Oh my, how the times have changed!

It is two in the morning and I am sitting in my wheel chair enjoying the mysteries of the night.

My neighbors must all be asleep as there are no lights in any of their windows. Most of them, like myself, sleep lonesome, for the mates who once shared their beds have passed on before them.

Lonesomeness is an awful illness for us old folks for our greatest need is to have someone to reach out and touch us.

Very softly and gently the music is playing on my tape recorder. Listen, there is an old one, "Tenting Tonight on the Old Campgrounds." That dates back to the Civil War. Just as meaningful today as it was then: "Many are the hearts that are weary tonight. Wishing for the war to cease."

When I was a child our schools had what was called "the School knapsack" and heroes of the songs we sung in those days were the Civil War veterans. As I sit here thinking about it I realize that it's been a long time since we had a war where "Only one soldier killed tonight," was still a popular song.

It seems that people in those days really enjoyed a good cry for such tear jerkers as, "Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage," "The Baggage Coach Ahead," and "Dear Mother, I am Thinking Most of You," were the top tunes of the day.

How different those sad old songs were from today's bang and slam so called music.

But then how different were many things in those days. Even though ever fading vision makes it difficult for me to write, I still have visions of the days of childhood and youth on my inner-mind and I hope you will indulge with me as I ramble.

I walked on to the stage carrying my violin. The theater was full with every seat taken and the applause was thunderous. I walked to the center of the stage and bowed and as I stood smiling at my admirers, the applause arose. I raised my hand and it gradually died down. Tucking my violin under my chin, I drew the bow gently over the strings and a sigh arose from the audience. I drew the bow again and the audience breathed.

"She's Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage," they sang as I motioned with my hands for more voices to join in.

"A Beautiful Sight to See," the voices sang as I stroked my instrument harder and violin and voices both rose. What a moment. I was riding on a pink cloud of ecstacy.

But suddenly, my pink cloud had changed to sun in my eyes as I sat up rubbing them. I was sitting on a piece of old rug in our current patch. Beside me lay the book I had been reading titled "The Secret Garden." I closed my eyes again and endeavored to return to my violin and the concert hall. It was no use, but the beauty of those few glorious moments decided for me what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be a great concert violinist and hold vast audiences breathless with the beauty of my music.

That night at supper I told papa that I had made up my mind that I wanted to be a violinist when I grew up.

"You mean you want to play the fiddle?" asked papa. "Why, your Uncle Dan makes out real well playing for the Saturday night dance at the armory."

The awfulness of comparing Uncle Dan's foot-stomping sawing with the sublimity of the great music I had so recently produced turned me cold.

"No, No," I protested. "I want to play the violin."

"Violin, fiddle, what's the difference?" asked papa.

The next time Uncle Dan came to dinner papa told him, "The boy there wants to learn to play the fiddle. Do you think he can?"

Uncle Dan looked at me long and hard. "Well, George, fiddling is something that's born in a man. If he ain't born to fiddle he'll never learn. Let's see boy, if you have a fiddling man's soul. I'll play my fiddle and you see if you can pick it up."

He tucked his instrument under his chin and began, "Did you ever go into an Irishman's shanty," and we hadn't gotten to the middle of the song when he abruptly laid down his fiddle and shook his head. "Nope George," he announced. "Your boy will never make a fiddler. He hasn't got the heart for it."

And so my hoped-for career as a concert violinist came to an end beside the empty plates of a Sunday dinner.

I have never seen a circus. When I was a kid and the shows came to town papa would always say, "We haven't got the money to go this year but next year will probably be better." But the next year never was so I'd get up early on circus morning and got to the rally yard and watch them unload. It was great fun watching the procession parade through town and I was always on hand to catch the excitement as they packed up the excitement as they packed up and got ready to move on to the next town.

Always bringing up the end of the parade were white horse-drawn wagons with men walking alongside carrying shovels. Their job was to pick up the animal waste that collected en route. These vehicles were called "Honey Wagons."

One day while standing along the curb with a young lady whom I admired greatly, and her mama, viewing the passing scene, my young lady wanted to know what the white wagons were for.

Embarrassed, I tried to change the subject but Willie Brown, who stood next to us, said, "Oh, those are 'Honey Wagons.'"

"Just think, mama," said the light of my love. "Some of these animals eat so much honey that they carry it in wagon loads." Believe me, I made no further effort to enlighten her.

It was the day the first man walked on the moon. I was babysitting with the eight-year old daughter of my neighbor. All day long she growled and grumbled about that "darned moon thing" which interfered with her TV programs.

I was in the bathroom rubbing out some laundry on a small wash board when she came wandering in and asked, "What are you doing, pop?"

"Washing clothes," I told her.

"On that thing?" she asked?

"Sure. Didn't you ever see a washboard before?" A few years ago all clothes were washed on bigger boards just like this."

So I got some old rags, stood her up on a stool in front of the washbowl and she happily scrubbed rags on the board most of that afternoon.

When her mama came for her that night she ran to her exclaiming, "Oh, mama, you should see the wonderful thing pop's got to wash clothes on. It is so neat."