Well, we actually called it the Five and Ten Cent store, but it’s one and the same.

It was in Germantown, it’s not there anylonger, and it was owend and operated by one of the nicest guys I’ve ever known.

Mr. Seelbrede.  I don’t know his first name, he was always Mr.  as was everyone back then. 

They carried everything you needed, from fabric to greeting cards to toys, hula hoops, and candy; they sold candy corn and peanuts mixed, it’s still my favorite and may have been the beginning of that addiction.  They even had wagons.  They weren’t a dime though.

It was the precursor of the Dollar Store.  Only much better.  It was a local store, operated by a local man, who knew the community, it’s needs, and it’s small wants.  He was a really nice man, and had a beautiful daughter who grew UP to be Miss USA in 1981, Kim Seelbrede.  She recently told me (via Facebook) her dad worried about kids stealing.  I was surprised to find out that they did back then.  We were way to afraid to steal.   She said “his greatest joy was clowning and connecting with his customers”, and it showed!

Mr. Seelbrede was special. 

He called me Wally.

For a few years I had no idea why.  I just thought he figured my  name was Wally, and I never corrected him.  Which is odd, as I usually corrected everyone on everything back then.  Somethings never change.

I was “outspoken”.

Finally, one day, I asked him “Why?”

He said, “Well, you look like Mr. Peepers.”

And amazingly, I did.

Now Mr. Peepers was on TV.  So, as a seven year old looking like a star was fine with me, it didn’t matter that he was reduced to selling laundry detergent.

As you may remember, I’ve often claimed that I was switched at birth, and my real parents are rich Hollywood types who could spoil me materially.  Alas, Mother insists not.

But really, take a look at this and tell me what you think?

Me:

Mr. Peepers:

Since my my motto has always been “If there’s a will, I wanna be in it!”…

…I need to run now, gotta’ go call the lawyer.

…before that piece of junk in your attic – basement – garage – closet winds UP being worth something.

Take this for example…

This 1980s era Nintendo system complete with games sold for $13,105 on e-bay.

Really, what did it cost brand new?  A couple a hundred bucks?

It amazes me what people collect, what they are willing to pay for something, and how much and how long they will look for “THE” item to complete the collection.

Now, UP is a collector, so I’m one of “those people”.   I’ve been buying and selling antique and collectible dishes and other decorative items for 30 years.  I’ve sold items to Movie Studios, Interior Decorators, and collectors.

I have a collection of three toed bowls.

I have a collection of books.

I have a collection of antique family photographs.

I have seven sets of dishes, mostly Depression Glass, but a few sets of China to boot.

And, I have a collection of punch bowls.  Five of them to be exact!

And my Christmas Punch Set -

Just what everyone needs.

I live in fear that the people from “Hoarders” will show UP and take over my house.

So, I kinda have a read on collecting and collectors.  One of my friends collects classic scale model cars.  One collect Mr. Peanut things, another collects computers.  He has one of every AT&T computer ever made.  Theyare useless, except to him, just as most collections are.

I’m always amazed at what people will collect.

And what they will pass UP on the way to collect “their thing”.

But, Nintendos?

Really, there is no taste left in America.

It started with Beanie Babies.  When I was selling 70 year old Depression Glass, an item with history, artistic value, and creativity, people would trot by my booth at the antique mall so fast, my hair would flutter.  They were all heading for the Beanie Babies. 

Rags, stuffed with beans, really.  And I’ll admit, the daughter, has a a bunch.  After 9-11, the antique business dropped off a tad.  And with today’s economy, it has to be a real rarity to command attention, much less a price. 

But, just as everything else in the world changes from time to time, it will come back.  It may be Nintendo today, or Vinyl Albums (again) tomorrow, but everything comes back. 

People love to say, “Mama had one just like that!”  It becomes a must have.  Or, “My Grandma used to serve me cereal in that old Beatles Cereal bowl.”  And it’s a required item. 

