Dear Friends of the Good Old Days,

The dictionary defines pallet as "a narrow hard bed or straw-filled mattress" or "a temporary bed made from bedding arranged on the floor, especially for a child." When I was a youngster, we defined a pallet as "fun." You see, pallet nights were usually a clear indicator that we had family spending the night at our tiny abode. That didn't happen very often. With a three-room house -- that's three rooms, not three bedrooms -- overnight visits had to be absolutely necessary. Most often it was an annual visit of Uncle Harley -- Daddy's older brother -- around the end of summer.

Uncle Harley, Aunt Nellie and my cousins Dale, Tim and Rick lived south of Kansas City. They made the pilgrimage to the Ozark Mountains to my Grandma and Grandpa Tate's home two or three times a year. Other trips were usually in colder weather, but the one around the end of August was perfect for a pallet night.

Harley, Nellie and young Rick stayed at Grandma and Grandpa's, while Dale and Tim were dropped off at our home. My little sister Donna stayed in our only bedroom with Mama and Daddy. We four boys -- Dale, Tim, brother Dennis and I -- spent the sultry night on handmade quilts on a slightly cooler living room floor.

Notice that I didn't say that we slept. A pallet night was not always conducive to sleep. First, there was the excitement of spending time with cousins we rarely got to see. A moonlit late-summer night defied the sandman, keeping us whispering long after the lights were turned off. All four of us were counting down days to the start of the school term, and none of us relished letting go of the last bits of freedom before taking up the three Rs again. Dale and Tim's home in town had running water, so our outhouse was a new experience for them -- especially by moonlight. Everything conspired to keep us wide awake and alert to every night sound.

Daddy didn't think the tittering coming from the living room was particularly amusing. After a while, he not-so-gently reminded us that his work day began at dawn and that it wouldn't be long until Dennis and I would be feeding livestock and milking cows. Dale and Tim didn't have cows to milk in Kansas City, but they got the point.

Looking back, I realize I probably enjoyed less than a dozen pallet nights with Dale, Tim and, later, Rick. By the time I was 12, Daddy added two bedrooms and a bathroom to our little house. From then on we had no excuse for pallet nights or nocturnal visits to the outhouse. Now I'm too old to enjoy nights on quilts and hard wooden floors. But, if I were still young, I would welcome Dale and Tim for another pallet night like we had back in the Good Old Days.

'Til next time,