I was in a doctor's waiting room listening to a lively conversation about 'the good old days'. But curiously, none of the people talking were old enough to have been there. Ah, 'the good old days', a simpler life they claimed, less complicated, less rushed.

I finally had to jump into the fray to tell them one episode of 'the good old days'.

"When I was in my twenties," I started out, "my wife and I lived in a village in Germany near Heidelberg in an old house my father had bought as a summer retreat. It was located up a hillside, overlooking a lovely, picturesque valley. The lintel over the door proclaimed that it had been built in 1631, right in the middle of the 30-Year War that had devastated Central Europe.

The end of that war finally came in 1648. Now you would think that what happened in 1648 would not impact events in 1950 but they did. So let me start with 'the good old days'.

Every spring the farmers up and down the valley harnessed their oxen to a plow and started preparing the fields. Naturally, plowing was only one of the tasks. The fields had to be fertilized also. The accepted method, in fact the only method then, was to spread manure from the stable that had accumulated all year in a lined pit.

Manure piles were always located on the street side of the houses for everyone to admire; and the larger the pile, the wealthier the farmer. The aroma of a number of manure piles along the street was something you all might have a problem with unless you really like 'the good old days'. But for us who lived there it was just a fact of life and not to be concerned about.

Then there was one more chore. The outhouse had to be moved from its pit so that the contents of the pit could be ladled into a wagon with a wooden tank, lovingly called the 'honey wagon'. This was accomplished with a long handled bucket sized ladle, dripping contents everywhere. This also was part of 'the good old days' you were talking about.

All this was then transported to the respective fields and spread on top of the soil. So exposed it could finally release its fragrance to the atmosphere in full force with all of its splendor.

Now back to 1648. The peace treaty decreed that henceforth all subjects will convert to the religion of their ruler. Over time this then created a strange patchwork of areas that were all Catholic or all Protestant.

Our village of 850 souls was all Catholic. The next village less than a mile away was all Protestant. And every year on Good Friday the Catholics spread their manure, while the Protestants stank up the valley when the Catholics celebrated their main holiday.

And that's how 1648 was still alive in 1950, having a wonderful time in your 'good old days'."