Boy) and when I Googled it I found that it dates from 1909 and actually has a story attached. The computer also provided covers for the sheet music, which was a big thing back in the day. I can’t sing it to you so you get burdened by the tune, but if you want to take the chance, you can probably find it on your own computer. I’ll give you a hint:
Pony Boy, Pony Boy, won’t you be my Pony Boy?
Chances are, you aren’t old enough to remember the song anyway. That’s okay. Maybe I’ll get lucky at the swap meet and find the sheet music, and I’ll be happy to share it with you.
I’ll see you again, after the commercial.