About this blog

It’s not that I don’t like the 21st century – I do. I appreciate computers, digital photography, and air conditioning. I am thankful for the advances in medicine and technology. But I am also unapologetic in my sometimes rose colored memories of my growing up years in the 20th century.

It’s sometimes hard to realize that I was born before the midpoint of the last century. Life was different then and I have some very happy memories of that time. Are those memories distorted by time and distance? Perhaps, but they are my memories none-the-less. I think it is more important to remember the good times than to dwell on the not so good times.

And so it is that I want to preserve some of these memories of a simpler time and a different way of living. I am not attempting to make any political statement here, just trying to tell real stories about real people in a real time in the last century. Perhaps you, the reader, might find something that brings back a memory or two for you as well. I wish I had some first-hand knowledge of how my grandmother lived in her time. Maybe someday my grandchildren will enjoy reading about how it was in my time.

These stories are not linear, but random as they come to mind. I am in the process of scanning old slides and photos, and as something triggers my memory, I will attempt to write it down. Therefore, expect to jump from 1949 to 1963 and back to 1950. Some stories might be ones that have been passed down in family lore, which occurred before I was born. I will have to trust my siblings to correct any flaws in my memories!

So let’s get to it, shall we. Jump aboard my time machine and let’s take a trip back to the 20th century.

Friday, July 11, 2014

Shopping At Frasier’s Market

Shopping was definitely different way back in 1957. We lived in the small town of Bloomington, CA and the local store was Frasier’s Market. It was a bit bigger than today’s convenience stores, a concept that was not even on the radar back in those days. My dad was a big believer in shopping locally and a large portion of our grocery budget was spent at Frasier’s.  What we couldn’t find at Frasier’s, we found at the local Stater Bros. Super Market. 

That little local market was run by a husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Frasier, and they knew just about everyone in the neighborhood. Their store had the usual limited selection of grocery items, but they did have a meat and cheese counter. I can still remember when they would run hamburger on special 3#s for $1.00. Yup, that’s right, three pounds for one dollar!! Mr. Frasier ground the meat himself and it was good quality stuff. They also had big rounds of longhorn cheddar cheese that was about the same price as ground beef. I loved to go into the store and watch them cut a big slice off those rounds of cheese and wrap it up in butcher paper. Sometimes they would slip me a free sample too! 

Frasier’s Market was on the main street in Bloomington, Valley Blvd. That was also where the school buses stopped for the neighborhood. It was about 4 or 5 blocks from our house and I was allowed to walk there all by myself. One day my mother asked me to walk to the store for her. She gave me a note and told me to give it to Mrs. Frasier. 

I was SO insulted. I was 8 years old and had been reading for years!! Did my mother think I was stupid? I took the note but I did not give it to Mrs. Frasier. I knew what it said and I looked all over the store shelves until I found the precise item. I made the purchase and headed home. 

I was so proud as I gave the bag to my mother. She looked inside and then looked at me kind of funny and asked if I had given the note to Mrs. Frasier. I had to admit I had not...BUT I proudly pointed out the lettering on the package of Scot White Dinner Napkins, “See it says right here…SANITARY, just like it says on the note.” I didn’t know what mother was laughing at until some years later, but I don’t think she ever sent me to the store again for that particular product. 

sharon donna church sign
That’s me on the right at about 8 years old.





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