Chotchky. Chotskie. Tchotchke. Chotsky.

However you spell it, I can't seem to get enough.

Whenever my mom turned me loose in Kresges or Woolworths when I was a little girl, I

headed for the Chotchky section.

There was always an assortment of wonderfully awful made in Japan ceramics. The price was 5 or 10 cents.  There was always enough money left over for a cherry phosphate at the soda counter.

Ah, the good old days.

Remember them?

With Tobacco money, Madison Avenue promised that smoking was healthy, so everybody did it.

We were exposed to nuclear radiation from above ground testing in the American desert.  The radioactive cloud drifted over the midwest.

We lived with the threat of imminent nuclear war and annihilation.

The good old days were just great.