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Certain magazines and websites specialize in nostalgic stories, old photographs, and memorabilia.
If you decide to write a nostalgic story, try to evoke good-times memories and feelings.
For example, who from the 1950's-60's doesn't remember their home-made breads or the bulging loaves from the small bakeries nearby.
What small-town American from these time periods doesn't remember the older-style homes, or the trading of favors or goods with the local farmers.
These kind of memories also arouse the good feelings known then.
Old photographs from then do the same thing.
Such feelings joggers are illustrated below, mostly in paragraphs two and six.
Paragraphs one, three, and four also involve certain feelings.
:) Bread Making Blues p1.
"My bread is ruined!" Mom screamed.
"What happened to it, Jay? Where are you..
Jay?" p2.
A weekly tradition in our home during the 1950's was making bread.
Since Mom worked at a local store in our small town, she made it on Saturday.
She'd make a dozen loaves at a time, often the whole-wheat variety.
Occasionally, she'd add sweet rolls and nut breads, which were tasty.
In making the bread, she'd carefully hand-knead each loaf twice following the initial bulk rise.
These last two rises took place in tin loaf pans, all covered with damp tea towels.
Then, during the baking itself, a fresh-bread aroma filled our two-story late-1800's brick home from top to bottom.
p3.
As a youngster, I loved this bread.
One Saturday afternoon while Mom was doing a fast errand during the last bread rise, my curiosity got the best of me.
I'd always wondered how the kneading-rising process worked.
So, I lifted the tea towels and poked two small finger holes into the top of each loaf midway through their last rise.
The loaves collapsed fast.
I gasped! A short while later, Mom returned home to discover the fiasco.
Mayhem occurred quickly.
Besides a spanking for learning purposes, I got a lengthy scolding.
p4.
"How could you do such a thing, Jay?" she'd ask, red-faced.
"You know how much work goes into it.
" My error had hurt her.
I didn't realize she had planned to sell most of this batch where she worked.
p5.
About 30-minutes later, however, she discovered the loaves had almost revived to their normal size.
Then, in the oven, they rose to their full size.
She decided to sell most of that bread anyway, to the joy of the local buyers, who complimented that bread many times over.
Some of her customers were farmer's wives, who were great cooks in their own kitchens.
However, they did not make their own bread.
p6.
"You make the best bread!" they'd tell her.
As a result of her successful bread sales, she increased her capacity slightly to everyone's enjoyment, including our own at home.
We also enjoyed the jars of real cream, farm-made butters and jellies, and the head-cheeses and fresh double-yolk brown eggs frequently found in our small white curve-top refrigerator.
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