When my grandmother moved from the farm to town, she couldn't give up some of the things she had always done a certain way.  Like frying chicken.  She went downtown to the chicken store, picked out a hen and had them remove the feathers, gut, and clean it for her.

Yes, there was a store right off main that sold and slaughtered chickens back in the forties--because Gran wasn't the only woman who thought that the hen had to be fresh.  It was a booming business, because older women wouldn't buy a chicken that was packaged for sale in the grocery store--they didn't trust the grocery store.  Eventually they had to give up on that because the grocery store was how all chicken was sold.  Hen houses went out of business.

Those farm women who were forced to move to town back then wore "House Dresses."  One piece, over the head concoctions that had no waist--so that they could move around and because they were cool.  Of course they had sleeves.  No self-respecting woman would wear a dress that had no sleeves.

I can still hear my grandmother say--as she threaded her treadle sewing machine--"I'm going to make me a new house dress."  And then she would sit down and get her feet to going on the Singer treadle.  I tried to use it once and failed.  My feet wouldn't treadle.

When Ken was overseas, she would call me (I was living with my folks a few houses down the street) and say, "Bring those two babies over here for lunch and eat pork chops with me."  It never occurred to me to help her with the cost--probably because I didn't have any money.  She was living on Social Security and an extra pork chop was probably a sacrifice.  I wish I could go back and tell her how much she meant to me.