So, hang on to it.  Store it away.  You just never know when someone will be looking for a Greatful Dead T-shirt or might “hafta have” a Magic Bullet!

I hate texting.

I do it, but I hate it.

And yes, I text when I drive.

When it becomes illegal, I’ll quit…maybe.

But I hate it. 

I love the sound of my children’s voices, and would rather they call.

But, in this “modern” age, texting is the way.  It’s easy to do when ur n class + all.

So, I txt, jst lk evry 1 els.

BTW, I wish they wld cl me.

I find it amazing that people will send you a quick text rather than call.

I think it’s usually because they have something they want to say that doesn’t require the pleasantries and obligations of a conversation.

Texting is destroying the English Language too.

In class the other day, we were  peer editing.  That’s when one kid writes something and another one checks it for mistakes.  You know, trading papers.

One student changed you’re which was incorrect because the writer should have used your, to ur.

Really, ur.  I’m not making this UP.

But back to the phone. 

Pick it UP.

Call me back.

I’d rather hear your voice!

For years I had a dream. 

It was a strange one, and started when I was about six years old.  It came to me often, the same dream, all through my childhood. 

I was lying on the ground, and a large black horse, the biggest one I’d ever seen was trampling me.

I never had a horse, never rode a horse until I was 15 or so, and was never around horses at all as a child.

So, I didn’t know where it came from.

But once or twice a week I’d wake up sweating and terrified after dreaming that I was being trampled to death.

I was 26 when I figured it out. 

Back when I was seven year old, I went to Chris Schaffer’s birthday party on New Year’s Eve, 1959. His mother took seven or eight boys to the Bi Jo Theater in Germantown to see “Darby O’Gill and The Little People”.

There is a scene in the movie where someone, I don’t remember who, was trampled by a large black horse.

That’s where it came from.

I saw the movie again with my wife and my nephews, Charles and Andy in 1978. 

I often wonder if t the nephews had the dream too.

After I saw it the second time, it went away.

I dream in color, when I dream.  And my dreams are very vivid.

And strange.

After the second viewing, my dreams changed. 

They were varied, and less violent.  Some were odd.

When I was seeing a therapist for depression after the first heart attack, he was very interested in my dreams.  He made me write them down.  As soon as I awoke, I’d scribble stuff down from the dreams that I remembered and we’d discuss them.  I have no idea what he found out from them, because he was a typical, therapist.  There was a lot of “um hum” and “yes” and “I see” when I’d describe the dreams to him.  I’m sure I’m in the AMA Journal, his thesis, or Psycho Monthly.

I really wanted to make stuff UP, but I didn’t.  I was a good boy.

Last year when I was diagnosed with Sleep Apnea, I got a CPAC, or in my case a Respironics.

All my dreams stopped.

Until last week.

Now, they’re back.

Stranger than ever.

They are bigger and bolder too, and back in living color.

Last night, one of the Administrators at school, Faye, was in my dream.

Only she was black, and had blonde hair.

She’s not, and doesn’t.

It was really odd.

After a brief conversation with Faye in the dream, which I don’t remember, I went to class.

I didn’t walk, I didn’t have too.  I was flying.

Barely off the ground, but flying nonetheless.

I wish I could fly.

It would make life easier.

You know, floating from class to class, just about six inches off the ground, getting there on time, moving around the crowd with no problem.

It would be easier.

Faster.

Better.

But, it’s a dream.

So, the dreams are back, and I’m glad.

I missed them.  They seem to validate me, and while they were gone, life was a little dull.

Who knows, maybe I’ll find out something new about myself.

Or maybe I’ll figure out some phobia, or why I’m a creature of habit, or why I have to have all my socks going the same way in the drawer or all my blue shirts together, and the striped ones, and the yellow ones.

Who knows?

Shakespeare said, “To sleep, perchance to dream”.

I kinda look forward to it.