I knew I was in trouble as soon as I stepped up on the chair to take the sheer summer curtains down, so without even trying to do what I knew would be impossible, I called for help.

Mom and Dad knew how to save money; they had to, with eight hungry children constantly outgrowing our shoes, clothes, our beds and the big old house on MacKenna Avenue way back in the best and the worst of the good old 1950s and 60s, they had to do all they could to keep costs down, and they did.

Hanging heavy drapes was one way to keep the heat in the house that the big oil burning furnace produced to keep us all as warm as possible at the least possible cost during those long cold, pre-climate change winters when the snow drifted up against the windows.

The heavy drapes complimented the storm windows already put up by the men of the house; my Dad and me. The seasonal hanging of the drapes was customarily left to the ladies; my Mom and my sisters.

It was an all day job for them with what seemed like dozens of windows to be cleaned, summer curtains to be taken down and washed; old fashioned wooden venetian blinds to be scrubbed in the bathtub filled with scalding hot water, soap and a good dose of bleach.

If the house did not smell like bleach, it was not clean, according to Mom. It was her way of disinfecting everything; making sure that if there were any viruses or bacteria in the house, they were dead and therefore not able to infect us.

In spite of her efforts though, sometimes the flu bug would get us and the whole family would be down for the count as the nasty bug made its way through the bunch of us.

But once infected, as added protection she’d line us up in a row and force us to take a heaping spoonful of castor oil, cod liver oil and baby aspirins to ward off whatever evil bug might have survived the bleach.

I guess it worked; we are all still alive and fairly well so far.

So there I was yesterday, standing on a chair in the living room trying to hang these heavy drapes that somebody had obviously paid a lot of money for, got tired of and donated to the Salvation Army, one of my favorite shopping haunts.

I learned from my parents a long time ago, that there is no shame in saving money by recycling what somebody else has already “used.”

Dad believed that nothing should ever be wasted; that everything has at least two or three life cycles. We never, never ever threw anything away until it was absolutely used up.

Even ham bones had more than one life in my family. The poor dogs had to rely on the marrow we could not get out of the bones we fed them; there was never any meat left on our Slipko’s and American Way pork chops.

I had spent the better part of the day shopping, or I should say, trying to shop out on Military Road at the big box stores. I was confounded by the experience of parading around, not able to find what I was looking for and not being able to find anyone working in the stores who seemed to know, or for that matter, particularly care where anything that I needed was. 

Well, there were two exceptions: one gentleman, apparently a store manager walked with me to help me find something they did not have, and in another store, a cashier pointed out that I had bought the wrong thing, and she did cheerfully take the item off my bill and wish me a good day. 

But the whole experience out there sent me into a desperate desire for the best part of the good old days when we could walk into a human-sized store, find what we wanted, be greeted by name and cheerfully thanked and reminded that we were welcome to come back.

I found myself wishing that we had other options; stores in or at least closer to our neighborhoods; specialty sores that offered great service and unique products actually made in America if not in Niagara Falls or Niagara County or New York State.

I don’t know about you, but I’d be willing to pay a little extra for that.

Shopping cannot always be about the lowest price; sometimes it can be all about the service, the convenience and the neighborliness that comes with knowing each other instead of being treated like we are just another debit card in a long line of blank faces without names.

Speaking of convenience, I hope Walmart and the NFTA will be able to work out some way to help those customers who have to rely on public transportation to shop where they can find the best bargains.

I can’t even imagine what it is going to be like for those who are going to be trudging through the snow at the bus stops this winter to get to and from Walmart; the store sits nearly a quarter of a mile back from the road, and you have to cross Military Road to get to it if you are heading to or coming from the other direction.

Did we not learn anything from a similar situation in Buffalo a few years ago?

We’ve all seen too many people pushing shopping carts down the streets in the winter. We need to address this now before the snow and ice show up.

Getting back to the drapes I found at the Salvation Army; I called for help.

My sweet sister Jessica, visiting from Florida, and our dear friend Carmen came to my rescue and hung the drapes for me.

I don’t want to sound sexist, but women, probably because of the way we were raised back in the day, have an edge over us men when it comes to certain household duties and chores, but we fellows also have an edge over them when it comes to some things too, though that list is quickly growing shorter by the day.

By the way, don’t forget to set your clocks back this weekend, and this year, do what I do. Instead of passing out candy for Halloween, give the kids a pen or a pencil; that may just scare the devil out of them!

Contact Bill Bradberry at bill.bradberry@yahoo.com