Time Machine.

My mom and dad used to visit old people in the neighborhood - either at home or in the hospital. It was a regular thing. My dad felt duty bound to check in on the elderly and infirmed. If it was a hospital visit, I had to wait in the lobby, by myself. When I would tire of the lobby, I'd wander around the hospital - up and down stairs and elevators, outside - and check things out. I don't think people would leave a small kid alone like that these days. When they were making home visits, though, there were often grand-kids around. We'd go out in the yard and play tag or something.
One elderly couple were of particular interest to me: Mr. Zeke and Miss Willy. They lived as if it were the turn of the last century, in a small unpainted, wooden house, with no electricity and no running water. Visiting them was like going back in time. They lit the house with kerosene lamps, cooked on a wood stove, had a smoke house, a hand pump, an outhouse and a mule for plowing. Mr. Zeke used to keep a crate of Pepsis on the back porch. He'd say, "Blue (my dad's name was Blue), you want a Pepsi?" My dad would answer, "No, thank you, Mr. Zeke, I don't believe I want a hot Pepsi."
Mr. Zeke and Miss Willy had a 40-some year old son who still lived at home. Once, in a feeble attempt to move into the 20th century, he tried to illuminate his bedroom using a car battery. Mr. Zeke made him shut that experiment down, worrying that the house would catch fire. The son was not exactly a handsome man, but rather a gangly, gawky string bean of a fellow, who reminded me of a cross between Eb from "Green Acres" and the bridge tender in "It's a Wonderful Life." He finally met and married his female equivalent, who sported the thickest Coke bottle "cat eye" glasses I've ever been witness to. They eventually had a baby, who, against all predictions (and red hair), turned out somewhat cute.
These people have been on my mind, recently, for some reason. I just thought I'd record some of my recollections of them. So, there you go.